Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Artemis
Thursday evening, I changed my dress three times.
The cabin was clean. The table was set—candles lit, wine glasses polished, napkins folded the way Aunt Marguerite had taught me. Gumbo had claimed his corner spot by the fireplace, watching me pace with those ancient yellow eyes that saw too much.
"Stop judging me," I told him, smoothing down my dress for the fourth time. It was nothing special—simple green cotton that Aunt Marguerite had said brought out my eyes—but I wanted to look right. For them. "I'm allowed to be nervous."
Gumbo's tail twitched. Judgment.
The truth was, I wasn't nervous about dinner.
I wasn't even nervous about them—not anymore.
After the storm, after the conversations, after everything we'd shared, I knew where this was going.
I wanted where this was going. I was nervous about what came after.
About showing them the one part of myself I'd never shown anyone.
I'd spent the past two days rearranging my nest. Taking things out, putting them back, adding new items I'd collected without meaning to—Harper's flannel that still smelled like woodsmoke and pine, Remy's scarf that had somehow ended up in my laundry, a sock of Silas's that I'd found under the couch and absolutely should have returned but hadn't.
The nest had been mine for years, a private sanctuary no one else had ever seen.
Tonight, I was going to show them.
The knock came at six sharp—Harper, of course, because he was constitutionally incapable of being late.
I opened the door to find all three of them on my porch, and my breath caught at the sight.
Harper in a clean button-down, the sleeves already rolled to his elbows, carrying a large covered pot that smelled incredible.
Remy with his guitar case slung over his shoulder and a bottle of wine in his hand.
Silas holding a cooler in one massive fist and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other.
"We brought offerings." Remy's smile was warm, genuine in a way it hadn't always been before. "Harper made the strategic decision that we should arrive together so you didn't have to answer the door three times."
"And I made dinner." Harper lifted the pot slightly, a hint of pride breaking through his usual reserve. "Papaw's venison stew. Figured you shouldn't have to cook for your own courting dinner."
"Tribute for the gatekeeper." Silas lifted the cooler, his scarred face almost smiling. "Fresh catfish. Caught them this morning."
Gumbo's head swiveled toward the cooler, nostrils flaring. His tail twitched—not judgment this time. Interest.
"Efficient," I managed, stepping back to let them in, my fingers gripping the doorframe harder than necessary. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I could smell my own nervousness in the air—that sharp citrus edge that always gave me away.
They filed in one by one, each pausing to navigate around Gumbo's corner with careful respect.
Silas set the cooler down near the gator and opened it, revealing three beautiful catfish on ice.
Gumbo's eyes tracked the movement, then slowly blinked—the closest thing to approval I'd ever seen him give an Alpha.
"I'll put this on the stove to warm." Harper moved toward the kitchen, comfortable in the space now, familiar. "Bread's in the truck—Remy, you mind?"
"On it." Remy set his guitar in the corner and disappeared back outside.
I took the flowers from Silas, our fingers brushing, his scent—ozone and pine—mixing with the wildflower sweetness. I buried my nose in the blooms to hide the flush creeping up my cheeks. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Courting dinner." Silas's voice was quiet but certain. "We wanted to."
Remy returned with a basket of fresh bread, still warm from the bakery, and the wine. "A Chateauneuf-du-Pape. My father's cellar. Don't tell him I took it." His amber eyes sparkled with mischief, but underneath I could see the same anticipation I felt. We all knew tonight was important.
Dinner was easier than I expected. Harper's stew was rich and hearty, the bread perfect for soaking up the gravy, and the wine was better than anything I'd ever tasted.
But somewhere between the second helping and the third glass of wine, I noticed the looks they kept exchanging. Quick glances, silent communication.
"Okay." I set down my fork, the metal clinking against the plate, and looked between the three of them. "What is it?"
Harper wiped his mouth with his napkin, his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath his stubbled cheek. "We found something. Wednesday morning, when we were—" He stopped, glanced at the others, something heavy passing between them.
"When you were what?" I asked, an edge creeping into my voice, my fingers curling around the stem of my wine glass.
