Chapter 6 #2
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
I lead her down a hallway to the facilities room.
It’s nothing fancy. Three industrial washers and dryers lined against one wall, shelves of supplies on the other.
“Fancy,” she teases.
“Only the best for Whispering Grove’s finest,” I reply with a grin.
“You should see our gym. State-of-the-art equipment from at least 2015.”
That gets a laugh out of her.
Something twists in my gut at the sound, a possessive feeling I haven’t experienced in a long, long time.
“Why don’t you get your clothes, and I’ll meet you back here?” I suggest. “I can show you how these temperamental beasts work.”
“Sounds good,” she agrees, heading back toward her room.
I find myself watching her walk away, the sway of her hips in that simple sundress making my mouth go dry.
Get it together, I scold myself.
She’s under our protection, for fuck’s sake.
But my traitorous head is already cataloging the curve of her waist, the smooth skin of her bare shoulders, and the way her hair falls in waves down her back.
She returns about thirty minutes later, now dressed in what looks like our spare station clothes, oversized t-shirt and sweatpants rolled at the waist and ankles.
The shirt’s tucked in but still big on her, emphasizing how small she is compared to us.
Her arms are holding a small bundle of clothes, and her damp hair is slicked back from her face, emphasizing those high cheekbones and full lips .
No bra, my gaze points out before I can shut that thought down.
Focus.
“Found the shower, I see.”
“Hope that’s okay,” she says.
“Atlas said to make myself at home, and I really needed to get the smoke smell off me.”
“Of course,” I assure her, tearing my gaze away from the way the damp shirt clings to certain parts of her body.
“This one works best,” I say, patting the middle washer.
“The one on the left eats socks, and the one on the right makes this concerning grinding noise that Levi keeps promising to investigate.”
I watch as Emma dumps the few clothes she’d been wearing during the fire into the washing machine.
She’s frowning slightly, probably thinking about everything she lost.
“So, have you heard about the festival happening this weekend?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood as I grab the detergent from the metal supply cabinet.
Her expression shifts, curiosity replacing the momentary melancholy.
“Oh, yeah, the cab driver told me.”
“Founder’s Festival,” I correct, unscrewing the cap with a flourish.
“Big event in our little slice of nowhere. Three days of small-town chaos that you absolutely have to experience.”
“What’s it like?” she asks, leaning against the dryer while I take over the washing duties.
I start pouring detergent directly into the machine.
“ Picture this, an entire town collectively losing its mind in the name of tradition. There’s a parade with the world’s most underwhelming floats, but everyone acts like they’re watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving spectacle.”
She laughs, the sound hitting something warm in my chest. “Sounds charming, actually.”
“Oh, it gets better,” I continue.
“The food stands are run by the same five families who’ve been having the same argument about whose corn dog recipe is superior since 1952. The rides are all probably older than we are, but somehow, they pass inspection every year.”
“Now I’m definitely intrigued,” she says.
“Last year was epic,” I tell her.
“Atlas got roped into judging the pie contest because Mrs. Henderson, the mayor’s wife, has had a crush on him since he carried her cat out of a tree three years ago.”
“No!” Emma’s covering her mouth, but I can see the smile behind her hand.
“Oh, yeah. There he was, Mr. Serious Fire Chief, having to taste twenty-seven different pies while Mrs. Henderson kept accidentally touching his biceps.” I demonstrate, making an exaggerated swooning motion that has Emma laughing outright now.
“What about Levi? He seems quiet,” she mentions, clearly enjoying this peek into our world.
“Levi is the farthest thing from quiet,” I sigh dramatically.
“At the last festival, he made the mistake of mentioning once—ONCE—that he understood the physics behind the dunk tank. Next thing you know, he’s sitting on the platform in shorts, explaining to anyone who would listen about the optimal trajectory needed to hit the target while some eight-year-old with freakishly good aim kept sending him into the water.”
“And you?” she challenges, eyebrow raised.
“What disaster were you causing?”
“Me? I was the model of decorum and restraint,” I declare with mock offense.
She just looks at me, disbelief written all over her face.
“Fine,” I concede, turning to the washing machine to select a cycle.
