Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Artemis
Wednesday was my regular tarot day at the café.
Every week, I set up my little table in the corner of Magnolia's—the coffee shop on Main Street that smelled like chicory and beignets—and spent a few hours reading cards for whoever wanted their fortune told.
Mostly it was the same regulars: Miss Delphine wanting to know about her daughter's wedding, old Mr. Comeaux checking on his investments, teenage girls giggling over love readings.
Easy money, good coffee, and a chance to feel connected to the community I'd called home for years.
Today had been busy. Three hours of readings, four cups of coffee, and one very grateful widow who'd cried when The Star came up in her spread. By the time I packed up my deck, I was ready for some fresh air.
Harper was at the distillery running the afternoon batch. Remy had the day off but was helping his cousin move furniture across town. Silas was checking on an injured stray dog someone had found near the highway. We'd planned to meet up for dinner later, but I had a few hours to kill.
So I decided to browse.
Main Street in Belleau Bridge wasn't much—a handful of shops, the café, a bar, and the general store at the end of the block.
The general store always had interesting things tucked in the corners: vintage jewelry, old books, the occasional antique that caught my eye.
I'd found my favorite copper pot there, and the hand-painted tarot box that held my aunt’s deck.
The bell over the door jingled as I stepped inside. The smell hit me first—dust and old wood and something floral, like dried lavender. Ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, stirring the warm air. The shop owner waved from behind the register where she was sorting through a box of estate jewelry.
"Afternoon, Artemis! Tarot day go well?" She called out, her reading glasses perched on her nose, silver hair pinned up in its usual neat bun.
"Real well, thanks." I smiled and headed toward the back, where the antiques were kept. That's when the trouble started.
"Well, now." The voice came from my left, smooth and slick as oil on water. "I don't think we've met."
I turned to find an Alpha leaning against a shelf of old records, arms crossed over his chest in a way that was probably meant to show off his biceps.
He was handsome enough, I supposed—dark hair, sharp jaw, expensive boots that had never seen a day of real work.
City Alpha playing country boy. Definitely not local—I knew everyone in Belleau Bridge, and I'd never seen this one before.
His scent hit me a second later. Leather and cedar and something cloying underneath, like cologne trying too hard. Nothing like the pine and honey and ozone I'd grown used to. Nothing like home.
"We haven't," I said, keeping my tone neutral as I turned back to browsing the shelves. "And I'm not looking to change that."
"Aw, don't be like that." He pushed off the shelf and moved closer, crowding into my space without invitation, his cologne overwhelming in the small gap between us. "Pretty little Omega like you shouldn't be wandering around all alone."
Pretty little Omega. I felt my jaw tighten, my spine going stiff. "I've been wandering around alone for years. I think I'll manage."
His smile didn't falter. If anything, it widened, showing too many teeth—the smile of a man who'd never been told no. "Feisty. I like that." He reached out to touch my arm, and I stepped back, putting distance between us.
"Not interested." I kept my tone flat, final, the kind of voice that usually made men back off.
"Come on, now." He followed, closing the gap I'd created, his persistence edging from annoying into alarming. "I'm just being friendly. New in town, looking for someone to show me around."
"Try the tourism board." I met his gaze, letting him see the steel in mine, the thirty-two years of not taking anyone's shit. "I said no."
Something flickered in his expression—annoyance, maybe, or wounded pride. The kind of Alpha who wasn't used to hearing that word. "One drink. That's all I'm asking. There's a bar down the street—"
"Not if you were the last Alpha in Louisiana," I cut him off, letting every ounce of disdain drip from my voice. I turned on my heel, heading toward the front of the store, my pulse starting to pound with irritation.
His fingers closed around my wrist. Tight. Too tight.
"Hey—" I started, ready to yank free and give him a piece of my mind, maybe follow through on that wrist-breaking threat, but I didn't get the chance.
The temperature in the store dropped ten degrees. The ceiling fans seemed to slow. The shop owner went silent behind the register. Even the dust motes froze in the afternoon light.
Three shadows fell across us, blocking out the light from the windows.
I didn't have to turn around to know who they were—I could smell them, feel them, the combined weight of their presence pressing into my back like a physical force.
