Chapter 28 – SAVVA
CHAPTER 28
SAVVA
T he hallway outside the guest room has become our impromptu battleground. Not against external threats, but against our own instincts. Four alphas, each fighting his own private war while our omega in the beginning throes of heat rests behind closed doors with the fifth member of our pack.
I lean against the wall, my posture deliberately relaxed even as every muscle in my body remains coiled tight. Control has always been my specialty. My greatest asset in the field. The ability to appear utterly composed while calculating sixteen different ways to complete a mission is what kept me alive during years of infiltration work.
But this…
This is testing even my legendary self-control.
Roman paces the length of the hallway, five steps in each direction. His movements are precise, measured, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. I can see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the slight tick in his jaw. Our leader, always bearing the weight of responsibility, now carrying something far heavier than mission parameters or tactical decisions.
Liam sits on the floor, back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest. His fingers drum restlessly against his thigh, each tap creating small bursts of vibrant orange in my vision. His scent is sharper than usual, the whiskey notes more pronounced as his patience wears thin.
Troy can't seem to stay still at all. He alternates between leaning against the wall, checking his watch, and raking his hand through his hair. But beneath the nervous energy, I detect something else. A sense of contentment.
Interesting.
"He's been in there for a while," Liam mutters, his voice thickening with frustration. "Shouldn't we check on them?"
"She chose Cole," Roman replies, not breaking his pacing rhythm. "We need to respect that."
Troy's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Gotta admit, I didn't see that coming. But maybe we should have."
I raise an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Think about it," says Troy. "Who was the first person to really reach Cole since we've been here? When he stormed off and had one of his episodes, who calmed him down? Who did he let patch him up? Who did he carve that little wooden duck for?"
He has a point. Despite Cole's best efforts to keep everyone—especially Bella—at arm's length, she's been the only one able to break through his defenses. The rest of us have years of history with Cole, know exactly what he survived, and yet Bella managed to connect with him in ways we haven't been able to.
"She sees him," I say, the realization crystallizing in my mind. "Not the scars, not the anger, but him. They share a bond."
I've spent my career reading people, identifying their weaknesses and pressure points, understanding what makes them tick. But somehow, I missed this. Missed the subtle but undeniable connection forming between our most damaged packmate and our omega.
Perhaps because it seemed so improbable. Cole, who's barely spoken more than a handful of words to any omega since his omega fiancee left him, forming a bond with Bella first. Yet in retrospect, the signs were there all along.
"It's the carving," I say finally. "That was the turning point."
"And she carries it everywhere," Troy adds. "Like a talisman or something."
The hallway falls silent as we all absorb this new understanding. For all our tactical expertise and combat training, we completely missed the most significant development right in front of us.
The silence is broken by the soft click of the guest room door opening. We all straighten, instantly alert, as Bella emerges with Cole close behind her. Her cheeks still hold a faint flush, but her eyes are clear, the worst of the heat symptoms clearly subdued. Cole hovers protectively at her shoulder, his posture rigid but his eyes watchful, daring any of us to upset her.
I understand that look all too well. It's the look of an alpha who has made protecting his omega his primary mission. Territorial, possessive, yet surprisingly gentle in its execution.
Where the others hesitate, I step forward. As the most analytical of our pack, I've always been the one to explain difficult concepts, to break down complex situations into digestible parts. This moment calls for facts presented with calm assurance rather than emotional intensity.
"How are you feeling?" I ask Bella, keeping my voice level and neutral.
She clutches the hem of her sweater, eyes darting between us. "Better. Not... burning anymore. But confused. Very confused."
I nod, acknowledging her state without judgment. "That's understandable. What you experienced was a suppressed heat suddenly breaking through. It can happen under extreme emotional duress or when in prolonged proximity to..." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Compatible alphas."
"Scent matches," she clarifies, the term still seeming to taste foreign on her tongue.
"Yes." I maintain steady eye contact, gauging her reaction. "We were hired to protect you, not to complicate your life further. Scent matches can be... overwhelming. We didn't want to pressure you or create a situation where you felt obligated rather than making a free choice."
