Chapter 6
I ’m leaning against the back of Levi’s chair, watching him organize his meticulously labeled folder system for the third time this week.
The guy’s a certified genius with structural engineering, but sometimes I wonder if he’s got a touch of that obsessive-compulsive thing going on.
His amber eyes narrow in concentration as he aligns each tab to perfect precision, the overhead lights catching the sharp angles of his cheekbones and that always-perfect undercut he maintains.
“You know,” I say, flicking one of his perfectly aligned tabs, “I bet you color-code your underwear drawer, too.”
Levi doesn’t even look up, just bats my hand away without missing a beat.
“Better than having to smell-test like you probably do.”
“Harsh, man.” I clutch my chest in mock offense.
“ And here I was going to share my secret stash of those spicy chips you pretend not to like.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face.
“The ones from that place in Portland?”
“The very same,” I confirm, reaching into my bag to pull out the contraband.
Levi’s amber eyes light up for a millisecond before he schools his expression.
I’ve known this guy long enough to recognize his tells.
“Fine,” he says, taking the bag and carefully opening it along the seam.
Such a fucking perfectionist. “But if Atlas asks where they came from?—”
“You know nothing,” I finish, grinning.
“Speaking of our fearless leader...”
My eyes catch movement through the station window.
I jump up from where I’m lounging and rush over for a better view.
Atlas’s heavy-duty truck is pulling into the parking space marked Chief .
Even from here, I can see his broad silhouette behind the wheel.
But it’s the passenger that makes me press closer to the glass.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
“He actually brought her.”
Levi is suddenly at my side, folder forgotten as he peers through the window.
“The Omega author?”
“In the flesh,” I confirm, watching as Atlas exits the truck and circles around to open her door.
Such a gentleman, our Atlas.
“Damn, she looks even better in daylight than she did covered in soot and ash last night.”
We watch as she steps out, all curves and honey- blond hair.
She’s shorter than I expected, delicate next to Atlas’s hulking frame.
I feel a tug low in my gut.
“She’s pretty,” Levi murmurs, his usually softer tone with something I rarely hear from him—genuine interest.
“Pretty?” I scoff, bumping his shoulder with mine.
“Dude, she’s fucking gorgeous. Look at those legs. And that ass… you could bounce a quarter off it.”
“Must you be so crude?” Levi sighs, but he doesn’t deny it or look away.
“You’re not disagreeing,” I point out, watching as Atlas guides her toward the station entrance, his hand hovering near the small of her back but not quite touching.
Always so careful, our chief.
“Ten bucks says you’ve already imagined what she’d look like spread out on your sheets.”
“Shut up,” Levi hisses.
“Atlas will hear you.”
“Atlas will smell it on you, anyway,” I tease.
“You’re practically broadcasting ‘interested Alpha’ right now.”
It’s true—there’s a shift in Levi’s usually controlled scent.
That clean, tea-and-smoke smell has deepened, taking on notes that make my own Alpha instincts stir in response.
It’s been happening more between the three of us lately, this strange synchronization of reactions.
“Like you’re any better,” Levi mutters.
He’s got me there. I can feel my own scent sharpening, that cinnamon-spice intensity that always gives me away.
“Can you blame me? First Omega to catch my attention in months,” I admit, watching as they disappear from view.
“She’s something special. You felt it too last night at the fire.”
Levi’s gaze flicks to mine, a moment of silent communication passing between us.
Yeah, we both noticed her, even in the chaos of that house fire.
There was something about her that made all three of us hyperaware of her presence.
“Come on,” I say, pulling back from the window.
“Let’s not be creeps staring through the glass. Time to turn on my famous charm.”
“God help us all,” Levi mutters but follows me toward the main entrance.
The station’s common area is empty when we enter, but I can hear Atlas’s deep voice coming from down the hall.
We follow the sound to the east wing, where our spare quarters are located.
As we approach, I catch fragments of their conversation.
“…should be comfortable enough for however long you need to stay,” Atlas is saying.
“I really don’t want to impose,” she replies.
“After what happened at your place last night, I’m offering you a place to stay,” Atlas insists.
“Could be a day, could be a month. However long you want.”
I round the corner, Levi close behind, just as she’s stepping into the doorway.
Atlas stands beside her, looking like a damn mountain next to her petite frame.
His dark blue eyes flick to us, a silent warning evident in them that I cheerfully ignore.
“And this will be your room while you’re with us,” Atlas continues as we approach.
It’s the best room in the station.
She stands in the doorway, taking in the surprisingly spacious accommodation.
There’s a comfortable queen bed with actual decent linens, a private bathroom, a small desk, and even a little sitting area with a reading lamp.
Homey, by firehouse standards.
“This is... way nicer than I expected,” she says.
She turns to Atlas. “I really appreciate this. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“We take care of our own in Whispering Grove,” Atlas replies, his deep voice rumbling in that way that even makes me want to stand at attention sometimes.
I can’t help myself.
