Chapter 10
10
EMMA
T he door to the watchtower closes behind me with a soft click, leaving me alone in the main living area of what is apparently now my temporary home.
The enormity of the space hits me all at once—this isn’t just a cabin, it’s practically a mansion disguised as rustic living.
“Damn,” I whisper to nobody, turning in a slow circle.
“And I thought Chad’s two-bedroom apartment was fancy because it had a garbage disposal.” This cabin, though, is the kind of place people post on Instagram with captions like ‘just a little weekend getaway’ while the rest of us contemplate murder.
I run my fingers over the polished edge of a wooden side table, half-convinced I’ve stumbled into an alternate reality where firefighters moonlight as luxury real estate developers, when the creak of the floorboards comes from my left and nearly sends me jumping out of my skin .
“Like what you see?” Levi says.
I whirl around, clutching my chest. “Jesus! Shouldn’t you be wearing a bell or something? Or do they teach ninja-level sneaking at firefighter school?”
He’s against the doorframe of a hallway.
And honestly? The sight of him does nothing to convince me I haven’t fallen into some parallel universe where men like this actually exist outside of romance novel covers.
While Atlas gives off that whole rugged lumberjack-who-could-bench-press-you vibe, Levi is.
.. well, he’s what would happen if someone gave a Renaissance sculptor permission to go absolutely feral.
Dark hair falls across his forehead in that annoyingly perfect way that would take me forty-five minutes and three styling products to achieve.
Cheekbones sharp enough to split shadows.
And a body that’s all muscle wrapped in a charcoal Henley and jeans that fit him like they were custom made.
But it’s his eyes that make my stomach do a weird flippy thing—amber gold and watching me with this little half-smile that makes me wonder if he can read minds.
God, I hope not. My thoughts right now aren’t exactly PG-13.
Like, if he told me to get on my knees, I don’t think my brain would even put up an argument.
“I was coming to get you,” he murmurs, pushing off from the doorframe with a graceful movement that has me mentally comparing him to a panther.
A sexy panther. In people clothes.
My brain is a disaster zone.
“Atlas said you might be thirsty,” he continues, moving into the room with a casual confidence that somehow makes the space feel smaller.
I realize I’m staring when his lips twitch into a small smile.
Not the polite customer-service smile he wore when Atlas introduced us yesterday.
This one has an edge to it, as if he’s enjoying a private joke.
“Sorry, what?” I manage, mortified to be caught ogling him like he’s the last donut in the box.
His smile widens, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek.
“You weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?”
“I was...”—my brain scrambles desperately—“honestly just having an existential crisis about how three bachelors live in a place this gorgeous while my place had a suspicious stain on the ceiling that I’m pretty sure was forming its own ecosystem.”
He laughs, and the sound is deeper than I expected, more genuine.
“So, you like the place?”
“ Like is what I feel about pizza and puppies. This house is...” I gesture helplessly.
“It’s a palace.”
“Thanks.” He actually looks pleased, a hint of pride softening his sharp features.
“I had a vision for it. The others helped execute, but the design was my baby.”
“Well, congratulations on your very attractive baby,” I say, then immediately cringe.
“That came out weird. Please ignore me. I’m still slightly traumatized from nearly becoming a human s’more the other day.”
Instead of backing away slowly like any reasonable person would, Levi just grins wider.
“So, hungry? ”
My stomach answers before my mouth can, growling audibly in the quiet room.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he answers, heading toward the kitchen.
“Come on, you can raid the fridge if you want before you start eyeing the furniture for edibility.”
I follow him, oddly comforted by his lack of reaction to my awkwardness.
“So, this is how the other half lives,” I mutter, perching on a barstool at the island.
Levi gives me a curious look as he opens the refrigerator.
“Other half?”
“You know, the half that doesn’t eat ramen three nights a week.”
“Ah.” He nods sagely.
“The struggle between artistic integrity and capitalism’s cold, unforgiving embrace.”
I blink, surprised by the poetic phrasing.
