22. Jasmine

"Wake up, sleepyheads!" Grace sings out, the door cracked an inch, so the scent of her excitement is leaking through the gap. "I can't believe you've been here all night and Garth didn't wake me earlier."

I peel my cheek off Erik's chest, his arms tightening around me as my thigh brushes the bulge in his boxers. Casper's already introduced me to morning wood, but I wouldn't mind saying good morning to Erik's. But not with Grace at the door, and when I pull away, his rumble of displeasure reaches her ears. "Is that a come-back-in-ten-minutes growl, or a I'd-strangle-someone-for-a-cup-of-coffee growl?"

I laugh at the pout on Erik's hard features. "Pretty sure it's a bit of both," I reply. "But come in, Grace. We're mostly decent."

I drag the comforter over his lap just to be on the safe side, but as my best friend bounces into the room, she waves an airy hand. "After six months in a pack nest, I've seen it all."

I'm pretty sure she hasn't seen Erik in all his naked glory. Although, come to think of it, Garth is no slouch in the massive uber department.

But the excitement on her face has me leaping out of bed, our arms thrown wide as we squeeze each other tight. This is new territory for us, but I put that down more to Kayden's poisonous presence than a lack of affection.

"I thought you were sick," I exclaim when we finally pull apart. "But you're glowing."

In fact, she's so radiant I'm not sure Kayden would recognize her if they passed on the street. Grace has always had a fantastic sense of style, but now she's wearing a fitted black and cream cashmere dress that shows off all her curves. It's the sort of thing her stepbrother would have burned in the backyard, but it's no wonder she has the owners of a major fashion house wrapped around her little finger.

"Oh, that's just Garth fussing." She rolls her eyes, then bites her lip as she looks me over. "A wide belt and ankle boots, and you could totally pull that off for breakfast."

I look down at myself and laugh. Erik's henley is hanging off my hands and swimming around my knees. "Are we going out? Because I might need to borrow something if you don't want him going half-dressed."

Grace peeks around me, her eyes dancing. "Hi, Erik. Nice to see you again."

"Hi, Grace." Erik sits up, putting his impressive chest on display. "Sorry about pulling a gun on your pack last time we met. That might've been an overreaction."

"No, I'm glad you did." She reaches out and squeezes my hand. "It's about time someone had Jasmine's back."

"Yes, ma'am." Erik tosses the covers aside and starts gathering up his clothes. "I couldn't agree more."

Grace's eyes narrow at the sight of him, and she flashes me a look from under her lashes. "No wonder you were lying around waiting for breakfast in bed."

I nudge her, caught between a laugh and a yawn. "But it's so early. You're not really going to drag us out to eat, are you?"

"Well, it's either that, or Patrick comes in here and joins us." Her eyes dance as she leans in and gives me a sniff. "Ah, the sweet perfume of new scent-mates."

"Seriously? You can smell him on me?"

She laughs at my shocked expression. "I've had a little practice, you know. But don't panic; we're just going downstairs. Garth has called ahead so we'll have the dining room to ourselves."

Words spoken with such casual confidence, I can't help but grin. Only a few months ago Grace never went anywhere without Kayden's explicit approval. Her world was their townhouse and the occasional shopping trip, all closely monitored by her obsessive stepbrother. But the upmarket restaurant adjacent to the Rose Tower is one of the best places to eat on Fifth Avenue. The fact she can pop down there whenever she wants must feel like the most amazing kind of freedom.

And she's still glowing as the ma?tre d shows us to our table in the private dining room. The restaurant is as fancy as the Rose Tower, with crystal chandeliers and marble floors, the table exquisitely set with a bouquet of heirloom roses and the most elegant dinnerware I've ever seen. It's exactly the kind of place most of my peers would love to end up working one day, but I've always dreamed of somewhere with more rustic charm. A family restaurant maybe, where the recipes have been handed down through the generations, and every dented pot and hand-written menu has a story to tell. Although, I have to admit I'm dying to taste one of the breakfast samplers that are regularly written up in the city's best food guides.

Our server fills up our sparkling water glasses while Garth checks his phone. "Patrick"s just chasing something down and will be here soon."

I don't miss the glance he shoots Erik, who's seated on my right. I think we're both still trying to work out how we feel about a potential scent-mate popping up out of nowhere. My relationships with the other guys are still so new – and complicated, given what I've learned about Declan. Would spending time with another alpha make things better or worse?

Although, if I'm honest with myself, there's something about Patrick that demands my attention. From the moment he touched my shoulder in the alleyway, he's been lurking in my hindbrain. That accent, those eerie amber eyes, the way he gravitates towards me as soon as we're in the same room...

Is it just a normal reaction to an attractive alpha, or is our compatibility hard-wired into my hormones?

Ugh.

Nothing good ever comes from contemplating my hormones. And to add to my confusion, I have no clue what this means in terms of the unofficial courting arrangement I have with the Volks. I mean, the guys already talk about us like we're pack, and Patrick's allegiance clearly lies with the Roses. Maybe he even has packmates of his own back in Ireland. I know next to nothing about him except that he moves like a bottled hurricane and smells like winter walks on a stormy beach.

