10. Temporary Safe Haven
Temporary Safe Haven
~WILLA~
" I should probably stay in the bunkhouse," I say, the words tumbling out before I've fully thought them through, and watch four Alpha faces shift into identical expressions of disapproval.
The kitchen suddenly feels smaller, their combined presence pressing against my awareness like a physical weight.
"Absolutely not," Cole says, flat and final. "The bunkhouse isn't set up for?—"
"For an Omega?" I interrupt, chin lifting despite the flutter in my stomach. "I'm tougher than I look."
"For anyone living alone," River corrects gently. "The heating's inconsistent, the plumbing needs work, and it's too isolated from the main property."
"She needs proper locks," Mavi adds, and something in his tone makes my neck prickle. "Security in the main house is integrated. The bunkhouse is vulnerable."
They're talking around me now, a four-way conversation about my safety that makes my teeth grind.
But underneath the irritation, something else stirs as I watch them with Luna.
Austin bounces her absently while he talks, River reaches over to wipe drool from her chin without breaking his sentence, Cole adjusts her bib with practiced ease, and Mavi—even Mavi softens when she babbles at him.
Which one of them, I wonder, had the Omega who gave birth to her?
The thought hits like cold water, unexpected and unwelcome.
I study Luna's features, trying to match them to the men's faces. She has Austin's coloring, pale and golden, but River's calm temperament. Those unusual eyes could come from anywhere, and her dark wisps of hair might grow out to match Cole's or even Mavi's.
Who was she? This Omega who carried Luna, who gave these four Alphas a child to raise? Did she love them? Did they love her?
The jealousy that twists in my gut is as surprising as it is inappropriate. I have no claim here, no right to feel territorial about men I met hours ago.
But I do. God help me, I do.
"—main house has everything you need," Austin is saying when I force my attention back. "Full kitchen, updated bathrooms, comfortable bed?—"
"Where will you all go?" I ask, needing to derail my own thoughts. "Four men and a baby can't exactly squeeze into the bunkhouse either."
"We'll manage," Cole says. "It's got four bedrooms, and we've bunked in tighter spaces during fire season. Your safety and comfort come first."
"That's ridiculous." The words come out sharper than intended. "I'm not displacing an entire family from their home."
"It's your home," River reminds me. "We're just employees, remember?"
Except they're not, and we all know it.
Employees don't look at their boss like she hangs the moon.
Employees don't make her body respond with every breath, every movement, every careful kindness.
Employees don't make her wonder what their hands would feel like?—
My silence must make them realize I’m not budging with this one because Cole decides to speak.
"Fine," Cole says, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
"But there are ground rules. We maintain the early morning schedule for ranch work.
You'll hear us starting around five-thirty.
The main house alarm system stays active—Mavi will show you the codes.
And—" He pauses, jaw working. "We'll need to establish protocols for your Heat phases. "
Heat.
The word hangs in the air like a loaded gun.
My face burns, but I force myself to meet his eyes.
"I don't have Heats."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Even Luna stops babbling, as if sensing the sudden tension.
"You..." Austin starts, then stops. "What do you mean, you don't have them?"
"I haven't had a proper Heat in—" I try to remember. "Two years? Maybe more? Blake insisted on blockers. Said it was too disruptive to pack life."
Something dangerous flashes across all four faces.
Mavi's hands clench into fists.
River goes very still.
Austin pulls Luna closer like he's protecting her from the words.
And Cole— Cole looks ready to hunt Blake down and teach him exactly what disruption means.
"Blockers for two years?" Austin's medical training kicks in, overriding his anger. "Willa, that's—did you have proper monitoring? Blood work? Hormone panels?"
I shrug, uncomfortable with their focused attention.
"The pack doctor said it was fine. Lots of Omegas use long-term suppression."
Okay, maybe it wasn’t “fine” but that’s what everyone says because the side effects aren’t important when it doesn’t effect the Alphas.
If the Omega suffers, they deem it a “sacrifice for the love of your pack”.
One of the plentiful joys of submission.
"Lots of Omegas get serious complications from it too," he says quietly. "Bone density issues, hormonal imbalances, increased cancer risk?—"
Oh…
Now maybe I didn’t think about ALL of that.
"Austin," River warns, but the damage is done.
My hands shake as I wrap them around my cold mug.
"I didn't have a choice," I whisper. "Blake said—the pack needed—" I can't finish.