“Exactly that.”
“Drink preference?” he asks, head still in the fridge.
“We’ve got water, juice, beer—though it’s probably too early for that.”
“Do you have soda?” I ask, trying to appear casual while my internal organs are still doing the electric slide every time he moves.
He turns around, and the way his face lights up makes my heart do a stupid little stutter.
In each hand, he holds a can of Dr. Pepper like he’s presenting the crown jewels.
“Would you believe this is my favorite? The others think I’m crazy. ”
“No way!” The genuine delight that bubbles up surprises even me.
“It’s my favorite, too!”
“Atlas and River think it tastes like sweetened motor oil,” he adds, sliding a can across the island to me.
“Their loss.”
Popping the tab, I take a grateful sip.
“So good.” I tap mine against his.
“To temporary roommates who don’t judge my questionable beverage choices.”
“Speaking of your temporary residence,” he says after taking a long drink.
“Want to see where you’ll be staying?”
“Lead the way,” I reply, sliding off the stool and grabbing my backpack.
“Fair warning though, my standards are now impossibly high after seeing this kitchen.”
Levi guides me down a hallway that branches off from the main living area.
The walls are lined with framed photographs—mostly landscapes, a few of the three Alphas in firefighting gear, and some of spectacular thunderstorms.
“These are gorgeous,” I comment, pausing to examine a shot of lightning illuminating a mountain range.
“Local?”
“Mostly,” he says, stopping beside me.
“We picked some of them up at the art market during the Summer Festivals. The photographers around here are incredible, they capture the valley in all seasons.”
He’s standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him and smell the intoxicating blend of campfire and lemon that seems to cling to his skin.
He doesn’t touch me, but the way he angles his body makes it clear he could, easily, if he wanted to.
The realization sends a shiver down my spine.
“This one’s my favorite,” he begins, nodding to a photo of the watchtower silhouetted against a sunset.
“Reminds me how lucky we are to call this place home.”
There’s something about the way he says ‘home’ that makes my chest ache a little.
It’s been a long time since anywhere felt like that to me.
I moved in with Chad about a year ago, but the apartment never felt like mine.
Like I was borrowing someone else’s life, and it never quite fit.
We continue down the hall, passing several closed doors.
“Atlas’s room,” he explains, pointing to one, then another, “River’s,” and then a third, “mine”, before reaching the end.
He pauses, hand on the doorknob of the final door.
“This is you,” he says, then pushes it open.
I step past him, and the tiny gasp that escapes me is embarrassingly audible in the quiet room.
This isn’t just a guest room.
This is... it’s like someone reached into my tired, Omega brain, extracted all my secret comfort fantasies, and manifested them into physical form.
The room is bathed in a warm glow from bedside lamps, the harsh overhead light dimmed to almost nothing.
A four-poster bed dominates the center, draped with gauzy fabric that creates a secluded cocoon.
The bedding has a cloud-looking comforter.
Plush blankets in jewel tones, throws that look butter-soft, and dear God, are those silk pillowcases?
There must be a dozen pillows, all arranged in a way that practically screams dive in to me.
A small bookshelf holds what looks suspiciously like dog-eared romance novels, thrillers, and even a few literary fiction titles.
Beside it stands a small table with, my heart actually skips, an arrangement of snacks that can only be described as a shrine to emotional eating.
Chocolate in various forms, cheese crackers, trail mix, even a thermos of what smells like herbal tea.
Near the window is a reading nook with an oversized armchair and ottoman.
The TV mounted on the wall is positioned perfectly for bed-viewing, with a remote already on the nightstand next to…
are those mini chocolate bars?
But it’s the smaller touches that utterly undo me.
Slippers by the door.
An oversized hoodie hanging from a hook.
The subtle scent of lavender and vanilla permeates the air.
This isn’t just hospitality.
This is an Omega nest. One created with deliberate, thoughtful care by an Alpha who.
.. noticed.
Who saw me.