The hair on my arms stood up, and a primal satisfaction purred in my hindbrain.
Pine and woodsmoke and moonshine. Honey and whiskey. Ozone and cold steel.
My Alphas.
The stranger's grip fell away from my wrist like it had been burned. His face went pale beneath his tan, the cocky smile sliding off like water down glass. His scent soured instantly—the sharp, acrid smell of fear cutting through the cloying cologne. "I—I didn't know she was—"
Harper didn't say a word. Just stood there, six-foot-four of solid muscle, arms crossed over his barrel chest, his expression flat and deadly. The scar on his jaw caught the light, making him look like exactly what he was—a man who'd been through hell and come out harder.
Remy flanked his left, all trace of his usual charm gone. No dimples, no easy grin. Just cold amber and a stillness that was somehow more terrifying than any threat. The easygoing musician had vanished, replaced by something ancient and dangerous.
Silas took the right, pale eyes burning with an intensity that made the stranger take a full step backward. He looked like what he was—a predator who'd found something threatening his pack. Silent. Lethal. Waiting.
None of them spoke. None of them had to. The growl started low, barely audible, but I felt it vibrating through the floorboards. Three Alphas, growling in perfect unison, a sound that spoke of violence and protection and consequences.
The stranger's palms came up, fingers spread wide. "Hey, man, I didn't—she didn't say she was claimed. I was just talking, I didn't mean anything by it—"
Silas took one step forward. Just one. Silent as a ghost, smooth as a predator closing in on wounded prey.
The stranger nearly tripped over his own feet backing away.
He bumped into a display of ceramic figurines, sending a porcelain pelican crashing to the floor.
His expensive boots scrambled for purchase on the worn hardwood.
"I'm going. I'm going." He grabbed his hat from where it had fallen and practically ran for the door, boots skidding, arms pinwheeling. He hit the door so hard it slammed into the outside wall, and then he was gone, the bell jangling frantically in his wake.
Through the window, I watched him sprint to his truck—a shiny new F-150 that probably cost more than my cabin—and peel out of the parking lot so fast he sprayed gravel everywhere.
The shop owner let out a low whistle from behind the register. "Well. That was something."
The silence that followed was deafening.
I turned to face my Alphas, putting my fists on my hips, and tried to summon the appropriate amount of annoyance. I could handle myself. I'd been handling myself for years before they came along. I didn't need three overprotective cavemen swooping in to rescue me from some handsy stranger.
But when I opened my mouth to tell them exactly that, what came out was: "How did you even know I was here?"
"Finished helping my cousin early." Remy's voice was still rough, the growl not quite faded from his throat. "Stopped by Magnolia's to surprise you, but you'd already left. Delphine said you were heading this way."
"And you two?" I looked between Harper and Silas, my eyebrow arched, arms still crossed defensively over my chest.
"Remy texted." Harper's jaw was still tight, a vein pulsing at his temple, his chest heaving with barely-contained aggression. "We came."
"The dog's fine." Silas's voice was quiet, clipped, but his scarred fingers were still twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for me.
"Took her to the vet. She'll pull through.
" He added it like that explained everything, his pale eyes never leaving my face.
Like leaving me undefended had never even occurred to him.
"I had it handled." I crossed my arms, mirroring Harper's stance, trying to project confidence even as my heart hammered. "I was about to handle it very loudly and with extensive profanity."
"We know." Remy's mouth twitched, the first crack in his deadly serious facade, a hint of his usual warmth breaking through. "But we wanted to deal with him too."
"By looming?" I raised an eyebrow at them, fighting to keep my expression stern even as warmth spread through my chest at their protectiveness.
"Looming is very effective." Harper's gray eyes were dark, possessive, tracking over me like he was checking for damage, cataloging every inch. "He touched you."
"He grabbed my wrist. I was about to break his." I held up the wrist in question, showing them the faint red marks where his fingers had dug in, my voice sharper than I intended.
All three of them stared at those marks. All three of them growled.
"We know." Silas moved closer, and I caught the way his nostrils flared, scenting me, checking that the stranger's smell hadn't lingered on my skin. His scarred fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for me. "But we wanted to be sure."