“I might have gotten carried away at the charity auction. Bid way too much on a quilt because Mrs. Finch made it, and she’s this sweet little grandmother who’s been stitching quilts for the auction for forty years. Nobody was bidding high enough, and her face just fell, and I couldn’t?—”
“That’s actually really sweet,” Emma interrupts, looking at me with something new in her expression.
I feel my neck heat up.
“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation as an irredeemable troublemaker to maintain.” I hit the start button on the washer with more force than necessary.
“Anyway, you should check it out. They’ve got these caramel apples that’ll change your life.”
“Another reason to check out this festival,” she says .
When she catches me staring, I don’t look away.
Let her see. Let her know exactly what’s running through my mind.
“Kitchen’s just down the hall,” I say.
“How about some hot chocolate? I make the best in town.”
“Lead the way,” she says, and there’s a huskiness to her voice that wasn’t there before.
As we walk down the corridor, I’m hyperaware of her presence beside me, the way she keeps a careful distance, not quite close enough to touch.
Smart Omega. But it doesn’t matter how careful she is.
I can still catch the edges of her scent, still feel the heat of her body like a phantom caress against my skin.
In the kitchen, I throw myself into making the hot chocolate, needing the distraction.
I use the good stuff—whole milk, real chocolate that I melt slowly, and a touch of cinnamon and nutmeg.
From the back of the pantry, I unearth Levi’s hidden stash of mini marshmallows.
He’ll be pissed, but right now, I don’t care.
Emma perches on a stool at the counter, one bare foot tucked under her, the other swinging slightly.
Her hair has mostly dried now, falling in soft waves around her face.
She’s absently twirling one strand around her finger as she watches me work.
“You seem to know your way around a kitchen,” she observes.
“I’m a man of many talents,” I reply, unable to keep the suggestive edge from my voice.
Her cheeks flush slightly, and satisfaction curls through me like smoke.
I place a steaming mug in front of her, heaped with marshmallows, and lean against the counter opposite, cradling my own.
The kitchen feels smaller somehow, the air between us charged.
“So…” she says after taking a sip, leaving a small chocolate mustache that I want to lick away.
“Is cooking one of your hidden talents?”
“Not so hidden. I do most of the cooking at our place.” I take a deliberate drink, watching her over the rim of my mug.
“Levi can barely boil water, and Atlas burns toast. Someone has to keep us from starving.”
“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the domestic type,” she says, and there’s a new curiosity in her gaze as it travels over me, lingering a beat too long on my arms, my chest.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say softly.
“Yet.”
Her pupils dilate slightly, the hazel of her eyes darkening.
She licks the chocolate from her upper lip, and the simple gesture sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she murmurs, but there’s no conviction behind it.
Just a token resistance.
“I’m sure of what I want,” I correct her.
“There’s a difference.”
She glances away, but not before I catch the shiver that runs through her.
“And what is it you want, exactly?”
The question is quiet, almost reluctant, as if she’s afraid of the answer.
As she should be.
I set my mug down, the ceramic making a decisive click against the countertop.
“Right now? I want to stop pretending that there isn’t something happening here.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine, startled by my directness.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” I hold her gaze, refusing to let her look away again.
“I felt it the moment I saw you. You felt it, too.”
“You don’t know what I feel,” she says, a defensive edge creeping into her words.
“Your body gives you away, Emma.” I step closer, not touching her, but near enough that her scent intensifies—honey and books and woman.
“Your pulse speeds up when I get close. Your pupils dilate. Your scent changes.”
Her hand tightens around her mug.
“That’s just biology. Omega responding to Alpha. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Lie to yourself if you want, but don’t lie to me.” I lean in.
“This isn’t just any Omega responding to any Alpha. This is you responding to me. To us.”
She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes me want to press my hand there, feel her heartbeat racing under my palm.
“I barely know you,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away.
“And yet you know exactly who I am,” I counter.
“The same way I know you. The same way Atlas knew you the moment he sat next to you on the plane and pulled you from that fire. The same way Levi knew you when you shook his hand.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of the borrowed shirt.
