All Chapters of Her Pack of Possibilities : Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

Rebel’s POVThe problem with nights in the clubhouse is that they don’t really end.The music stops, the laughter fades, the bikers wander off to bed or to someone else’s—but the energy lingers like heat after a storm. It hums through the walls, through the floors, through my bones.And tonight, something feels wrong.I’m curled on my bed reading a dog eared book, the one Fang always pretends he doesn’t know I stole from his room years ago. The air is thick with the scent of oil and steel from the garage below, comforting in the way only home can be.But underneath it, something prickles my skin, something familiar and sour.I set my book aside as voices echo down the hallway too sharp and tense.Then,“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY CLUBHOUSE!”Fang’s roar shakes the walls, vibrating all the way down to the soles of my feet.My chest feel tight because I know that tone, know exactly what or who could pull it out of him.I’m halfway to the door when a second voice answers smooth and controlle

Rebel’s POV The clubhouse feels different tonight.It’s subtle at first something you’d miss if you weren’t raised inside these walls. The air is heavier, like a storm pressing down before the first crack of thunder. The familiar sounds, the clink of bottles, the low hum of engines being tuned, the murmured laughter are all still there, but they’re muted. Controlled and waiting.I move through the main room slowly, fingers brushing over scarred wood and worn leather, grounding myself in a place that has always been home. The bar smells like whiskey and citrus cleaner. Oil and metal cling to everything, soaked so deeply into the walls it’ll never come out. Patches and colors line the walls, years of loyalty stitched into fabric.Men and women I trust with my life sit too straight. Talk too little. Watch the doors like prey instead of predators.Something is wrong.Fang stands near the center of it all, arms crossed over his chest, jaw locked so tight I can see the muscle jumping benea

Rebel’s POVThe clubhouse doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It should, every scuffed floorboard, every oil-stained wall, every flickering light has always meant home. But now it feels like unfamiliar territory that is crowded with strange scents and unfamiliar power. The Iron Howlers’ presence is gone, stripped away in the wake of the raid, leaving behind an echo that hurts to breathe through.And in its place, them. I sit stiffly on the edge of one of the bar stools, hands clenched in my lap, heart beating too fast. Ruin stands a few feet away, giving me space like he knows I need it. The others linger nearby, watchful but not looming.Still, my omega is a mess, as she presses against my ribs, anxious and overwhelmed, letting out a soft, broken whine that slips past my lips before I can stop it.I clamp my mouth shut, mortified.Ruin’s head lifts instantly and his eyes snap to me, sharp with concern. “Hey,” he says gently. “You don’t need to fight it.”“I…” My voice trembles. “I don’t

Rebel’s POV Night settles differently here at the Iron Howlers clubhouse, darkness was loud with engines revving, laughter spilling from open doors, music humming through the walls until sleep came easy out of exhaustion. Here, the Legion’s compound quiets with intention, the guards rotate and lights dim in a steady pattern. The air feels watched, protected, controlled, but mostly safe.That word still feels foreign on my tongue.Ruin leads me into the clubhouse, but it isn’t what I expect there is no chaos or clutter. The space is large and open, built from stone and steel, but softened by the warmth of low lighting, worn leather couches, the faint scent of cedar and smoke. It smells like a pack and that makes my omega stir, uneasy but curious.“You’ll stay here tonight,” Ruin says, gesturing down a quiet hallway. “In the same hallway, close to us.”Us.I nod, clutching my duffel tighter. “Okay.”He opens a door at the end of the hall, revealing a room that makes my breath catch. It