Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Artemis
They showed up at my door Saturday evening looking like they were about to face a firing squad.
All three of them, standing on my porch in a row—Harper in the middle, Remy to his left, Silas to his right.
Harper was holding a wooden box I didn't recognize.
Remy had his guitar case. Silas had something tucked under his arm, wrapped in brown paper.
"Okay." I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. "You all look like you're about to tell me someone died. What's going on?" Harper cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. His ears were turning red, and he couldn't quite meet my gaze.
Remy nudged him with an elbow, his usual grin tempered with encouragement. "Go on, mon ami. We talked about this."
"I know what we talked about." Harper's voice came out rougher than usual, his massive hands tightening on the wooden box. "I'm getting there."
Silas said nothing. Just waited, patient as stone, his pale gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Whatever this was, they'd clearly rehearsed it, and it was falling apart spectacularly.
"Harper." I gentled my tone, taking pity on him. "Just tell me."
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders like he was preparing for battle, and finally looked at me.
"We want to court you. Officially. All three of us.
" The words came out stilted, formal, nothing like his usual quiet rumble.
"Not just... dating. Courting. Toward a pack bond. If you'll have us."
My heart stuttered in my chest. I'd known this was coming—had felt it building since the storm, since they'd declared themselves pack, since they'd spent the night in my nest. But hearing it said out loud, in Harper's rough voice with his ears burning red and his grip white-knuckled on that box...
"Keep going." The words came out softer than I intended, my heart beating hard against my ribs. "I'm listening."
Harper glanced at Remy, who gave him an encouraging nod.
"We talked about it. The three of us." Harper's jaw worked like he was chewing on words that didn't want to come out.
"About how this would work. Three Alphas, one Omega—it's not traditional.
But we want to do this right." He paused, swallowed hard.
"I'd be Head Alpha. If that's... if you're okay with that.
Remy and Silas agreed. Someone has to lead, and they.
.." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
"They trust you." I finished for him, watching the surprise flicker across his face. "So do I."
Something shifted in Harper's expression—a crack in that stoic armor he wore like a second skin. "You'd be Pack Center. The heart of it. Everything we build, we build around you." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "That's how it should be. That's how we want it."
Remy stepped forward, his usual charm softened into honesty. "We're not perfect, chère. We're going to stumble. Fight. Make mistakes." His amber eyes were serious for once, no trace of his usual playful glint. "But we'll do it together. All four of us. That's what pack means."
Silas spoke for the first time, the words low and certain. "You won't be alone. Not anymore. Whatever comes—Crescent Holdings, heats, anything—we face it together."
I looked at them—these three men who had walked into my life one storm at a time and refused to leave. Harper, who spoke in rumbles and protected with his whole body. Remy, who hid his wounds behind laughter and charm. Silas, who'd lost everything and still found the courage to try again.
My Alphas. My pack.
"Court me properly, gentlemen." I let a slow smile curve my lips, watching the tension drain from their shoulders.
"I expect to be impressed." Harper's exhale was shaky with relief.
Remy let out a whoop that startled a heron from the cypress trees.
Even Silas's mouth curved into that almost-smile that meant he was genuinely happy.
"We brought gifts." Harper stepped forward, holding out the wooden box with fingers that trembled slightly. "Courting gifts. Traditional."
I took the box, running my fingers over the aged wood. It was old—decades old, maybe more. The hinges were brass, tarnished with time, and someone had carved initials into the corner: J.F. + M.F.
"This was my Papaw's." Harper's voice was rough with emotion, his gray eyes bright in the fading light. "Moonshine from his last batch. He made it the year before he died. I've been saving it." He swallowed hard. "Meant to drink it at my wedding. After Claire, I figured I never would. But now..."
I opened the box. Inside, nestled in faded velvet, was a glass jar of clear liquid. Even through the seal, I could smell it—sharp and sweet and perfect. A chirp escaped before I could stop it, high and bright. Harper's pupils dilated at the sound, his breath catching.
"Harper." I had to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay, my throat tight with emotion. "This is... I can't take this. This is too important."
"That's why I want you to have it." He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing mine where they held the box. "You're important. More important than some jar I've been hiding in a closet for four years."
I set the box carefully on the porch railing and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that said everything I couldn't put into words. He made a sound low in his throat—a rumble of satisfaction—and his arms wrapped around me, lifting me slightly off my feet.
When I pulled back, Remy was bouncing on his heels like an excited puppy, practically vibrating with anticipation. "My turn?"
"Your turn." I laughed, the sound watery and bright, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
He unslung his guitar case and pulled out his instrument—the same battered acoustic he'd played at the bar the night we met.
But instead of sitting down, he stood there, cradling it like something precious.
"I wrote you a song." His usual bravado was gone, replaced by vulnerability I rarely saw. "It's called 'Applecider.'" His dimples flashed, but his expression was serious. "Because that's what you smell like. And because... that's how you make me feel. Sweet and warm and a little bit drunk."
He started to play—soft, gentle chords that built into a melody I'd never heard before.
And then he started to sing. His voice was different than it had been at the bar.
Rawer. More honest. The song was about a man who'd spent his whole life running, looking for something he couldn't name.
About finding it in the most unexpected place—a bar in the bayou, a woman with apple-red hair and a nine-foot alligator. About coming home.
By the second verse, I was crying. By the chorus, I was making those embarrassing chirping sounds that I couldn't control. By the end, I had my face buried in my hands, shoulders shaking.
"Chère?" Remy's brow creased with worry, guitar still clutched against his chest. "Was it that bad?" I launched myself at him, nearly knocking the guitar to the ground. He caught me with a laugh, stumbling backward, and I kissed him hard enough to steal both our breath.
"It was perfect." I whispered against his mouth, tasting the salt of my own tears on his lips. "You're perfect. I love you."
His whole face transformed—joy so bright it almost hurt to look at, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I kissed him again, softer this time, my fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Now let me see what Silas brought before I completely fall apart."
Silas stepped forward, unwrapping the brown paper with careful precision. Inside was a piece of heavy sketch paper, and on it—
I stopped breathing.
It was me. Me and Gumbo, rendered in charcoal and pencil with stunning detail. I was sitting on my porch, one hand resting on Gumbo's massive head, looking out at the bayou with an expression I'd never seen on my own face. Peaceful. Content. Home.
"I drew it from memory." Silas's words came out quiet, uncertain in a way I'd never heard from him.
"The morning after the storm. You were sitting there with him, watching the water go down, and I.
.." He stopped, his jaw tight. "You looked like you belonged there.
Like you'd always been there. Like you always would be. "
Another chirp broke free, then another. I couldn't stop them—happy omega sounds that I hadn't made since I was a teenager, before I learned to bury that part of myself.
"Silas." I reached for him with one hand, still clutching the drawing with the other, my vision blurring with fresh tears. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me."
He came to me, letting me pull him close, and I buried myself against his chest and just breathed. He smelled like river water and safety, and his arms wrapped around me with a gentleness that belied his strength.
"Thank you." I whispered, my voice cracking on the words. "All of you. Thank you." Harper's hand settled on my lower back. Remy pressed against my side. Silas held me close. I was surrounded by them—their scents, their warmth, their love.
Harper pulled back just enough to look down at me, hunger flickering in his gaze. "Can I—" He stopped, swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. "I want to scent you. Properly. All of us."
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. "Yes." The word came out breathy, barely audible, my fingers curling into the fabric of Harper's shirt. "Yes, I want that."