Roman steps forward, his usual commanding presence subdued. "It was my decision, ultimately. As pack leader, I thought it best to wait until?—"
"Until I wasn't with Braxley anymore," Bella finishes for him.
"Yes," Roman admits. "Though I didn't anticipate it happening quite like this."
A small smile curls the corner of Bella's lips. "No, I guess you wouldn't."
The tension in the hallway dissipates slightly. She's not angry. Confused, overwhelmed certainly, but not angry. That's a good sign.
"You should sit down," I suggest. "The suppressants help with the symptoms, but your body is still processing a significant hormonal event. And we should all have a conversation about what happens next. Preferably somewhere more comfortable than a hallway."
"Kitchen," Troy suggests immediately. "I'll make coffee."
"Tea would be better," I counter. "Caffeine will only exacerbate any lingering symptoms."
Bella nods. "Tea sounds perfect."
As we make our way to the kitchen, I observe the dynamics shifting in real time. Cole stays close to Bella, his body angled toward hers protectively. The others maintain a respectful distance, careful not to crowd her. It's fascinating to watch— five alphas, all trained killers, all potential competitors for a single omega's attention, seamlessly adjusting their behaviors to prioritize her comfort.
The kitchen is neutral territory. Open enough to avoid feelings of confinement, yet intimate enough for a serious conversation. I head straight for the kettle, grateful for the ritual of tea making. It gives me something precise to focus on while the others settle around the island.
"I'll make sure Braxley makes himself scarce," Cole mutters, already stalking off even as Bella gives him a sweet, affectionate smile that seems to melt his edges a bit.
"Chamomile may be soothing," I say, scanning Braxley's surprisingly adequate tea collection. These aren't cheap.
"Please," Bella answers, settling onto a stool.
As I prepare the tea, I consider the most logical approach to this conversation. There are immediate practical concerns to address, but there are also larger implications that cannot be ignored.
"Here," I say, placing a steaming cup in front of Bella before distributing mugs of oolong for the rest of us. The best thing to soothe frayed alpha nerves.
She cups her hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth. "Thank you."
I take a seat across from her, choosing my words carefully. "There are several matters we should discuss. The most immediate being your situation with Braxley."
Bella's lips press into a thin line. "It wasn't much of a relationship to begin with," she says softly. "More of a business arrangement disguised as an engagement. My family wanted the connection to his money and influence. His family wanted a presentable omega for their alpha son." Her voice takes on a bitter edge. "Neither of us was particularly invested emotionally."
"And now?" Roman asks, his question encompassing far more than just her relationship status.
Bella takes a sip of tea, gathering her thoughts. "Now I'm... free, I suppose. Free and dealing with the fact that apparently five alphas are my scent matches." She glances at Cole as he comes back into the kitchen, and he stiffens under her gaze but doesn't move away. Not when she gives him another sweet smile that very nearly makes me jealous. "It's a lot to process."
"We should discuss arrangements," I say, redirecting the conversation to practical matters. "Where do you want to spend your heat? If the penthouse is familiar to you…"
Bella shakes her head, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "No, I don't want to stay here. This place is just Braxley's. I haven’t been living here for long.”
Her words settle something in my chest, a tension I hadn't realized I was carrying. The thought of her remaining in Braxley's territory during her heat had felt fundamentally wrong on an instinctual level, though I would have respected her choice.
"We have a safe house," Roman says, leaning forward slightly. "Secure, private. No one knows about it except the five of us."
"And now Bella," Troy adds with a small smile.
I nod, already mentally cataloging what we'll need to prepare. "It's comfortable, well-stocked. And completely off the grid. No social media influencers within a fifty-mile radius."
That earns a small, musical laugh from Bella. "That sounds perfect," she says, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "When can we go?"
"As soon as you feel up to traveling," I reply, keeping my tone measured despite the alpha instinct urging me to move her to safety immediately. "The suppressants should stabilize your condition for the rest of the night. Long enough to make arrangements and transport you safely. We have a private jet."
"What about Braxley?" she asks, and I detect no lingering attachment in her voice. Merely practical concern.
"We'll make arrangements for him as well," Roman says, his voice carefully neutral. "Another security team can take over his protection. Our priority is you."
Liam shifts, his massive frame tense. "He's not your responsibility, lass. Not now, not ever. You don't need to worry about him."
