Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Artemis
Iwoke to the sound of a boat motor on the bayou and the smell of coffee brewing.
For a long moment, I just lay there, cataloging the aches in my body.
My thighs were sore. My hips were sore. There were muscles between my legs I hadn't known existed, and they were definitely sore.
But it was the good kind of sore—the kind that came with memories that made my cheeks flush and my omega purr with satisfaction.
Three days. Three Alphas. More orgasms than I could count.
No regrets.
I stretched slowly, feeling the pull of overused muscles, and realized I was alone in the nest. The sheets beside me were still warm—someone had been here recently—and I could hear voices drifting in from somewhere in the house.
Male voices, low and comfortable, punctuated by Remy's laugh and the clink of dishes.
Domestic sounds. Pack sounds.
I smiled against the pillow, then forced myself to sit up.
My head spun for a moment—I was still recovering, still rebuilding my strength after the heat had wrung me dry—but it passed quickly.
I found one of Harper's flannel shirts draped over the end of the bed and pulled it on, breathing in his pine-and-whiskey scent as the fabric settled around me.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, I felt almost human.
All three of them were there. Harper stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the focused intensity he brought to everything.
Remy was perched on the counter, stealing bacon off a plate while Silas pretended not to notice.
The morning light streamed through the windows, catching the gold in Remy's hair and the silver threading through Harper's beard.
"She lives," Remy announced when he spotted me, his amber eyes lighting up, his whole face breaking into that bright grin. He hopped off the counter and crossed to me in three strides, pulling me into his arms and burying his nose in my hair. "Thought you might sleep till noon, chere."
"Considered it," I admitted, my voice still rough from sleep—and from three days of screaming. I leaned into his warmth, letting his honey-whiskey scent wrap around me. "But I smelled coffee."
"Priorities," Silas said from his spot at the table, his pale eyes soft with something that might have been amusement as he pushed a mug toward the empty chair beside him, steam curling from the dark liquid. "Sit. Eat. You need to rebuild your strength."
"So bossy," I teased, rolling my eyes even as I did as he said, sinking into the chair with a grateful sigh.
The coffee was perfect—strong and dark, exactly how I liked it.
Silas had been paying attention. Harper set a plate in front of me without a word—pancakes, bacon, eggs, more food than I could possibly eat.
When I raised an eyebrow at him, he just shrugged, his gray eyes warm beneath his perpetual frown.
"You barely ate for three days," he said, his voice a low rumble as he settled into the chair across from me, his own plate in hand. "Your body needs fuel."
"What my body needs is a hot tub and a massage therapist," I muttered, but I picked up my fork anyway. The first bite of pancake was heaven—fluffy and sweet, with a hint of vanilla. "Did you put vanilla in these?"
"Mémère's recipe," Remy said, sliding into the chair on my other side, bracketing me between him and Silas. His thigh pressed against mine under the table, warm and solid. "She always said the secret to good pancakes was—"
"Let me guess," I interrupted, raising an eyebrow at him. "Love?"
"Buttermilk, actually," he said, his dimple flashing as he reached for his own coffee, amber eyes dancing with amusement.
"But love doesn't hurt." I laughed, the sound startling in its normalcy—and something in my chest unknotted.
This was real. This was my life now. Three Alphas who made me pancakes and let me steal their shirts and looked at me like I'd hung the moon.
The clatter of Gumbo's claws on the hardwood announced his arrival before he appeared in the kitchen doorway.
He surveyed the scene with his ancient yellow eyes, lingering on each Alpha in turn before settling on me.
Then, with the ponderous grace of a creature who had seen centuries come and go, he crossed to my chair and laid his massive head in my lap.
"Good morning to you too," I said, scratching behind his eye ridge. He rumbled—a deep, contented sound that vibrated through my thighs. "Did these Alphas remember to feed you, or do I need to have words?"
"Fed and watered," Silas confirmed, his scarred fingers wrapped around his own coffee mug, pale eyes watching the interaction with quiet interest. "He's just missed you."
"I missed him too," I said softly, keeping up the scratching, feeling some of the residual tension from the heat drain out of me.
