Chapter 6
Elliot
I attempt to study Kimmie’s sleeping form analytically, but fail spectacularly.
I’ve seen her before, of course—twice at her restaurant when I stopped in for those remarkable waffles.
She emerged briefly from the kitchen both times and bustled around the dining room, checking on her customers with a warmth that made the place feel like home.
But seeing her here, defenseless, strips away any pretense of scientific distance.
Normally, I can reduce any subject to its component parts—measurable, quantifiable data.
But how does one quantify the way her copper curls catch the fading twilight?
Or the scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose that look like they were put there to kiss?
My mind wants to classify my observations of her clinically: temperature down to near normal in the last hour, respirations evening out, flush receding from her cheekbones.
Instead, I’m noting how her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, how her full lips part slightly in sleep, how one hand is tucked under her chin in an oddly vulnerable gesture for someone who faced down the Stantons.
The scientist in me wants to understand our pack’s inexplicable reaction to her.
Gabriel has introduced us to dozens of eligible omegas over the past couple of years—women of every height, shape, and coloring, all perfectly groomed and impeccably mannered.
All knowing precisely what would be expected of them as potential mates for the Stanton pack.
Yet not one sparked this visceral protective response.
Tanner, who usually regards Gabriel’s matchmaking attempts with the same enthusiasm he shows for black tie events, is prowling the hallways between his turns at watch like a caged animal.
Leo hasn’t touched his art supplies since she arrived, except to sketch her while she slept.
And I…I’m finding it increasingly difficult to maintain any semblance of objectivity.
She’s not what society typically considers beautiful.
Pretty? Yes.
Cute? Definitely.
But there’s more to it than shapes and angles and proportions.
There’s something magnetic about her presence.
The fierce pride flashing in her brown eyes when she speaks about her restaurant.
The way her whole face lights up when she smiles.
The quiet strength in how she carries herself, even sick and weak.
I look away from her toward the door as it opens, but it’s not Tanner or Leo for the next watch rotation. Instead, Gabriel steps in, and something possessive rises in my chest.
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking my turn.” His voice is carefully neutral. “Unless you object?”
I consider this. Gabriel is my pack alpha, yes, but more importantly, he’s my pack brother, my friend.
The man who gave me a home when my own family couldn’t understand why their heir apparent wanted to spend his life in a lab instead of a boardroom.
He’s supported my research even when it all seemed like dead ends and wild theories.
But he’s also the man who wants to destroy something precious to the woman sleeping so peacefully in our guest bed.
“Actually, I do object,” I say, keeping my voice low so as not to disturb Kimmie, “to everything that happened here last night. This situation needs a different approach, Gabriel.”
“It’s business, Elliot. Nothing personal.”
“It’s her home. That makes it very personal.” I run a hand through my hair even though I know it makes the curls unruly. “You need to find another solution.”
“The cost of redesigning—”
“Will be less than what you’ll lose if you push this.” I meet his eyes steadily. “The pack won’t support destroying her restaurant.”
His jaw tightens, but I see the flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “You’ve never questioned me before unless it had to do with your lab. Since when do any of you care about how I do business?”
“Since we met someone worth protecting.”
Gabriel studies me for a long moment. We’ve been through too much together for him to miss the resolve in my tone. “You’re serious about this?”
“Completely.” I glance at Kimmie’s sleeping form. “Look at her, really look. She’s everything we admire—strength, determination, loyalty to family. Are those qualities we want to destroy? Is that really what Stanton Industries is about?”
He follows my gaze, and his expression shifts. “How is she doing?”
“Better,” I say. “The fever’s mostly gone, but she’s still weak. I got her to eat something, but she was wobbly.”
“I’ll take the next watch,” he says finally.
I raise an eyebrow. “Planning to strong arm her while she’s ill?”
“I am capable of having compassion without an ulterior motive, Elliot.” A hint of hurt creeps into his voice.
I soften. Perhaps this is what needs to happen—let Gabriel see Kimmie as a human, not just an obstacle to his plans. “I know you are. That’s why I trust you’ll make the right decision about this situation.”
He settles into the chair I vacate. As I reach the door, I turn back. “Gabriel?”
“Mm?”
“Remember what you always say about pack coming first?”
“Of course.”
“Well, the pack has made its feelings clear on this one.” I leave him to consider, hoping he’ll come to the same conclusion the rest of us already have.