"I know," she mutters. "But there's still someone out there who tried to kill us. I don't want his blood on my hands, even if he is a self-absorbed narcissist."
Her compassion, even for someone who has treated her poorly, speaks volumes about her character. It's a trait I've always admired but rarely encountered. The ability to maintain empathy even when it's not deserved.
"We'll ensure his safety," I assure her. "There are other teams we can call in. Professionals we trust."
She nods, some invisible weight lifting from her shoulders. "Thank you."
Cole, who has been hovering at the edge of our group like a thundercloud, finally speaks. "What do you need to take with you?" His voice is rough but gentle in a way I've never heard from him before.
I watch Bella's face carefully as she considers Cole's question. There's a brief flash of uncertainty before her expression settles into something more determined.
"Not much," she says, twisting her hands in her lap. "Most of my things are still in boxes. I never really unpacked here. It never felt..." She trails off, but we all understand the unspoken word.
Home.
If only she knew just how much we understand.
"Just the essentials then," I suggest, mentally cataloging what she might need. "Clothing, toiletries, any medications. We can provide everything else."
Troy perks up, his energy instantly shifting from anxious to enthusiastic. "We've got a fully stocked kitchen at the safe house. I can make those pancakes you liked. And there's this little farmer's market nearby where we can get fresh shit."
The corners of Bella's mouth lift slightly at Troy's eagerness. It's one of his most endearing qualities—his ability to find joy in the mundane, to make even the most tense situations bearable with his infectious enthusiasm.
"That sounds nice," she admits.
Roman leans forward, his posture subtly protective without being overbearing. "There's something else we need to discuss," he says, his voice carefully modulated. "The suppressants you took are temporary. They'll wear off in approximately twenty-four hours. We need to establish what happens then."
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as we all process the implications of Roman's words. Heat cycles are intensely private matters for omegas—and intensely instinctual matters for alphas. The fact that we are discussing this openly, clinically, is necessary even if it's uncomfortable for some of us.
Judging from the blank deer-caught-in-headlights look on Troy's face, he's one of them.
Bella's cheeks flush slightly, but she meets Roman's gaze steadily. "I know," she says, her voice remarkably composed despite the subject matter. "I've been on suppressants for a long time. I've never really experienced a full heat without any medication before."
This revelation sends a ripple of surprise through our group. I feel my own eyebrows rise slightly before I can control my expression. An omega her age who has never experienced a full heat is unusual. Not unheard of, certainly—modern medicine has made it possible for many omegas to completely suppress their cycles—but it adds another layer of complexity to an already complicated situation.
"Never?" Liam asks, his accent thickening with concern.
Bella shakes her head. "My family thought it was best. More... proper." The last word carries a bitter edge. "I've had breakthrough symptoms occasionally, but nothing like this."
It explains everything. No wonder she went into heat so quickly from all this stress. I clear my throat, drawing attention back to the practical matters at hand. "Then we need to be prepared for all contingencies. When the suppressants wear off, you'll have options. We can provide stronger suppressants that will completely block the heat cycle, though they come with side effects. Or..."
I hesitate, choosing my next words carefully.
"Or you can allow the heat to progress naturally," I continue, keeping my voice neutral. "If you choose that option, we would ensure your complete privacy and safety. No alpha would enter your space without explicit invitation."
"And if I... if I wanted you to..." She trails off, unable to complete the thought aloud, though her meaning is clear.
Roman's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "That would be entirely your choice, Bella. But it's a decision that should be made with a clear head."
"What Roman means," Troy interjects, his tone gentler, "is that we want any choice you make to be something you won't regret later. Heat can make shit complicated."
"I understand," Bella says, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup again. "I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I'm not some fragile flower who can't make her own decisions."
"No one thinks that," I assure her. "But this situation is unprecedented for all of us. We're navigating uncharted waters, and we want to ensure everyone's boundaries are respected."
Cole, who has been unnervingly silent throughout most of this discussion, suddenly speaks. "You don't owe us anything," he says, his voice rough but sincere. "Just because we're your scent matches doesn't mean you have to choose any of us. Ever."
