Chapter 40 – ROMAN
CHAPTER 40
ROMAN
I lean against the kitchen counter, listening to Troy tell yet another improbable story about his days at boarding school. Something about smuggling in a python that later escaped in the headmaster's office. My packmates are scattered around the kitchen in various states of readiness for our trip into town, their laughter and banter providing a comfortable background hum that feels like home.
"Bullshit," Liam interrupts. "No fucking way they let you back after that."
Troy grins, unrepentant. "Dad made a sizable donation to the science department. Suddenly it was a 'valuable learning experience' instead of grounds for expulsion."
I shake my head, hiding my amusement behind my coffee mug. The coffee is strong, dark—Cole's special blend that he guards more carefully than some of our weapons. There's something about watching my pack like this, relaxed and at ease in our home, that settles me.
"You're terribly quiet this morning, Roman," Savva observes, his calculating gaze fixed on me. Nothing escapes Savva. It's what makes him both invaluable as a packmate—and occasionally irritating as hell.
I shrug one shoulder. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous pastime," Troy quips, earning himself an eye roll from Cole.
"Someone in this pack has to do it," I return, my voice dry. "God knows it's not you."
Troy clutches his chest in mock offense while Liam barks out a laugh.
The truth is more complicated than I'm willing to share. My thoughts are circling around the omega getting dressed down the hall.
Bella.
Our scent match.
The reality of it still hasn't fully settled into my bones—that after years of believing I'd never find a mate, the universe dropped the most perfect omega on the planet into my lap. Into all our laps.
And now she's going into heat. The faint traces of it are already in the air, subtle but unmistakable. Sweet without being cloying, warm without being overwhelming. It calls to something primal in me, something basal I've spent years learning to control.
"We should discuss how we're handling today," I say, setting my mug down with a decisive click. "With Bella's heat starting."
The atmosphere in the kitchen shifts immediately. Shoulders straighten, expressions sharpen. We may be off-duty, but we have all the same instincts that have kept us alive in war zones.
"Kind of hard to ignore," Savva acknowledges, his sharp eyes analyzing my expression.
“Told her it should be fine to go into town,” Cole adds from his position by the window. "Early stages can last a full day sometimes."
I nod, trusting Cole's assessment. He'd been with her earlier, would have the clearest read on her condition.
"The nesting supply shop—Soft Spot—is owned by a mated omega pair," I remind them. "Shouldn't be any issues there. It's a safe small town with a vibrant omega community, despite their overall rarity."
"Except five alphas walking in with an omega on the edge of heat might raise some eyebrows," Liam points out, crossing his tattooed arms over his broad chest.
He's right. In a small town like Sweetwater, we'll draw attention no matter what we do. Five huge battle-hardened alphas accompanying a petite omega who's beginning her heat cycle. It's not exactly inconspicuous.
"We'll adapt," I decide after a moment. "Cole and I will accompany Bella inside. Troy, you and Savva check the surrounding area. Liam, you're on vehicle security."
"Copy that," Liam says, grinning, the familiar military shorthand slipping out easily as he slips out of the room.
"I'm not sure about going into a store that specializes in omega nesting materials," Cole says, his gravelly voice pitched low. "Not exactly my area of expertise."
What he doesn't say, what he doesn't need to say because we all know it, is that he's especially self-conscious about his appearance around omegas. About the way people stare, the way they recoil when they see the extensive scarring on his face. Omegas are more afraid of him than most.
"You'll be fine," I tell him, keeping my voice steady. Not gentle—Cole would hate that—but matter-of-fact. "Bella specifically asked for you to go with her."
His eye widens slightly at this information. "She did?"
"She did," I confirm. "Said she'll feel safest if you're there."
Something shifts in Cole's expression. It's subtle—just a slight relaxation around his mouth, a softening in his eye—but it's there. For Cole, whose emotional walls are reinforced with steel and concrete, it's the equivalent of Troy's huge grin.
"Then I'll go," he says simply.
Troy, never one to let a moment get too serious, claps his hands together. "Great! Now can we please talk about breakfast? Because I wasn't kidding about those pancakes. They're life-changing, Bella's going to love them."
"They're pancakes, Troy," Savva says with exaggerated patience. "Not a religious experience."
"Spoken like someone who clearly hasn't had Mabel's blueberry stack," Troy retorts. "That woman puts magic spells on her cooking utensils, I swear."
I allow myself a small smile as they bicker. It's familiar terrain, comfortable. Troy's exuberance balanced by Savva's dry wit, Liam's occasional profane interjections, Cole's quiet presence. The rhythms of my pack, the men who've become my family through blood and bullets and the quiet hours between missions.
And now Bella, slotting into our group with an ease that still surprises me. She should have run screaming when she discovered five lethal alphas were her scent matches. Instead, she looks at us like we're a gift she'd never expected to receive.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulls me from my thoughts. Not Bella's—these are too heavy, too measured. Liam returns from wherever he disappeared to a few minutes ago, now fully dressed in dark jeans and a navy henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. The tattoos on his arms are on full display, intricate black and gray designs that tell the story of his life if you know how to read them.
"Cars are ready," he reports. "Filled both tanks."
We have two vehicles at the cabin—a large SUV that can comfortably fit all six of us, and a more discreet sedan for situations that require a lower profile. Both are heavily modified, with reinforced frames, bulletproof glass, and compartments for weapons storage. Habits from our military days die hard.
"Any activity on the monitors?" I ask. The cabin's security system is state-of-the-art, with motion sensors covering the perimeter and cameras positioned strategically along the access road.
Liam shakes his head. "All clear. Just a deer and her fawn near the eastern boundary."
I nod, satisfied. "We'll take the SUV. More comfortable for Bella."
