I didn’t have Wes make any stops, and I didn’t talk. All the courting and dates and lunches, it wasn’t the norm for me, and I was tired. I could probably use a few days simply to sleep, but I didn’t want to do that either. Not when there were more fun things I could do.

“Bye, Wes. Thanks.”

There were no photographers, and it had been a nice change. Ben’s word had spread, and he texted me telling me his friend Jason had gone a step further and banned all press from the club without prior permission. That must have scared them, because I hadn’t even heard the quiet click of stealth photographs the last few days. It was amazing.

I opened the door with my thumbprint and sighed. The scent of the mansion was a comfortable blend of the pack and my own scent, and I was getting used to it now. It was comforting, like coming home. A thought which was both incredible and terrifying at the same time.

With a start, I realized I had started thinking of this as home. When I went to my house, I thought of it as going to the studio and not going home. And when I was there, it felt like my workspace and not where I lived. Not anymore.

I shouldn’t be scared anymore. None of these men—my men—had given me a second’s pause about wanting me or courting me. As far as they were concerned, even with the short amount of time, I was already pack though we hadn’t officially talked about it. Still, the permanence of it was terrifying even with the way I longed for the bonding and true acceptance of a pack.

“Hello?”

There weren’t the normal telltale signs of life in the house. I didn’t hear anything. No TV, no cooking, not even the faint sounds of video games from the basement. It was… eerily silent.

Then I saw the nerf gun on the console table beneath my painting, and a piece of paper with it.

Esme—

Come and find us. We’re hiding everywhere. Every bullet which hits is a minute of shooter’s choice. You know what we mean.

You hit us? We’re out.

If anyone lands three hits on you, they win the next date.

Go.

Oh, shit.

I looked at the gun they’d given me. It was loaded with six sticky darts, so I assumed they had the same ones.

Dropping my bag on the floor, I picked up mine. Five vs. one was hardly fair, but did I want it to be fair? Still, they were going to be surprised.