I wonder how far down it goes, how much of her skin turns that delicious pink when she’s aroused.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, but there’s no force behind it.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to devour me.”
I smile, slow and deliberate.
Her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
For a moment, we’re frozen, her seated on the stool, me leaning against the counter, gazes locked.
Then I pull back slightly, giving her space to breathe, to think.
Atlas always tells me I can come off a bit pushy…
“Don’t worry, I won’t touch you until you ask me to,” I say, straightening up and retrieving my mug.
The certainty in my voice isn’t bravado.
It’s bone-deep knowledge.
She’s ours. She just doesn’t know it yet.
She stares at me, lips parted slightly, a war of emotions playing across her expressive face.
Desire, frustration, fear, intrigue.
“You’re very confident,” she says finally.
“I know what I want,” I repeat simply.
“And I’m patient enough to wait for it.”
“What if I never ask?” she challenges, a spark of defiance in her eyes.
She won’t be easy to tame.
Good. I don’t want easy.
“Then I’ll have to live with that,” I shrug, though we both know it’s a lie.
“But you will.”
She stands abruptly, nearly knocking over her stool.
“You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told.” I smile, not bothered by her anger.
It’s just another form of passion, after all.
She looks like she wants to say something else—something cutting, then clears her throat.
“Look, you seem great, all three of you do, but I should probably make something clear. I’m not looking for an Alpha. Just so you know.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow.
“You already have one?”
“Hell, no,” she blurts out.
“Had one, then didn’t, and every one I’ve ever encountered has eventually broken my heart. Now, I think I have no heart left, and I can’t do it again. I just... can’t.”
The pain behind her voice is raw, real.
It hits something in me, that part that understands what it means to be rejected, to be told you’re not good enough, not right.
The clinical reports describing me as defective .
“Who was it?” I demand.
“These Alphas who hurt you.”
She blinks at the sudden shift in my tone.
“It doesn’t matter. Ancient history.”
“It matters,” I insist, and I’m surprised by the ferocity I feel.
I want names. I want to hunt down every Alpha who ever made her feel less than treasured and show them exactly what happens to those who misuse what’s mine .
Wait. Mine ? Where the hell did that come from?
I force myself to dial it back when I see her tense.
“But I get it. Not pushing.”
Before she can respond, there’s a loud clunk from down the hall, followed by an ominous gurgling sound.
We both freeze, staring at each other.
“Please tell me that’s not—” she starts.
“The washing machine,” I finish, already moving.
We race down the hall to find suds creeping out under the laundry room door.
I push it open to reveal a scene straight out of a sitcom—the middle washing machine convulsing as foam spills from under the lid and around the seal, forming a growing mountain of bubbles on the floor.
“Shit!” I lunge for the controls, hitting the emergency stop.
“What the hell happened?”
Emma is right behind me, grabbing towels from the shelf.
“I don’t know! Did we put in too much detergent?”
I wrench the lid open, releasing another wave of bubbles that splatter us both.
Emma lets out a startled laugh, and despite the mess, I can’t help joining in.
There’s something absurdly hilarious about standing ankle-deep in soap suds with a beautiful woman.
“So much for making a good impression,” she giggles, wiping foam from her face.
There’s a streak of bubbles across her cheek, and without thinking, I reach out to brush it away.
My thumb grazes her soft skin, and the laughter dies in my throat.
We’re standing close, too close, her face upturned to mine, eyes wide.
The world narrows to just the two of us, time suspended in the small space between our bodies.
Her lips part slightly, and for a wild moment, I think she might be leaning in.
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, my hand is cupping the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her damp hair.
My body crowds hers against the edge of the machine, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her.
Her pulse races beneath my fingers, a frantic beating that matches my own.
“This is a mistake,” she whispers, but her eyes drop to my mouth, contradicting her words.
“Probably,” I agree.
“Should I stop?”
Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I can’t tell if she’s about to push me away or pull me closer.
The scent of her surrounds me, honey and books, and a part of me has already decided she belongs to me…
to us.
“You should,” she says but makes no move to increase the distance between us.
“I told you I’m not looking for an Alpha.”
“And I’m not asking you to look,” I murmur, thumb brushing the line of her jaw.