"And less suspicious in a small town," Savva adds. "A beat-up SUV is common enough. The sedan screams 'government.'"
He's right. The black sedan, while useful in many situations, has an unmistakable official look to it. In a town like Sweetwater, that would draw exactly the kind of attention we want to avoid.
"Who's driving?" Troy asks, already reaching for the keys that hang on a hook by the back door.
I snag them before he can. "I am."
Troy pouts dramatically. "You never let me drive anymore."
"The last time you drove, you took a corner so fast that Savva spilled coffee all over his favorite shirt," I remind him. "And then Savva spent the next three hours explaining in excruciating detail why Burberry should never be subjected to being near you."
"It was silk blend," Savva says with a weary sigh.
"My point exactly," I say, pocketing the keys. "Besides, you can navigate. You know where this diner is more than we do."
Troy grins. "Yeah, that's fair."
Before any of us can say anything else, light footsteps sound in the hallway. We all turn toward the doorway, five alphas instantly alert.
And then she's there.
Bella stands in the entrance to the kitchen, a vision that stops all of us in our tracks. She's wearing a simple sundress in a soft green that brings out the color of her eyes. Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the morning light that streams through the windows.
But it's not her appearance alone that holds us captivated. It's her. The way she carries herself, with a quiet confidence that wasn't there before. The way her scent has shifted, sweeter now with the beginning stages of her heat but still distinctly Bella. The way she looks at us, her pack, with open affection in her eyes.
"Sorry I took so long," she says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I couldn't find my hairbrush."
None of us reply immediately. We're too busy drinking her in, our alpha instincts roaring to life at the sight of our omega. My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as I exercise the iron control that's been my hallmark for as long as I can remember.
Cole recovers first. "More than worth the wait," he says, his voice rougher than usual.
A blush spreads across Bella's cheeks at the compliment, making her even more beautiful. "Thank you."
I clear my throat, forcing my brain back into gear. "You look… amazing."
Her smile widens. I melt. "Thanks. Are we ready to go?"
"Just waiting on you, little omega," Liam says hoarsely, swallowing hard. "Car's ready when you are."
"Great!" She steps fully into the kitchen, and I catch a stronger wave of her caramel coffee scent, underscored now by the honeyed notes of approaching heat. "I'm starving."
"Then you're in for a treat," Troy says, recovering his usual exuberance. "Mabel's pancakes are the eighth wonder of the world. I would fight a bear for her blueberry syrup."
Bella laughs, the sound light and musical. "No bear fighting necessary, I hope."
"With Troy, you never know," Savva comments dryly, but there's a softness in his expression as he looks at Bella that I've rarely seen from our second most reserved packmate.
I observe the interactions, cataloging the subtle changes in my pack. The way they orbit around Bella like planets around a sun. The way their scents shift when she's near, becoming more potent, more alert. The way they unconsciously position themselves to form a protective circle around her.
And I realize, with a clarity that's almost startling, that we're already hers. Completely, irrevocably hers. Whether she chooses to take us as her mates or not—whether she decides that a pack of broken, dangerous alphas is worthy of her—we are already bound to her by something stronger than law or tradition.
It should terrify me, this vulnerability. This weakness that could be exploited by our enemies. But as I watch Bella move through the kitchen, touching Troy's arm as he tells her a joke, smiling up at Liam as he offers to carry her bag, accepting a travel mug of coffee from Cole with a look of such gratitude you'd think he'd handed her diamonds instead of caffeine... I can't bring myself to stress about a damn thing.
"Roman?" Her voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Everything okay?"
I realize I've been staring at her, silent and still, while the others have started moving toward the door. "Yes," I say, my voice coming out deeper than I intended. "Everything's fine."
She tilts her head slightly, studying me with those perceptive green eyes. "You sure? You looked lost in thought."
"Just planning our route," I lie smoothly. "Town's about forty minutes from here."
She doesn't look entirely convinced, but she doesn't press the issue. "Well, I'm ready when you are."
I nod and move toward the door, keys in hand. "Let's go, then."
As we file out of the cabin, I find myself at the back of the group, watching as my packmates escort Bella down the steps toward the waiting SUV. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and lake water and the lingering petrichor from last night's rain.
Our mountain hideaway is remote for a reason—not just for security, but because we've all had enough of crowds and noise and the constant vigilance required in urban environments. Here, among the trees and the quiet, we can almost pretend we're normal. Almost.
As we near the SUV, Cole steps ahead to open the door for Bella. She smiles up at him—a private smile that speaks volumes—and his scarred face softens in response. It's a subtle change, one that most people would miss entirely, but I've known Cole for years. I've seen him at his worst. Rage-filled and destructive, self-loathing and brutal. The tender way he looks at Bella now is a transformation I never thought possible.
"Shotgun!" Troy calls, making a dash for the front passenger seat.
"Tactical positions," I remind him, my voice firm. "Liam takes shotgun."
Troy sighs dramatically but complies, opening the back door with a resigned flourish. "Fine, but I'm controlling the music."
"Absolutely not," Savva says, sliding in beside him. "I refuse to listen to your eclectic playlists that jump from death metal to K-pop without warning."
"It's called having range. Not everyone gets off to chacky-kosky."
"Tchaikovsky," Savva corrects him dryly.
Their bickering continues as Cole helps Bella into the middle row before climbing in beside her. I circle around to the driver's side, taking a moment to scan our surroundings from habit. The mountain is quiet, the lake a mirror reflecting the cloudy sky. Our sanctuary, hidden away from the world.
When I slide into the driver's seat, I catch a glimpse of Bella in the rearview mirror. She's settled comfortably between Cole and the door, grinning as she listens to Troy and Savva's ongoing music debate.
Whatever comes next, she's worth it.
Worth everything.