Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Artemis
The Saturday after our first pack meeting dawned bright and humid, the kind of Louisiana morning that promised sweat and mosquitoes and air so thick you could drink it.
I'd told them to meet me at the dock at seven—early enough to beat the worst of the heat, late enough that even Remy might manage to drag himself out of bed.
Gumbo was already in the water when I came out with my coffee, his massive form cutting through the shallows with prehistoric grace. He surfaced near the dock, his amber eyes finding mine with what I could only describe as anticipation.
"Big day." I told him, settling onto the weathered boards with my feet dangling over the water, the wood warm beneath my thighs.
"They're coming into our territory today.
All three of them." I took a sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat settle on my tongue.
"Try not to eat anyone." I added, watching his snout dip below the surface in what might have been acknowledgment or might have been disdain.
The rumble of Harper's truck reached me first, followed almost immediately by the growl of Remy's motorcycle. I smiled into my coffee cup. They were learning.
Silas, of course, was already there.
I didn't know how long he'd been watching from the tree line—could have been minutes, could have been hours.
He emerged from the shadows, his pale eyes catching the early light, his dark clothes somehow not looking ridiculous in the growing heat.
The dog tags at his throat glinted as he moved toward the dock with that silent, predatory grace that made my pulse quicken despite myself.
"You're early." I said, not turning around, feeling rather than seeing him settle onto the dock a few feet away from me, his scent drifting toward me on the morning breeze—rain and moss and something wild.
"Couldn't sleep." He replied, his voice rough with disuse, his pale eyes fixed on the water where Gumbo had disappeared beneath the surface. "Nightmares." He added, quieter, like the word had been dragged out of him against his will.
I didn't push. Didn't offer platitudes or empty comfort. I just shifted slightly, letting my shoulder brush against his, offering warmth without words. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, his breathing evening out.
Harper appeared at the end of the dock, his massive frame blocking the early morning sun.
He took in the scene—me and Silas sitting close, our shoulders touching—and something flickered in his dark eyes.
Jealousy, maybe. Or possessiveness. Then it was gone, replaced by a careful neutrality that cost him more than he'd ever admit.
"Morning." He rumbled, his deep voice rough with sleep, his dark hair slightly mussed in a way that made him look almost approachable, his flannel sleeves already rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
"Coffee's in the kitchen." I said, jerking my chin toward the cabin. "Help yourself." I watched him nod and turn, his heavy footsteps fading across the dock.
"He's trying." Silas said quietly, his pale eyes tracking Harper's retreat. "The jealousy. He's fighting it." His jaw tightened. "I can smell it on him. The effort." He paused, something like respect flickering in his expression.
"Can you?" I turned to look at him, curious despite myself. "Smell the effort, I mean." I asked, studying his sharp profile.
"Emotions have scents." He said it like it was obvious, his scarred fingers drumming absently against the dock.
"Fear. Anger. Want." His pale eyes met mine, intense and unblinking.
"You smell like anticipation right now. And something sweeter underneath.
" His nostrils flared slightly, and I felt heat creep up my neck.
"That's very forward of you." I managed, though my voice came out breathier than I'd intended, my heart picking up speed.
"You asked." The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to count, his pale eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
The roar of Remy's motorcycle cut through the moment, followed by the crunch of gravel and then silence. I heard him before I saw him—humming something low and sweet, his footsteps light on the dock despite his boots.
"Well, isn't this cozy." He appeared beside us, dropping into a crouch with easy grace, his amber eyes bright with mischief and something darker underneath—that jealousy Silas had mentioned, maybe, though he hid it better than Harper.
"Starting without me?" He asked, his honeyed accent thick with mock hurt, his curls falling across his forehead in artful disarray.
"You were late." Silas said flatly, not looking at him, his pale eyes still fixed on the water.
"I was on time." Remy protested, settling onto the dock on my other side, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine through the thin fabric of my shorts. "Seven means seven. Not six-thirty." He shot Silas a look that was half challenge, half curiosity.