“What the chief means is, we don’t often get beautiful Omegas gracing our humble station, so we’re pulling out all the stops.”
“River Graham,” I introduce myself, stepping forward with my hand extended and my most winning smile in place.
“Wildfire specialist and second-in-command around here. The pleasure is absolutely mine.”
Her hand feels small in mine, but there’s surprising strength in her grip.
Up close, her scent hits me like a sucker punch—old books and honey and something warm that coils around my senses like a vice.
Something primal in me wants to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in until I’m drunk on it.
“Emma,” she replies, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.
“Though I guess you already know that from last night.”
I hold her hand a beat longer than strictly necessary.
“I mostly saw you from a distance while this big guy played hero.” I jerk my thumb toward Atlas, who doesn’t quite manage to hide his eye roll.
“You’re the one who kept the neighbor’s tree from catching fire and spreading to the rest of the block,” she counters, surprising me with her observation.
“I noticed.”
“She’s observant,” I say to my packmates, impressed.
“I’m Levi Wolfe, fire prevention and structural engineering specialist.”
Emma takes his offered hand, and I don’t miss how Levi’s nostrils flare subtly as they touch.
The corner of her mouth quirks up, suggesting she didn’t miss it either.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, and there’s a slight crack in her composure as she takes in all three of us standing there.
Can’t blame her—three Alphas in close quarters is a lot for anyone, let alone an Omega who’s been through what Atlas told us she has.
“Do you all live here?” she asks, gesturing around the station.
“Might as well, considering how much time we spend here,” Atlas replies.
“But no, we have a place just outside town, in the woods.”
“Kitchen’s fully stocked,” Levi states, gesturing down the hall.
“Dining area is communal. We usually eat dinner together around seven when we’re not on a call. You’re welcome to join us or eat in your room if you prefer.”
“We won’t bite,” I add with a wink.
“Unless specifically requested.”
“River,” Atlas growls.
I throw up my hands in surrender, though I don’t miss the way Emma’s pulse jumps in her throat.
Interesting.
“Ignore him,” Levi advises her.
“We all do.”
“Wound me, why don’t you,” I clutch my heart dramatically.
A small laugh escapes Emma, and it’s like music, slightly husky and genuine.
“It’s kind of amazing how well you play off each other. How long have you been a pack?”
“Five years officially,” Atlas answers.
“Though we worked together for a while before that.”
“It’s nice,” she says, and there’s a wistfulness in her tone that tugs at something deep in my chest. “Having people who just... get you. Who fit with you.”
The observation is unexpected, and for a moment, none of us seem to know how to respond.
There’s a heaviness in the air suddenly.
“It is,” Levi adds finally.
“Actually…” Atlas glances at his watch, breaking the moment.
“I have to make some calls. Emma, get settled in. Anything you need, these two can help you. Or if they’re being pains in the ass, which is likely, any of the other crew members can assist. ”
“Actually,”—Levi glances at a notification on his sleek watch—“I have that video conference with the county board about the new fire prevention protocols in five minutes.”
“Guess that leaves me as your welcoming committee,” I say to Emma, unable to keep the pleasure from my voice.
“Lucky you.”
“Lucky me,” she echoes, but there’s a wariness in her eyes that makes me wonder if she doesn’t feel particularly lucky at all.
That’s fine. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.
Atlas gives me one last warning look before he and Levi head out, leaving Emma and me alone in the doorway of her temporary room.
She shifts her small backpack from one hand to the other, looking momentarily lost.
“Need help unpacking?” I offer.
“Not much to unpack,” she admits.
“I grabbed what I could when I escaped the fire.” She winces slightly.
“Still feels surreal. Yesterday, I was just checked into the cabin for a vacation, and today, I’m basically a refugee.”
“A very welcome refugee,” I assure her.
“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour while those two handle their important business.” I wait as she sets her bag on the bed, then lead her out into the corridor.
“So, emergency exit that way,” I point to the right.
“Main bay that way, and kitchen and common areas to the left. Anything particular you’d like to see first? ”
“Kitchen would be good,” she says.
“I haven’t had coffee yet, and I’m basically useless without it.”
“A woman after my own heart,” I declare.
“Atlas is a tea guy, if you can believe it. And Levi drinks these disgusting green health shakes he makes in the blender at unholy hours of the morning.”
That gets another smile from her, and I find myself cataloging the microexpressions that cross her face.
The slight crease at the corners of her mouth when she grins, the way her bottom lip curves just a fraction more on the right side.
There’s something almost addictive about making her smile, about watching the subtle play of emotions on her expressive face.
“Your pack is... not what I expected,” she says as we walk.
“How so?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“You’re all so different. Most packs I’ve encountered tend to be more... uniform. Similar types, similar personalities.”
I consider this as we enter the kitchen, a well-equipped space with industrial-sized appliances and a large island in the center.
“I think that’s why we work. Atlas is the leader, the protector. Levi’s the brain, the planner. And I’m?—”
“The heart,” she finishes for me, then looks embarrassed.
