Chapter 24
Boone
The highway is chaos.
Metal twisted in on itself like crushed soda cans, smoke curling off a hood that should’ve been cold an hour ago, the stench of antifreeze and scorched rubber thick in the air.
My gloves are already blackened from hauling wreckage, my muscles screaming with the effort of pulling one more door open, one more body out.
Sirens wail in the distance, layered over the chatter of radios and the clipped shouts of paramedics moving in and out. It’s all hands on deck: the police, us, and the firefighters. Everyone working together to figure this out.
Pile-ups are the worst. One second of distraction, one patch of ice or slick, and it’s dominoes—car into car into truck into whatever unlucky bastard was driving behind them.
Tonight, it’s a six-car chain reaction just outside Driftwood. Nothing fatal, thank God, but injuries up and down the line, every one needing a hand.
I’ve got adrenaline pumping through me, but under it there’s a steady hum of exhaustion. It’s been weeks of running on fumes—station, firehouse, back to Sadie, trying to keep the world from falling apart around her while I feel myself coming undone.
“Walker!” one of the younger firefighters yells. “We need the spreader!”
I grab the jaws of life and jog toward the crumpled sedan pinned between two SUVs. My shoulders burn with the weight, but I keep moving. There’s no stopping when people are trapped.
I’m so focused that I don’t hear him until he’s right behind me.
“What the hell’s going on, Boone?”
I whip around, spreader in hand, to find Gabe standing there in his deputy’s jacket, expression sharp, eyes narrowed. Of course he’s here—accidents pull everyone in. Fire, EMTs, police. He looks like he’s been running all day too, tie shoved in his pocket, shirt rolled at the sleeves.
“What?” I grunt, shoving the spreader into the hands of a firefighter.
“You’ve been on edge since you got the call.” His voice is lower now, for me alone. “Your face looks like you’re waiting for another bomb to drop. What’s wrong?”
Normally, I’d bite back. Normally, I’d tell him to mind his own business.
Gabe and I haven’t exactly been brothers lately. He’s been short with me, I’ve been short with him, and Sadie’s caught in the middle more than she should be. But right now, the fight isn’t in me.
“She got a message,” I say finally, voice clipped, eyes darting to the scene so I don’t have to look at him. “From Scott. Video of her at the unveiling. Message said, ‘Found you.’”
Gabe’s curse is sharp, low enough that only I hear it. He drags a hand over his face, the anger in his eyes flashing hot before he smothers it under something tighter, colder.
“Jesus, Boone.” He steps closer, voice like iron. “You shouldn’t even be here. You need to go.”
I shake my head. “We’re in the middle of a pile-up, Gabe. I can’t just walk.”
“The hell you can’t.” His voice sharpens, cutting through the noise of the scene. “Your girl is out there thinking that bastard’s closing in. Shepard texted. He got her to his place, but that’s not enough. She needs you.”
The word hits me harder than I expect. Girl. Like he’s acknowledging it. A rare moment where Gabe’s guard drops, and the truth of what Sadie is to me slips out.
“I can’t leave the crew.” My voice is stubborn, but weaker than I want.
“You can and you will.” Gabe steps into my space, low and hard, a brother’s command more than a deputy’s order. “I’ll cover this. I’ll talk to your boss. They’ve got hands enough. But Sadie? She doesn’t have anyone if it’s not us.
“Go home, Boone. Don’t make me say it again. The mayor is already on his way, and with that you know the media will be all over this and the roads will probably be closed. We have more than enough people to work on this. Go before you get stuck in traffic.”
I stare at him. There seems to be no resentment on his face. Just urgency. Just understanding.
I nod once. “Fine.”
He claps my shoulder, quick, rough. “Go.”
So I do. I strip off my gloves, hand the rest of my gear to another firefighter, and grab my truck. My pulse pounds harder with every mile back into Driftwood, the flashing lights of the accident fading in my rearview.
By the time I pull into the parking lot, my adrenaline has curdled into something else—fear.
I take the stairs two at a time. The door isn’t locked—of course it isn’t, Shep never locks it when he knows I’m coming. Gus greets me with a wag, but even his tail-thump doesn’t ease me.
“Shep?” I call low.
“In here.” His voice drifts from the living room.
I find them on the couch. Sadie’s curled up small, bouquet discarded on the coffee table, phone nowhere in sight. She’s asleep, her face pressed into the throw pillow, hair spilling pink and messy across her cheek.
And over her, Shepard’s draped a blanket, tucked in around her shoulders like he’s guarding her even in dreams.
Something in me unclenches at the sight. Relief, raw and fierce, nearly buckles me. She’s safe. She’s here.
But then—
The air shifts.
Her scent has always been paint and soap, faint citrus, something that’s just hers. But now, under it, there’s a sharper note. Warmer. Heavier. Musk threading through sweet.
My stomach tightens immediately, recognition flashing through me.
Heat.
It hits me like a blow. Not full yet, not overwhelming, but it’s there. The first stirrings of it, unmistakable to an Alpha.
Shepard notices the way I freeze. His eyes narrow. “What?”
I drag a hand over my jaw, keeping my voice low. “Her scent. It’s different.”
He frowns, glancing down at her like he might smell it too if he tried hard enough. “Different how?”
I hesitate, but there’s no sense lying. “Heat.”
Understanding dawns on his face, grim. “But… she’s on suppressants. I thought they keep it in check.”
“They do,” I murmur, crouching beside the couch, careful not to wake her. “But nothing’s perfect. Stress can push through. Trauma, anxiety, anything that shakes her balance.” I study the line of her face, the slight crease in her brow even in sleep. “Scott reaching out—it might’ve been enough.”
Shepard swallows hard. “Should we wake her?”