"Seven means you should already be here at seven." Silas returned, his voice carrying that military precision I was learning to recognize. "Anything else is late." He paused, his jaw working. "Civilian." He added, the word somehow managing to be both an insult and almost fond.
Remy opened his mouth to retort, but Harper's return cut him off. The big Alpha carried two mugs of coffee—one for himself, one that he handed to Remy without a word, his dark eyes meeting the other man's for just a moment before sliding away.
"Thanks." Remy sounded surprised, his amber eyes widening slightly as he accepted the mug, his fingers brushing Harper's in the exchange. "You didn't poison this, did you?" He asked, sniffing the coffee suspiciously, though his lips were twitching.
"Would've been too easy." Harper rumbled, settling onto the dock on Silas's other side, his massive frame making the wooden boards creak in protest. "Rather beat you fair." He added, and I caught the barest hint of humor in his dark eyes, the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth.
Remy barked a laugh—genuine, startled. "Fontenot made a joke." He announced to no one in particular, clutching his chest with his free hand. "Someone alert the authorities." His dimples appeared in full force, his amber eyes crinkling with surprised delight.
"Don't get used to it." Harper muttered, but his shoulders had relaxed slightly, the tension bleeding out of his massive frame.
I watched this exchange with something warm spreading through my chest. This was what I'd wanted.
What I'd hoped for. The three of them learning to be around each other without bristling, without posturing, without the constant low-grade hostility that had marked their first interactions.
It wasn't friendship—not yet, maybe not ever—but it was something.
"Alright." I stood, brushing off my shorts and turning to face them.
"Finish your coffee. We've got ground to cover.
" I pointed toward my pirogue, already loaded with supplies—water, snacks, a first aid kit, bug spray.
"Today, you're getting the full tour. My territory.
My rules." I let my gaze move from one to the next, holding each of their eyes.
"Any questions?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Just one." Remy raised his hand like a schoolboy, his amber eyes dancing with mischief. "Is the murder lizard coming with us?" He jerked his chin toward the water, where Gumbo had resurfaced, his massive form floating with deceptive laziness.
"Gumbo goes where Gumbo wants." I said, fighting back a smile.
"If he decides to follow us, that's his business.
" I paused, letting a wicked grin spread across my face.
"Try not to fall in the water. He hasn't had breakfast yet.
" I watched Remy's face pale slightly, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
"She's joking." Harper said, though he didn't sound entirely certain, his dark eyes flicking toward the alligator with wary respect.
"Am I?" I let the question hang in the humid air, then turned and headed toward the pirogue, my bare feet sure on the weathered dock. Getting three large Alpha males into a pirogue designed for one small Omega was an exercise in creative geometry.
Harper took the front, his massive weight settling the bow deep into the water, his dark eyes scanning the bayou ahead with that watchful intensity that never seemed to fade.
Silas claimed the back, paddle in hand, his pale eyes tracking every movement in the water and trees around us.
That left Remy in the middle, squeezed between supplies and increasingly vocal complaints.
"This is cozy." He muttered, shifting his long legs for the third time in as many minutes, his knee bumping against a cooler. "Really intimate. I feel like we're bonding." His voice dripped with sarcasm, his amber eyes rolling heavenward.
"Quiet." Silas's voice cut through the morning air like a blade, his paddle dipping into the water with barely a ripple. "You'll scare the wildlife." He added, his pale eyes fixed on something in the distance.
"I am the wildlife." Remy shot back, but he lowered his voice anyway, settling into an almost-comfortable slouch. "Where are we going, anyway?" He asked, directing the question at me.
I stood at the center of the pirogue, perfectly balanced, my own paddle working in easy rhythm with Silas's. I'd been doing this since I was twelve—Marguerite had made sure of that—and the bayou felt like an extension of my own body, familiar as breathing.