As Garth sets his phone down, I have to wonder if maybe Patrick's had second thoughts. Based on what I remember from my high school designation classes, scent-mates aren't exactly scientific law. They pop up regularly in my romance books, but I always thought it was just a cute way of getting unlikely mates together. The biological equivalent of a fairytale, where the prince can't help falling for Cinderella. But I guess the plot twist is now on me.

I'm still chewing over that when Grace moves her chair closer to mine. "I want all the details," she whispers with a smirk. "Start with how you wriggled out of your bonding day. I already know that"s going to be my favorite part."

I chuckle, glad that Grace can joke about her nightmare of a stepbrother. While I was promised to his pack for nearly a year, she had to live under his roof from the time she was fifteen. The Sawyers upended her whole world, and while she's never told me how destructive that really was, I've witnessed enough of Kayden's obsession to know that the scars run deep.

"Oh, it was your typical room service cart getaway," I reply glibly. "I thought I was being whisked off to safety by a guy I hired off Craigslist. Turns out they don't make the best accessories to a kidnapping."

"What?" Erik's head snaps towards me, his brown eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You hired him from where?"

I bite my lip, trying my best to look innocent. "My roommate got a really nice sofa off the site."

Erik snatches up his water glass, muttering something about scammers, stalkers, and setups under his breath. When I glance back at Grace, she can barely contain her giggles. "Okay, maybe we need to talk about that part later," she concedes, her voice dropping back to a whisper. "But what else has been happening? Are all the Volks as big and growly as that one?"

I smirk as I recap the last few weeks, sticking firmly to the highlights. Erik said it was okay to have my secrets, and as much as I trust Grace, my story isn't completely mine to tell. But I can't help gushing about the guys, and her eyes soften the more I talk about them. It's kind of crazy to think how much I've crammed into less than a month, but Grace is unfazed by the whirlwind that"s my life. "You"ve been biding your time for years," she says matter-of-factly, "waiting for your moment to shine. I"m just so glad you"re getting to live in full color now."

I blink at her. She's right. I've been so careful, so strategic. Like a spy recruited to live my own life. "Out of the shadows," I murmur, lifting my water glass.

"Exactly," she smiles, mimicking the action. But then she reaches up and touches her mate's cheek. "I think this is our cue, sweetheart."

Garth smiles, his arm snaking around her shoulders as he motions towards the ma?tre d. A server comes forward with a tray of champagne cocktails, distributing them quickly before melting into the background. I cock a brow at the sparkling orange drink. "It's brunch somewhere, right?"

"Exactly," Grace agrees, the sparkle in her eyes almost blinding. "But the reason I'm holding this very fancy, alcohol-free glass of juice, is because our pack is about to add a puppy to the pile."

I blink at the hand that's come to rest protectively over her flat belly. "What?" I gasp. "You're pregnant?" She laughs at my gaping mouth, but one glance at Garth's smug face confirms it. "Oh, my God, Grace! I'm so happy for you."

As I engulf my friend in the second hug of the day, my mind spins at her news. This is a huge step for her, but I have no doubt that despite her crappy upbringing, Grace will make a fantastic mother. She's the definition of a selfless caregiver who also has a protective streak a mile wide.

"I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard," she whispers into my neck. "I mean, if you didn"t help me get away, Jas, this little bean in my belly wouldn't even exist."

"I didn"t do nearly enough," I sigh, pulling back to gaze into her glowing face. For a long time, I treated Grace like a comrade in arms, our bond forged by our mutual hatred of the Sawyers. But she's always been more than that to me. "I"m so happy for you. And I'm so happy for your little bean. It will be the best-dressed baby in Manhattan."

"You bet your designer diapers, it will be," she grins, holding her glass up so we can drink a toast to the newest little Rose.

"You think they're discussing baby-proofing techniques?" I ask, pointing my glass at Erik and Garth. The two ubers have their heads together, their brows wrinkled in concentration. They're either planning an invasion, or a new line of toddler combat gear.

Grace laughs. "Garth has already ordered a whole bunch of security upgrades. When the guys are done, this tower will be a literal fortress."

"Good," I reply. "The thorns' purpose in life is to protect the rose, remember?"

She just rolls her eyes, but we clink glasses again, and she starts catching me up on her other news. She's telling me about the babymoon they're planning to take to Paris when we're distracted by the sight of my scent-mate approaching at a run. Patrick is dressed in a suit, which is unusual enough to catch my eye, but my heart leaps at his feral expression. "Garth, code red!" he barks, a knife flashing in his hands. "Van in the alley. I think it"s Quinn. Fuck!"

At first, I think he"s just lost his footing, but then he grabs our table, sending glasses and dinnerware flying. Even through the chaos I can hear a pop, and a red starburst explodes on his white shirt. His gaze snaps to mine, his eyes creased with pain. Blood, I think numbly. Jesus, he's been shot!