“Just to see what’s already in front of you.”
Her breath catches, a small sound that shoots straight through me.
I lean in closer, drawn by an instinct more powerful than reason or propriety.
I want to taste her, to claim her, to make her forget every Alpha who came before me .
“What the hell’s happening here?” Levi’s words cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water.
Emma jerks back as if burned, nearly slipping on the sudsy floor.
I catch her elbow to steady her, and the brief contact sends another jolt of electricity up my arm.
“Laundry disaster,” I explain, letting go of her reluctantly and gesturing vaguely at the foam still seeping across the floor.
“Minor setback.”
Atlas appears behind Levi, taking in the situation with a single sweep of his gaze.
His eyes narrow when they land on me, and I know he’s reading the scene.
“Seriously, River?”
“Hey, this was a team effort,” I protest, shooting a conspiratorial look at Emma.
“Entirely my fault,” Emma jumps in, wringing out a soaked towel over a bucket.
Her cheeks are flushed, and she won’t meet Atlas’s eyes.
“I told you I was cursed. Everything I touch somehow breaks.”
“Not your fault,” I counter.
“I wasn’t paying attention to how much detergent went in.”
“Because you were too busy flirting,” Levi mutters, rolling up his sleeves and joining the cleanup effort.
“I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations,” I say loftily, though my insides are craving this Omega.
The want. The possessiveness.
The soul-deep certainty that just slammed into me moments ago.
Emma, looking mortified, addresses Atlas directly, “I’m so sorry about this mess. I should have been more careful. ”
“It’s fine,” Atlas says, his expression softening as he looks at her.
“Not the first disaster this place has seen. Won’t be the last.”
The radio on Atlas’s belt crackles to life, and the four of us freeze instinctively.
Dispatch’s voice comes through, calling all available units to a fire downtown.
“Duty calls,” Atlas states grimly.
“Emma, get yourself dry and comfortable. The volunteers will be in soon so they can help finish cleaning this up.”
“I can handle it,” she insists.
“That address is the old Miller warehouse—lots of chemicals stored there,” Levi states, staring at his phone.
Atlas nods, all business now.
“Gear up. We roll in two minutes.”
I hesitate for a split second, glancing back at Emma.
She’s standing amid the chaos of bubbles, looking small in our oversized station clothes yet somehow not out of place.
As though she belongs here, with us.
“Go,” she urges. “I’ve got this. Save the day, wildfire guy.”
I give her a quick salute, then sprint after my packmates.
As I’m pulling on my gear, I catch Atlas watching me with that penetrating gaze that always feels like he’s reading my mind.
“What?” I challenge, securing my helmet.
“You know what,” he rumbles softly.
“I saw that little scene with Emma. What happened to taking it slow? ”
“Wasn’t exactly planned,” I mutter, checking my equipment.
“There’s something about her, Atlas. Something that just...” I trail off, not having the words to explain the magnetic pull I felt toward her.
“I know,” he admits quietly, surprising me.
“I feel it, too.”
I look up sharply, meeting his midnight-blue eyes.
There’s an understanding there, a shared recognition of something none of us expected to find.
“We all do,” Levi adds from behind us.
“But that doesn’t mean we get to claim her.”
“But what if she’s—” I start.
“Later,” Atlas cuts me off, all chief again.
“Our help is needed first. Omega complications second.”
He’s right, of course.
But as we climb into the truck, my mind keeps circling back to that moment in the laundry room, to the way Emma felt close to me, to the look in her eyes that suggested she felt this inexplicable connection, too.
Mine , that primal part of me growls again.
Ours .
And this time, I don’t try to silence it.
Because for the first time in my life, I’m absolutely certain of something, Emma belongs with us.
And I’m going to make damn sure she knows it, whether she’s ready to admit it or not.
As the sirens wail and we speed toward the fire, I can’t help the dangerous smile that spreads across my face.
I’ve always loved a challenge, and Emma is the most enticing one I’ve ever encountered.
She thinks she’s not looking for an Alpha?
Fine. But she’s about to discover that sometimes what you need finds you, whether you’re looking or not.
And once I decide something is mine, I don’t let go. Ever.