Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Artemis
The weather report crackled through my old radio at six in the morning, pulling me from a fitful sleep filled with dreams of pale gray eyes and promises whispered against my throat.
"...Tropical Storm Delilah upgraded to Category Two overnight. Expected to make landfall late Friday. Residents in low-lying areas are advised to prepare for significant flooding. Evacuation routes..."
I sat up in my nest, blinking at the radio on my nightstand like it had personally betrayed me. Friday. The storm was hitting Friday night, which meant Thursday's pack meeting was about to get very complicated.
My phone buzzed before I could fully process the implications.
Harper: Storm coming. I'll be there by nine. Don't argue.
Remy: Heard about Delilah, chere. On my way with supplies. Don't tell me no.
Silas: Already checked your property line. Weak spots on the north fence. I'll handle it.
Three texts, three Alphas, three different approaches to the same problem. I shouldn't have found it as endearing as I did.
I padded out onto the porch with my coffee, watching the sky with new eyes.
The morning looked deceptively peaceful—blue sky, gentle breeze, birds singing in the cypress trees.
The kind of Louisiana morning that made you forget nature could turn vicious without warning.
Gumbo was already on the dock, but something was off.
Instead of his usual lazy sprawl, he was pacing—all nine feet of him moving in restless circles, his massive head swinging toward the horizon every few seconds.
"You feel it too, huh?" I called out to him, wrapping my hands around my mug as I watched his agitated movements. "Storm's coming."
He rumbled low in his throat, a sound I'd learned to read over the years. This wasn't his contented rumble or his warning rumble. This was unease. Gumbo had weathered dozens of storms in his fifteen years, and he always knew when the bad ones were coming.
"Yeah." I took a long sip of coffee, the bitter warmth grounding me as I mentally cataloged what needed to be done. "That's what I thought." I murmured, watching his massive tail swish against the dock planks.
I spent the next two hours doing what I could on my own—hauling the porch furniture inside, securing loose items in the yard, checking my emergency supplies. Marguerite had taught me well. Living in the bayou meant respecting the weather, and respecting the weather meant being prepared.
Harper's truck rumbled down the dirt road at eight forty-seven—early, because of course he was.
I watched from the porch as he climbed out, already assessing my property with those sharp dark eyes, his massive frame silhouetted against the morning light.
The truck bed was loaded with lumber, tools, and what looked like several gas cans.
"You're early." I set down my hammer, wiping sweat from my forehead as he approached, his boots heavy on the dock boards.
"Storm's moving faster than they predicted." Harper said it simply, already scanning my cabin with that intense focus, cataloging every potential weakness. "Checked the radar on the way. We've got less time than they're saying." He added, his jaw tight with concern he was trying not to show.
"Good morning to you too, big guy." I crossed my arms, fighting a smile at his single-minded intensity. "Coffee's on if you want some before you start rearranging my life." I offered, gesturing toward the cabin.
Harper paused, something softening in his expression as he finally looked at me—really looked, not just assessed.
"Morning." He rumbled, closing the distance between us to press a kiss to my forehead, his hand cupping the back of my head with a gentleness that still surprised me.
"You okay?" He asked, pulling back just enough to search my face.
"I'm fine. Been through plenty of storms." I leaned into his touch, letting myself have this moment of softness before the work began. "Though I have a feeling I'm about to have a lot of help whether I want it or not." I said dryly.
The corner of Harper's mouth twitched. "You want it." He said with quiet certainty, then turned toward his truck. "I'll start on the windows. Boards need to go up before the wind picks up." He was already moving, already working, already providing in the only language he truly spoke.
I watched him haul lumber from the truck bed like it weighed nothing, his flannel straining across his broad shoulders, and felt a purr building in my chest. There was something deeply satisfying about watching an Alpha in full providing mode—even if I'd never admit it out loud.
Gumbo had stopped pacing to watch Harper work, his eyes tracking every movement with suspicious interest. When Harper passed too close to the dock's edge, Gumbo let out a low rumble that was definitely a warning.