Raw honesty is something I've always appreciated about Cole. For all his gruffness and apparent misanthropy, he has an unwavering moral compass.
"Cole's right," Roman agrees. "Our primary concern is your wellbeing. Everything else is secondary."
Bella looks between us, her green eyes thoughtful. "Thank you," she says finally. "For giving me space to decide. For not pressuring me." She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "For now, I think I'd like to stick with my usual suppressants and see how I feel. At least until we're at the safe house and I've had time to process everything that's happened."
I nod, already mentally composing a list of what we'll need. "I'll make the arrangements. We have contacts who can provide everything discreetly."
"How soon can we leave?" she asks, her voice steadier now that we've moved back to practical matters.
"Tonight, if you wish," Roman replies. "The jet can be ready within two hours. Or tomorrow morning, if you'd prefer to rest first."
Bella considers this, her head tilting slightly as she weighs her options. "Tomorrow morning," she decides. "I should talk to Braxley properly before I go. Make a clean break."
"Of course," I say.
"In the meantime," Liam adds, "we'll maintain our security protocols. Nothing changes on that front. Your safety is still our priority."
Bella nods, taking another sip of her tea. "What about living arrangements for tonight? I don't think I can stay in Braxley's room, but..."
"You can have the guest suite," Roman says immediately. "We'll rearrange our rotation to give you privacy."
Bella looks down at her tea, her fingers tracing the rim of the mug. When she speaks, her voice is soft but steady.
"Actually, I was wondering if..." She pauses. "If Cole could stay with me tonight."
The request lands like a stone in still water, sending ripples of surprise through our group. I feel my own eyebrows rise fractionally before I can control my expression. Cole's head snaps up, his mismatched eyes wide with disbelief.
"Me?" he asks, the word rough and uncertain.
Bella nods, a flush creeping up her neck. "If that's okay with you. I just... I feel safe with you."
The admission clearly stuns Cole, who stands frozen, like a man who's just been handed a priceless artifact and doesn't trust himself not to shatter it. The raw vulnerability on his face is something I've never witnessed before. Not in our years together, not through firefights or hospital stays or the darkest moments of our shared history.
"I don't think..." he starts, then stops. "Are you sure you want me? Not one of the others?"
"Yes," Bella says simply. "I'm sure."
The moment stretches between them, a private exchange we're all witnessing but not truly part of. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for Cole's response. We all are.
Finally, he gives a short, jerky nod. "Okay."
The tension in the room shifts, but doesn't dissipate entirely.
"Well then," I say, stepping into the silence with practiced ease, "we should finalize our security arrangements for the night. Troy, you'll take first watch in the main living area. Liam, I suggest you monitor the security feeds. Roman and I will handle perimeter checks."
My voice is smooth, professional, betraying none of the complex emotions swirling beneath the surface. This is what I do—provide structure when situations threaten to become chaotic, create order from potential disorder.
"Sounds good," Roman agrees, falling into the familiar rhythm of operational planning. "We'll maintain standard protocols until departure tomorrow. Savva, coordinate with our contacts for the jet and the safe house preparations."
I nod, already mentally composing the necessary messages. "Consider it done."
Bella looks between us, a small smile playing at her lips. "Do you always slip into military mode when things get awkward?"
Troy barks out a laugh, the tension breaking further. "You have no idea."
As we all leave the kitchen—Cole maintaining a careful distance from Bella while still hovering protectively as he leads her to the guest suite—I catch Roman watching them with an unreadable expression.
"Thoughts?" I ask quietly once they're out of earshot.
Roman runs a hand through his dark hair, a rare display of uncertainty. "I don't know. This is... unexpected."
"But not necessarily bad," I point out.
"No," he agrees slowly. "Not bad. Just..."
"Complicated," Troy finishes for him, dropping into a chair with a sigh. "Everything about this situation is fucking complicated."
I study our pack leader, noting the subtle signs of strain around his eyes despite his resolute tone. This can't be easy for him—for any of us. The primal alpha instinct to compete for a mate runs deep, especially with a scent match.
But we're more than just alphas. We're a pack. A family forged in blood and fire.
And now, our most complicated pack member, the one who's always held us at a distance, is finally going to be fully integrated into the bond we all share.