"Patrolling." Silas's voice was flat, unapologetic, his pale eyes meeting mine without flinching. "Your property. All three of us showed up without planning it."
I blinked, my glass halfway to my lips. "You were patrolling my land?"
"Protective instincts." Remy shrugged, but his usual lightness was gone, his amber eyes serious for once.
"We couldn't help it. After the storm, after everything—we needed to make sure the territory was secure.
" He winced at his own word choice, running a hand through his curls. "Your territory. Sorry."
I should have been annoyed. Instead, something warm bloomed in my chest, spreading through my ribs like honey. "What did you find?"
Harper's hands curled into fists on the table, the knuckles going white against the wood grain. "Eight trail cameras. Commercial grade, cellular upload capability. Someone's been watching your property." His voice dropped into a growl, low and dangerous. "Watching you."
The warmth in my chest turned to ice. "What?"
"Survey stakes too," Silas added, his pale eyes cold as river stones in winter. "Fresh tire tracks on the old logging road. Somebody's been busy."
"We did some digging." Remy pulled out his phone, scrolling to something, the screen casting blue light across his sharp features.
"Crescent Holdings. They're planning an eco-tourism resort on the land north of yours.
Luxury cabins, airboat tours, the whole package.
" His jaw tightened, the charm stripped away to reveal something harder underneath.
"Problem is, they need water access. And your bayou frontage is the only way in. "
"They've been watching me." My voice came out strange, distant, like it belonged to someone else. "To what—figure out how to take my land?"
"Pressure you into selling, most likely." Harper's scent had gone sharp, dangerous, filling the room with the smell of an Alpha ready to fight. "When that didn't work, maybe they figured they'd find something to use against you. Code violations, permit issues, anything."
"Or just wait for you to fail." Silas's voice was quiet but deadly, each word precise as a blade. "Isolated Omega, no pack, no support. They probably thought you'd give up eventually."
All three of them were growling now—low, rumbling sounds that vibrated through the floor and up through my chair. Gumbo lifted his head from his catfish, watching with interest, his tail giving a single curious twitch.
"We pulled the cameras," Harper said, his voice rough, barely controlled. "All eight. They're in my truck if you want to see them, or if you want to take them to the sheriff."
"We also may have left some markers of our own." Remy's smile had a dangerous edge, sharp as broken glass. "Nothing illegal. Just... let them know the territory's not undefended anymore."
I looked at the three of them—these Alphas who had shown up on my land without being asked, who had walked my property line like it was their own, who were growling at a threat to a woman they'd known for barely a month. My throat tightened.
"You could have told me before dinner," I said slowly, my fingers still wrapped around my wine glass.
"We wanted to." Harper met my eyes, steady and honest, gray as storm clouds.
"But we also wanted you to know that we handled it.
That you don't have to face this alone." He reached across the table, his hand palm-up, scarred and calloused and steady.
An offering. "Whatever you want to do—go to the sheriff, hire a lawyer, burn their whole operation down—we're with you. "
I looked at his hand for a long moment, at the calluses and the strength and the patience in that simple gesture. Then I took it, his fingers warm and rough against mine.
"After dinner," I said firmly, squeezing once before letting go. "We deal with Crescent Holdings after dinner. Tonight is supposed to be about something else."
Harper's eyes softened, something tender breaking through the protective fury. "Yes ma'am."
Somewhere between Remy's third story about a disastrous gig in Baton Rouge and Silas slipping Gumbo another piece of catfish under the table, the tension eased. The threat was real, but it could wait. Tonight, I had other things to share.
"Did you just feed my alligator at the dinner table?" I raised an eyebrow at Silas, catching him mid-toss.
He didn't deny it, just wiped his fingers on his napkin, expression unchanged. "He earned it. Good guard duty."
Gumbo chewed with pointed satisfaction, his tail swishing once against the floor, jaws working around the fish.
"Progress," Remy said solemnly, raising his wine glass with mock ceremony, his amber eyes dancing with mischief again. "Our scaly overlord has accepted Silas as a viable food source."
Silas made a sound that might have been a laugh, low and rusty. Harper just shook his head, but he was smiling—really smiling, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look ten years younger.