There was something grounding about Gumbo's weight in my lap, his prehistoric presence a reminder that some things stayed constant no matter how much life changed. "My good boy. My very best boy."
Gumbo's tail thumped once against the floor. Remy made an offended noise.
"Should I be jealous that a nine-foot alligator outranks me in your affections?" he asked, his hand pressing dramatically over his heart, his amber eyes wide with mock hurt.
"Gumbo's known me longer," I said solemnly, not even trying to hide my smirk. "He's earned his rank."
"Cold, chere," Remy said, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ice cold."
The banter felt good. Normal. Like maybe the heat hadn't fundamentally changed everything—it had just added to what was already there. I ate my pancakes and drank my coffee and let myself believe that this was the start of something beautiful.
Then Remy came back from the front porch with the mail, and everything shifted.
"Uh, chere?" he called, his voice having lost its playful edge, his brow furrowing as he flipped through the envelopes in his hand, his shoulders tensing visibly. "You got some... interesting correspondence."
I looked up from my second cup of coffee, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw had tightened. "Interesting how?" I asked, setting down my mug, my own body tensing in response to his shift in mood.
"Interesting like your parents sent a letter," he said, holding up a cream-colored envelope, expensive stationery, my name written in my mother's perfect cursive.
He crossed back to the table, his footsteps heavier than usual.
"And interesting like there's something from a law firm representing Crescent Holdings LLC. "
The warmth I'd been basking in evaporated. Harper went still, his gray eyes sharpening. Silas's hand found my knee under the table, a steadying pressure. Even Gumbo lifted his head from my lap, sensing the shift in the room's energy.
"Give them here," I said, holding out my hand, keeping my voice steady even as my heart began to pound against my ribs.
Remy crossed to me and placed both envelopes in my palm, his fingers lingering on mine for a moment, his amber eyes dark with concern, all playfulness gone. "Want us to give you privacy?"
"No," I said without hesitation, my fingers tightening around the paper. "Whatever this is, you're part of it now. Stay."
I opened my parents' letter first. Might as well get the personal betrayal out of the way before the legal threats.
Artemis,
We've heard disturbing rumors about your situation in Louisiana. Multiple Alphas? This is not how we raised you. This is not what proper Omegas do.
Your Aunt Marguerite filled your head with nonsense about independence and "following your heart," and look where it got her—alone, unmated, wasting away in that swamp with nothing. Is that what you want for yourself?
It's not too late to course correct. Choose ONE suitable Alpha—the Fontenot boy seems successful enough, if you insist on staying in that backwater—and settle down properly. End this embarrassing display before it damages the family name further.
Your father has connections. We can make this go away. But you need to come to your senses first.
Call us when you're ready to be reasonable.
Mother
I read it twice. Then a third time, just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating the sheer audacity.
"Chere?" Remy's voice was careful, his hand hovering near my shoulder like he wasn't sure if touch would help or hurt. "What does it say?"
I laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh.
"My mother wants me to 'course correct,'" I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth, my grip on the letter tightening until the paper crinkled.
"Apparently, having three Alphas is 'not what proper Omegas do.
' She thinks Aunt Marguerite 'filled my head with nonsense.
' And she wants me to pick ONE of you—specifically you, Harper, you're 'successful enough'—and stop this 'embarrassing display. '"
A growl rumbled through the kitchen. It took me a moment to realize it came from Harper—a low, dangerous sound that seemed to vibrate in my chest.
"She doesn't get to—" he started, his hands curling into fists on the table, knuckles going white, a vein pulsing in his temple.
"She doesn't get anything," I cut him off, my own voice sharp as a blade. "She lost the right to have opinions about my life when she shipped me off to Aunt Marguerite the moment I presented. When she decided having an omega daughter was too embarrassing to deal with. When she—"
I stopped. Breathed. Gumbo's head pressed more firmly into my lap, grounding me.
"When she what, sweetheart?" Harper asked, his voice gentled, though the growl still lurked beneath the surface, his gray eyes soft with concern.