"Get down!" Erik growls, his hand already dragging me from my chair. "Under the table!"

But his words come out slurred, and beside him, Garth is crashing to his knees. He's taken a couple of steps in Patrick's direction, so he doesn't hit the table, but he goes down hard. Grace screams, shoving her chair back as she tries to crawl towards her mate. She barely seems to notice the broken glass and shattered crockery, her no, no, no coming out in escalating pants. Garth tries to brace himself on his arms, but then he tips forward like a felled tree. What the hell can take an uber down like that?

But then the whole world tilts, my skin going ice cold as bile burns my stomach.

I know what this is.

After a lifetime as a lab experiment, I have an acute sensitivity to people fucking with my body.

"Drugged," I manage to choke out, the tart juice making my tongue curl. "Someone spiked the toast."

Erik's grim face suddenly looms over me, and I realize I'm sprawled on the floor, the dregs of my cocktail soaking into my shirt. His arms are shaking, his pale face ringed with sweat. When his hand pushes at my shoulder, it's as weak as a kitten. "You have to run, baby," he slurs, trying to heave me across the floor. "They"re jamming my comms. You have to get out. Now."

But my limbs have turned to water, the room swinging wildly around me. "The baby," I whisper, trying to reach for Grace. What will the drugged drink do to the bean in her belly?

"Baby," Erik groans again, and I realize he's talking to me, not Grace. He's staring at the gun that fell from his hand, only a couple of inches from his trembling fingers. "Please. You have to go."

I try to gurgle a reply, but nothing comes out. The fear in his eyes is terrifying, but even if I could leave, it's too late. A stocky man is striding into the room, his cold gaze sweeping over the damage. "Quinn, you motherfucker!" Patrick snarls at him, trying to push himself off the floor. "I'm going to gut you like a fucking animal…"

"Sure you are, Paddy boy," the stocky man replies, peering down at him. When his booted foot presses into Patrick's shoulder, he grins, all wolf teeth and bright malice. "As soon as you pluck that bullet out of your scapula, you'll get right on it."

He grinds down until Patrick is panting, then turns to look at the rest of us. "Right! Sorry to break up the party, fellas, but I've got some business to take care of." He nods at the men who have swarmed into the dining room behind him. "Drag the big fuckers out into the alleyway. The others," he grins in my direction, "bag ‘em up. They're coming with us."

Despite a lifetime of believing the worst, I try to hold on to a tiny sliver of hope.

Erik will find us.

Erik will save us.

Erik said he'd come for me.

Always.

Only Erik was out cold when they dragged him from the room by his ankles. Three men, all dressed in black combat gear, cursing his weight and laughing at the glass shards slicing into his skin. He didn't flinch when his head knocked into a chair leg, or when a boot slammed into his arm as it caught on the doorjamb. Erik, who with a single command would have those cowards pissing in their pants and begging for his mercy.

I try to swallow but my throat feels like it's been slashed to ribbons. I don't know if it's from the drug or the panic racing through my blood. Because they grab me with rough hands, dragging a hessian bag over my head before scooping me off the ground. Grace is hysterical, a scratching, hissing vision of vengeance as they haul Garth away. It's the last thing I see, my fierce friend hurling threats at Quinn until he silences her with an alpha command. I can't tell if she's just cowed or knocked out, the bag over my head putting all my senses in a stranglehold.

They drop us in a van like sacks of potatoes. Or at least, that's what it feels like to my aching bones as I hit the floor. A faint moan reaches my ears, but I'm more concerned by the whispered mumbling. I can tell by the boots scraping over metal that at least a couple of the assholes are in here with us. But who's the nutjob crooning in the dark?

The van rocks under us and my claustrophobia kicks up a notch. The hood is rough against my skin and smells like onions and alpha sweat. Bile burns in my throat, tears stinging my ears, but I give myself a brutal shake.

If I can cram myself into a damn room service cart, I can stand a little contact with a hessian bag.

Erik is coming.

Erik is coming.

Erik is coming.

I cling to the promise as the van carries me further and further away from him.

Because even if he can't save me, one of the other guys will.

Pack.

Pack.

Pack.

I'm pack, and the Volks protect their own.

But when my body jolts, a car horn blaring, I realize I've just woken up. Fuck. How long was I out? My mouth still tastes like metal, and I can't feel anything below my neck. Did they stop the van while I was unconscious? Fear shoots ice through my veins. Is Grace still here with me, or have they already split us up?

I bit my lip to stop the panic building in my chest. They didn't tie me up, so it's not as bad as it might be. And when the van rocks again, my arm flops into the space next to my body. My knuckles graze something warm and a large hand clutches mine.

Patrick.

I don't know how I can tell, but that little sliver of hope grows. He's not dead, and he's not tied up, either. That means there's at least two of us ready to fight our way out. And if Grace is here too, then maybe we really have a chance.

But then that eerie crooning becomes a familiar voice, and my blood runs cold.

"Sleep now, Grace," Kayden Sawyer says. "You're back where you belong, little mouse, and I'll never let you leave me again."