“You did this for me?” My voice comes out small, vulnerable in a way I hate.
Levi leans against the doorframe, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“I noticed how you’d started to nest at the fire station last night. Figured you could use the real thing after what you’ve been through.”
I circle the room slowly, touching everything with my fingertips, the soft edge of a blanket, the smooth cover of a book, the cool ceramic of a mug waiting beside the thermos.
A lump forms in my throat, hot and tight.
“No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” I admit, the raw honesty hanging in the air between us.
Something fierce and possessive flares across his face.
For a split second, he looks like he might cross the room to me, but instead, he simply says, “That’s a damn shame, Emma.”
The way he says my name sends heat spiraling through me.
“I stocked the snacks like it was an emergency shelter,” he adds, nodding toward the table.
“Chocolate for immediate crises, salty things for sustained energy, tea for comfort, backup treats in the drawer for when you inevitably demolish the visible supply.”
I laugh despite the emotion still thick in my throat.
“Planning for the snackalypse?”
“Always be prepared,” he intones seriously, but his gaze is dancing.
“There’s also an electric blanket already set up, controller between the mattress and headboard. And a massage pad under it, instructions in the nightstand drawer.”
I stare at him, genuinely speechless.
“You thought of everything.”
“I pay attention.” He says it simply, but there’s nothing straightforward about the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a treasure map he’s memorizing.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I feel compelled to clarify.
“I’m not, um, going into heat or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
His smile is slow, deliberate, transforming his serious face into something almost predatory.
“I’m not worried,” he says, voice dropping lower.
“But nesting doesn’t automatically mean heat.”
He tilts his head slightly, and I watch with a mixture of alarm and arousal as his nostrils flare subtly.
Is he... scenting me?
The thought sends a jolt of electricity straight to places that have no business being electrified right now.
“Unless you are?” he adds.
“No!” I blurt, then scramble to recover.
“Definitely not.” I need to change the subject before I spontaneously combust. “I don’t know how to thank you enough. This is seriously incredible.”
I move toward the bed, pushing aside one of the gauzy curtains to sit on the edge.
The mattress is perfect—supportive but plush, like sleeping on a supportive cloud.
“I have to ask,” I say, desperate to redirect the conversation.
“What’s with your Dr. Pepper love? Most people I know think it’s the weird cousin of the soda family.”
Levi hesitates for a moment, then comes to sit beside me on the bed.
Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I’m acutely aware of every inch of him.
“Want to know a secret?” he asks, his voice lower, more intimate.
I nod, relieved by the conversational lifeline.
“My mom used to love it,” he reveals, rolling his can between his palms. “When I was a kid, maybe six or seven, I’d sneak into the kitchen at night and steal sips from her stash in the back of the fridge.” His expression softens with the memory, making him look younger and more open.
“She always knew. Would complain to my dad about the mysteriously disappearing soda, and he’d get all defensive because he hated the stuff. Meanwhile, I’d be sitting there, trying not to giggle and give myself away.” He shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping.
“Every single time, she’d wink at me when he wasn’t looking. Our little conspiracy.”
The image of a small, serious-faced Levi trying to suppress his giggles makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “That’s adorable.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, but I can tell the memory means more to him than he’s letting on.
“Now, it’s just habit. Comfort in a can, I guess.”
“The best traditions usually start as accidents,” I tell him.
“The ones that remind you of people you love.”
His eyes meet mine, and something electric passes between us, a current that feels too dangerous to examine closely .
“You can stay here as long as you need, you know,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine.
“We’ve got plenty of space.”
“Thanks, but hopefully, it won’t be too long.” I try to sound casual, like I’m not hyperaware of how close we’re sitting, how his scent is wrapping around me.
“Just until they figure out what caused the fire, and I can sort out my next steps.”
“About that.” He leans back slightly, one arm braced behind him on the bed.
The movement stretches his Henley across his chest in a way that should be illegal.
“Atlas has been pushing them to prioritize it.”
“Really?” I’m genuinely surprised.