“Sorry. That was presumptuous.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at her assessment.
“Most people just say I’m the comic relief.”
“You’re more than that,” she says with a certainty that catches me off guard.
“I can tell. ”
For once, I don’t have a clever response ready.
Instead, I busy myself with the coffee maker, pulling out cups and grounds.
“How do you take it?”
“Black, two sugars,” she replies, hopping up to sit on one of the barstools at the island.
She looks around the kitchen appreciatively.
“This place is seriously nice for a fire station.”
“Atlas has been upgrading it piece by piece since he took over as chief,” I explain, measuring coffee.
“Says if we’re going to spend half our lives here, it should feel like someplace worth being.”
“He seems like a good leader,” she observes.
“The best,” I agree without hesitation.
“Saved my ass more times than I can count… literally and figuratively.”
The coffee maker gurgles to life, and the rich aroma starts to fill the kitchen.
Emma inhales appreciatively.
“So,” I say, leaning against the counter while we wait for the coffee.
“What’s your story, Emma? Besides being a successful author whose cabin just got torched.” She tenses slightly, and I realize I’ve pushed too direct, too fast. “Sorry,” I backtrack.
“Professional hazard. We firefighters tend to skip the small talk.”
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, though her posture remains guarded.
“Not much to tell, really. I write fantasy romance books. It’s done... unexpectedly well. Enough that I had to get an agent to handle the business side.”
I’m pouring the now-ready coffee into two mugs— a novelty one with Too Hot To Handle emblazoned on it for her and my personal fire-engine red one for me.
She accepts the mug with a grateful smile, adding sugar from the bowl I slide her way.
She takes a sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful.
“Anyway,” she says. “What about you? How does one become a wildfire specialist?”
I debate whether to give her the sanitized version I tell most people, but something about her makes me want to be honest.
“Got caught in a forest fire when I was seventeen. Ran away from home, well, from the corrections facility my parents sent me to. Was living rough in the woods when a wildfire started. Fire crew found me, saved me. Figured I’d pay it forward.”
I don’t know why I’m telling her these bits of myself I usually keep locked down tight, but there’s something about her that draws the truth out, as natural as breathing.
Her eyes soften with understanding rather than pity, which I appreciate.
“Corrections facility?”
“My pheromone patterns are slightly atypical,” I explain, surprised that I’m willing to share this so soon.
“Not enough to prevent me from being an Alpha, but enough that my perfect, wealthy parents decided I needed to be fixed. Turns out you can’t beat biological quirks out of someone, though they sure as hell tried.”
“That’s terrible,” she says with a gasp, and the genuine outrage in her words is oddly comforting.
“I’m so sorry you went through that. ”
I shrug, uncomfortable with the direction I’ve taken our conversation.
“Ancient history. Made me who I am, right? And now I get to play with fire for a living, so who’s the real winner here?”
She smiles, but it’s softer now, as if she sees through my attempt to lighten the mood.
“Still. Parents are supposed to protect you, not hurt you.”
“Speaking from experience?” I ask, catching something in her tone.
She looks down at her coffee.
“My parents died when I was sixteen. Boating accident.”
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I say, mentally kicking myself.
“Me and my big mouth.”
“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” she says, but her knuckles have gone white around her mug.
“My grandmother raised me after. She was the one who encouraged my writing.”
“She sounds like a smart lady.”
“She was,” Emma says, and the past tense tells me all I need to know.
“She passed just as my first book was accepted for publication three years ago.”
The raw hurt in her tone makes something feral stir in my chest, a desire to shelter, to protect, to ensure nothing else hurts her ever again.
It’s disturbing in its intensity, far beyond what I should be feeling for someone I’ve just met.
“So,” I say, trying to pull us back to safer ground.
“What does a bestselling author do for fun when she’s not fleeing burning buildings?”
That gets a genuine laugh out of her, and the sound of it eases something tight in my chest.
“Not much, lately. Writing takes up most of my time. I used to love swimming, grew up on the coast. Moonshell Bay has some decent lakes and rivers, though.”
“We’ve got a lake about twenty minutes from here,” I offer.
“The water’s clean, and there’s a nice little beach area.”
“Sounds nice,” she says, but there’s a hesitancy in her voice.
Is she not planning on sticking around long enough to see it?
She finishes her coffee, and an hour passes before I realize it, her company making time slip by unnoticed.
I’m about to tell her about the time Atlas had to rescue a raccoon family from the station’s chimney when she glances at her phone.
“I should probably get settled in,” she says, though she sounds reluctant.
“And I’m sure you have actual work to do instead of entertaining me.”
“Entertaining beautiful women is my specialty,” I say with a wink, though in truth, I’ve enjoyed our conversation more than I expected.
It’s comfortable, yet exciting at the same time.
“I bet it is,” she says dryly, sliding off the barstool.
“Is there somewhere I could wash some clothes?”
“Laundry room’s this way,” I say, taking our empty mugs to the sink.