"Easy." Harper said, not pausing in his work, not showing an ounce of fear. "I'm here to help her. Same as you." He told the gator, his voice low and steady.
Gumbo's tail swished once—acknowledgment, maybe—and he went back to his restless pacing.
Remy arrived at ten fifteen, his motorcycle replaced by a borrowed truck that looked older than I was. He hopped out with a grin that didn't quite hide the worry in his amber eyes, immediately starting to unload coolers and bags from the back.
"Chere, I come bearing gifts." Remy announced, hauling a massive cooler onto the porch with a dramatic flourish, his amber eyes bright despite the worry lines around them.
"Enough food for a week, three bottles of good wine, candles, cards, and—" He produced a battered guitar case from behind the seat with a magician's flair.
"Entertainment for when the power goes out.
" He winked, setting the case down with exaggerated care.
"You think we're going to be stuck here for a week?" I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the porch railing as I watched him unload, though I was already eyeing the cooler with interest.
"I think we're going to be stuck here until the roads drain, and I refuse to be stuck anywhere without good food and good company.
" Remy crossed the porch in two long strides, pulling me into a hug and pressing his nose to my hair, inhaling deeply.
"You smell like sawdust and coffee and home.
" He murmured against my temple, his arms tightening around me like he never wanted to let go.
"Harper's already boarding up the windows." I said into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of citrus and spice, letting myself sink into his warmth for just a moment.
"Course he is." Remy pulled back, his grin turning fond. "Man's been in providing mode since the first weather alert. Probably built six emergency shelters on the way here." He joked, though there was genuine affection underneath the teasing.
A crash from the side of the cabin made us both turn. Harper had dropped a board—or rather, thrown it down in frustration, if the set of his shoulders was any indication.
"Problem?" I called out, wiping my hands on my jeans as I moved toward him, noting the rigid set of his shoulders.
"Rot." Harper kicked at a section of siding I hadn't noticed was damaged, his jaw tight with frustration. "This whole section needs replacing. Should have caught it sooner." He ran a hand through his dark hair, the muscle in his forearm flexing as frustration radiated from every line of his body.
"It's fine. We'll board over it." I touched his arm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. "Hey. Look at me." I waited until his dark eyes met mine. "It's okay. We don't have to be perfect. We just have to be prepared." I told him firmly.
Harper stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine, then nodded once, some of the tension easing from his broad shoulders.
"I'll reinforce it. Won't hold forever, but it'll hold through the storm.
" He said, already turning back to his work, though his calloused hand lingered on mine for just a second longer than necessary.
Remy appeared beside us with three bottles of water, pressing one into Harper's hand without comment. "Hydrate, mon ami. Can't have you passing out before the fun starts." He said lightly, though his eyes were serious.
Harper took the water with a grunt that might have been thanks, and I watched something pass between them—an acknowledgment, maybe. A truce. They were learning to exist in the same space without bristling, and the progress made something warm bloom in my chest.
Silas appeared at noon, though "appeared" was generous. One moment I was helping Remy organize supplies in the kitchen, and the next he was simply there, standing in the doorway like he'd materialized from smoke.
"Fence is secure." Silas said without preamble, his pale eyes sweeping the cabin's interior with tactical precision.
"Tied down your pirogue. Checked the dock moorings.
" He paused, his gaze landing on me with that unnerving intensity that always made me feel like he could see straight through to my bones.
"Your generator's low on fuel." He added, something almost accusatory in his flat tone.
"Good thing Harper brought extra." I crossed the kitchen to greet him properly, rising on my toes to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. "Thank you for checking everything." I said softly, watching some of the tension ease from his sharp features.
Silas nodded once, his hand finding my hip and squeezing briefly before he stepped past me toward the window.
"Storm's moving faster than the reports say.
Pressure's dropping." He observed, his pale eyes fixed on the sky that was starting to turn an ominous gray at the edges, his scarred fingers resting against the window frame.
"You can feel it?" Remy asked, looking up from the canned goods he was organizing, genuine curiosity coloring his voice as he studied Silas.