“That’s... unexpectedly kind of him.”
The smile that spreads across Levi’s face is nothing short of sinful.
“I don’t see the rush, do you?”
There’s something in his tone, a dark undercurrent of suggestion that makes slick pool between my thighs ridiculously fast. It’s the voice of an Alpha who knows exactly what he wants and is simply waiting for the right moment to take it.
And God help me, that voice does things to me that I should ignore.
“I—” My voice catches, and I have to take a sip of Dr. Pepper to cover the momentary lapse.
“I suppose there’s something to be said for taking one’s time.”
His eyes darken fractionally, and I watch, transfixed, as he stands smoothly and walks, no, prowls, to the bookshelf.
He trails his fingers along the spines of the books, the gesture somehow both casual and deliberately sensual.
“You’re going to sleep better knowing I built this room for you,” he says, glancing back at me.
His voice is low, almost gravelly.
“That’s what matters to me.” He moves away from the bookshelf and pauses beside me again, deliberately close.
“Oh, I almost forgot. There are some clothes in the dresser for you. Nothing fancy, just basics, t-shirts, sweatpants, a couple of hoodies. Until we can get some clothes.”
I blink up at him, momentarily thrown by this casual statement.
“You... bought me clothes?”
“We all did,” he says, but there’s something in his expression that makes me think he was the driving force.
“Figured you’d need more than what was in your backpack.”
“Thank you,” I manage, the words inadequate for the tightness in my chest. “That’s incredibly thoughtful.”
He smiles, that small dimple appearing again.
“That’s what a pack does, Emma. We take care of our own.”
The implication that I might somehow be included in that ‘our own’ category sends a confused, pleasant warmth through me.
Before I can respond, his phone chirps in his pocket.
He checks it and sighs.
“River. I need to take this.”
I nod, strangely disappointed as he moves toward the door.
“I’ll let you get settled,” he says, pausing in the doorway.
“Bathroom’s directly across the hall if you need it. Towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a casual smile.
“For everything.”
He nods, then disappears down the hallway, his soft “Hey, River” fading as he moves away.
I collapse backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling through the gauzy canopy.
What the hell am I doing?
I’ve been in Whispering Grove for less than a week, and I’m already entertaining wildly inappropriate thoughts about not one but three of the Alphas who’ve generously offered me shelter.
Alphas who are packmates.
Alphas who live in this isolated, beautiful tower in the woods.
Alphas who have shown me nothing but kindness and respect, who created this perfect Omega nest for me without being asked.
I press my thighs together, suddenly aware of the insistent throb between them.
Even to my own nose, I can detect the subtle shift in my scent, sweeter, more intense, embarrassingly revealing to anyone with Alpha senses.
God, I need to get a grip.
Or a cold shower. Preferably both.
I sit up, resolute. A shower.
That’s what I need. To clear my head, to cool the fire that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my veins since arriving in this town.
I head for the bathroom Levi indicated.
Then I duck inside, closing the door perhaps more firmly than necessary.
As I turn on the shower, cranking the temperature dial firmly toward the red end of the spectrum, I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed, eyes too bright, lips slightly parted.
I look... affected.
“Get it together, Emma,” I mutter.
“They’re just being nice. You’re just traumatized and emotional and mistaking basic human kindness for... whatever this is.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
The way Levi looked at me wasn’t just kindness.
The energy between us wasn’t my imagination.
And if I’m honest with myself, the same charge has been building between Atlas and me since the moment he sat next to me on the plane.
And now I’m living under their roof.
Surrounded by their scents.
Sleeping in a nest one of them built for me with his own hands.
As steam begins to fill the bathroom, I force myself to face the unavoidable truth—I am in serious, serious trouble.
How am I supposed to resist three gorgeous Alphas when just one of them makes my knees weak?
How am I supposed to protect my already battered heart when they’re all being so impossibly, irresistibly perfect?
The answer is simple, I can’t.
That terrifies me more than any fire ever could.