Page 1 of Pack End Game

Prologue

Mia

We need to stop avoiding the elephant in the bar.

"So, how far away did Jason say he was?"

Belle's face freezes in a tight smile.

We're supposed to be meeting Belle's new boyfriend, Jason, tonight. He's allegedly so great that my best friend seems to be thinking of sacrificing her chance of ever finding a scent-match to settle down playing happily ever after with Jason-the-pilot, instead.

"I forget," she says after a moment of frozen panic. "Let me check." She angles her body away to look at her phone again, still unaware that I can clearly see she has no new notifications. She stares at her home screen long enough to make me worry.

"Everything okay?" I nudge her with my elbow.

Her nervous, high-pitched laugh confirms that my bestie is absolutely not okay. She still doesn't look up from her phone, even though I don't think it's going to be magically giving her any answers any time soon about her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend's whereabouts.

The bartender chooses this moment to check in on us again. "Is your friend okay?" he asks, glancing between Belle's hunched form and me.

I turn my hands up helplessly with a halfhearted shrug. After all the gushing she's done over Jason since meeting him, and the fact that he's choosing this important night to disappoint her, I'm not so sure she is okay.

She will be, though. Belle is a badass at heart, even if she forgets that about herself sometimes. I'll always be here to remind her. That's what friends are for.

"Everything is great, except..." Belle's voice cracks. "Traffic. There's traffic."

"Really?" I take out my own phone to check my map app, already knowing what I'm likely to find. Belle can't keep lying to me–or to herself. "None of the streets on my map look red. What direction is he coming from? The airport?"

I look up at Belle's panic-stricken face and hold eye contact, waiting for her to come to terms with reality. The sooner she accepts that the asshole stood her up, the sooner we can double down on our drinking and make this a proper girls' night.

She'll forget all about what's-his-face in no time. I definitely already have.

Belle's mouth opens and shuts several times as she struggles to find her voice. There's honestly no telling whether she's ready to give up the ruse or if she's planning to double down. I discreetly wave the bartender away, wanting to spare her from him witnessing whichever direction this is headed.

She suddenly seems to summon up some courage. "The thing is–"

Before she can get her words out, I see the front door of the bar open from the corner of my eye. "Oh!" I yelp in surprise, turning my head to get a better look at the man I recognize from photos Belle has shown me. "Is that him?"

Belle turns on her barstool, and her whole body relaxes the moment she sees Jason brushing snow off himself and searching the room for us. There was a little snow when we arrived at the bar, but the snow must be coming down harder now for him to be wearing so much of it.

"No wonder there was traffic. Looks like we're in for one heck of a snowstorm tonight. I'm sure you wouldn't be too upset about being snowed in with your beau, though, huh?" I tease even though I'm not sure Belle is even listening to me. She's too busy staring dreamily at her boyfriend, whom I suddenly feel bad for doubting.

Jason finally sees us sitting at the bar, and his eyes light up.

For a split second, I'm completely focused on feeling happy for my friend. She deserves someone whose face lights up when he sees her, even if I do still feel sad that she's settling for anything less than a scent-match.

Then my attention wanes as something begins to seep into my consciousness. The smell of sandalwood, a heady scent that suddenly overwhelms my senses. I can smell the sandalwood over everything–and everyone–else in the bar. My eyebrows knit together in confusion as a yearning tears through me, an unfamiliar feeling that I've never had before.

Jason's gaze moves from Belle to me as he walks over to join us. When he sees my face, his steps falter slightly.

"Oh no," I whisper, my chest seizing with a horrified realization.

The smell draws closer as he does. It's him. Jason is that perfect sandalwood smell that I want to roll around in and then wrap myself up in like a blanket.

Every step he takes closer increases my urge to get up and throw myself at him. I want to rub my own scent on him, combine our scents together in perfect harmony.

But I can't. I can't.

Fucking fuckity fuck.