I shake my head immediately. “No. Not yet. Let her rest while she can. If it ramps up, we’ll deal with it. Together.”
I press a hand against the blanket near her shoulder, not touching her but close enough to remind myself she’s here. Warm. Breathing steady.
Inside me, something tight coils. Protectiveness. Fury. Need. A cocktail of instincts I’ve spent years keeping in check.
But over all of it—resolve.
Scott might have found her again. Her body might be betraying her with heat at the worst possible time. But she’s not alone.
Not this time.
The apartment feels different now that I’ve named it out loud. Heat. Once you speak it, there’s no ignoring it. The scent clings to the air, thick and insistent, weaving itself through every inhale. It’s not overpowering yet, but it’s enough to make my pulse tick faster, my skin prickle.
I’ve lived around Omegas my whole life—friends, packmates—but Sadie? It’s her. And that changes everything.
She’s still asleep on Shepard’s couch, curled into the pillow, blanket tucked tight around her shoulders. Her pink hair fans out over the cushion, a streak of brightness in my otherwise gray living room.
Gus hasn’t moved from his post on the floor, head resting on his paws, golden eyes flicking up at her every few minutes like he knows she’s fragile and needs guarding.
Two hours later, the door opens behind me. Before Shepard can even announce it, the familiar, sharp-edged presence of Gabe fills the room. He must’ve come straight from the accident scene—shirt still rumpled, gun belt on, jacket unzipped. His eyes go to Sadie first, then snap to me.
“What the hell, Boone?” His voice is low but already tight, suspicion riding every syllable.
“Keep it down. She’s sleeping,” Shepard warns quickly, rising from the chair near the bookshelf. His hand gestures low, a silent plea for calm.
Gabe steps closer, but then he hesitates. The air hits him the same way it hit me. His nostrils flare, and for the first time in a long while, I see him falter.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing. “That’s… is that what I think it is?”
I nod once. “Heat.”
Gabe curses, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “I thought she was on suppressants. I thought the meds were keeping it under control.”
“They were.” My voice is clipped. “But trauma pushes through. Stress. Shock. You know that as well as I do.”
The three of us stand in uneasy silence, the scent clawing at us, making the room feel smaller.
It’s not just sweet; it’s magnetic, coaxing, the kind of pull that makes an Alpha’s instincts want to step closer, claim, soothe.
I grit my teeth and stay rooted to the spot, because that’s not what she needs.
Shepard’s the one who breaks it. “When she wakes up, she’ll need her suppressants.” His voice is steady, practical, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand grips the back of the chair like he needs grounding. “If the pills aren’t cutting it anymore, we need a stronger dose. IV, maybe.”
I nod slowly, gears already turning. “I can get some. We keep them stocked for emergencies—when an Omega needs to be stabilized fast.” My stomach knots, because even saying it feels like a betrayal of her privacy. But this isn’t optional. Not with Scott circling like a vulture.
“Scott,” Gabe growls, voice low. His eyes cut to me, sharp. “This is on him.”
My hands clench. “That bastard.”
“How did he even find her?” Gabe snaps.
The question hangs in the air until Shepard exhales, grim. “The murals. People have been taking pictures all over town, tagging her socials. She never deactivated them, Boone. She just stopped posting on them but they are still active. Scott didn’t need to chase her down, she left the breadcrumbs.”
My chest twists. I can see it in my head: Sadie laughing nervously while kids posed in front of her phoenix, townsfolk uploading photos with hashtags, Driftwood’s pride on full display. Innocent. Pure. And now poisoned.
“She’s been trying so damn hard to belong here,” I mutter, voice low, rough. “And now it’s the thing she built that gave him a map.”
No one argues. We all know it’s true.
Gabe’s pacing now, agitation sharp in every line of his body. “So what’s the plan? Keep her here and pray he doesn’t show up at the front door? Or do we actually put her under lock and key?”
“She’s not a prisoner,” I bite out.
“She’s a target,” he fires back.
The words sting because they’re true. She’s both.
“We at least know what the hell we are dealing with,” Shepard cuts in, surprising both of us. His voice is calm but threaded with steel. “And that means we protect her. Whatever it takes.”
The air hangs heavy. For once, Gabe doesn’t argue. He just drags a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that I don’t catch.
I crouch beside the couch, careful, slow. Sadie stirs faintly under the blanket, shifting like she’s caught in some half-dream, but she doesn’t wake.
Her skin’s flushed, damp at her temples. I brush the back of my hand near her cheek—not touching, just close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Fever. Her body’s working overtime, pulling her down into the spiral.
“She’s burning up,” I murmur.
Shepard moves closer. “We can cool her down, ice packs, water.”
“It won’t be enough,” I say flatly. “Not without medical help. I’ll get the suppressants. IV form works faster, steadier. I can handle it. You two”—I glance between them, the tension crackling sharp as ever—“keep an eye on her.”
“She’s not exactly easy to ignore,” Gabe mutters, voice clipped. His eyes dart toward her, then away again, jaw tight. The pheromones are clawing at all of us, testing our control, and none of us want to admit how hard it is to breathe steady in this room.
I lean down before I can stop myself. Just a fraction. My lips brush her forehead, a whisper of contact, nothing more. But the heat of her skin sears me, branding me in a way that lingers even after I pull back.
She stirs faintly, a small sound catching in her throat, but she doesn’t wake.
My chest tightens. I’ve kissed her forehead a thousand times in my head, but never like this. Not with her scent pulling me under, not with danger circling outside.
“She’s safe here,” I say, voice low, steadying myself as much as them. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
Neither of them argues. Not this time.
I grab my keys, one last look at her before forcing myself toward the door. Every instinct screams at me to stay, to plant myself here and never move again. But instincts won’t save her tonight.
Action will. And if I have to tear through the whole damn town to get what she needs, I will.