It would be easier, maybe, to blame the chemicals—hormones, the Blockers he fed me like vitamins, his careful rationing of affection that left me as starved as a dog chained in a snowstorm.
But when I claw at my own memories, I see it all too clearly: a slow stripping away of will by subtle rewording of my boundaries.
Each concession a little more permanent, until "what I want" became so irrelevant I forgot it was even a question. I wrapped myself in his pack’s expectations like a lead blanket, convinced that was the price of belonging.
If I seemed placid, it was only because he made me forget the alternative.
Now, in the harsh fluorescent morning and surrounded by four men who see right through the act, the shame of it burns through my marrow.
I don't look up. My hands hide under the lip of the table, nail beds already angry pink, as I pick at old scars and new ones. I can't tell if Austin's concern is worse than Mavi's silent disgust, or if River's steady gaze makes it better or worse.
It isn't just the blockers that made my skin a stranger to itself.
I let myself become an object, and now I can't even say whose hands I want to claim me next.
Cole's phone rings, sharp in the heavy silence. He glances at it, frowns, and for once doesn't silence it immediately.
"They need us in town," Mavi says, reading the screen from his angle. "Structure fire at Rosie's Diner."
"Now?" Austin protests. "We're in the middle of?—"
"They wouldn't call if it wasn't urgent," Cole interrupts. He looks at me, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. "We need to go. But this conversation isn't over."
I simply nod, knowing there’s more urgent matters to tend to then this conversation revolving around my “Heats”.
The next twenty minutes pass in controlled chaos. Four men moving through the house with military efficiency, gathering essentials while trying not to crowd me in the hallways.
I press against walls, hyperaware of every near-miss, every moment when their bodies almost brush mine.
River's carrying an armload of clothes from the upstairs bedroom when he has to squeeze past me in the narrow hall. We do an awkward dance, him trying to give me space, me trying to disappear into the wallpaper. His scent—rain and earth and growing things—floods my senses.
"Sorry," we both say simultaneously, and his quiet laugh makes something flutter in my chest.
Luna, meanwhile, has decided that any moment I'm not holding her is a personal betrayal. She shrieks every time Austin tries to pack her things, reaching for me with desperate hands.
"I've never seen her like this," Austin mutters, finally giving up and passing her to me.
She settles instantly, burying her face in my neck with a contented sigh.
"It's like she thinks you're?—"
He cuts himself off, but I hear the unfinished thought.
Like she thinks you're her mother.
"Here." He demonstrates preparing a bottle one-handed while I hold Luna. "Six ounces, formula's in the cabinet, always test the temperature on your wrist. She usually takes one around two, another at six, and then cereal at dinner."
"How did you all end up here?" I ask, needing to fill the strange intimacy of him teaching me to care for his daughter. "From firefighting to ranching seems like a big jump."
His grin turns mischievous.
"Well, after Cole saved River from a burning building and they got all intense about it, then Mavi showed up with his whole brooding mysterious thing, and then I wandered in like a lost puppy and somehow we all just... stuck."
"Austin," Cole warns from the doorway. "We need to go."
"Right, right." Austin's expression sobers. "The town only has volunteer fire response right now. We're usually the fastest option when things go wrong."
They pile essential gear by the door—medical kits, basic firefighting equipment, they apparently keep on hand.
The easy way they prep for emergency response speaks of long practice.
"You'll be okay?" River asks, concern clear in those green eyes. "We shouldn't be more than a few hours."
"I'll be fine." The words taste like lies, but I force a smile. "Go save the day. That's what you do, right?"
Something passes between them, some shared memory of the last time they saved someone.
Me.
From fire and smoke and the Alphas who wanted me dead.
"Lock up behind us," Mavi instructs. "Alarm code is your grandfather's birthday. Don't open for anyone you don't know."
"And call if you need anything," Austin adds, scribbling numbers on a sticky note. "That's my cell. Ranch phone autodials the bunkhouse if you hit star-nine."
They head for the door in a unit, and I follow with Luna still clinging to me.
The afternoon sun slants across the porch, painting everything golden.
Four men who've upended my world in a matter of hours, leaving to help strangers because that's who they are.
"Be careful," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
Cole turns back, those storm-gray eyes holding mine.
"Always are. You just focus on settling in. We'll talk more when we get back."
Then they're gone, their truck kicking up dust as it speeds toward town.
Luna and I stand on the porch, watching until they disappear around the bend.
The ranch feels different without them—t oo quiet, too empty, too much space for my thoughts to fill.
"Just you and me now, baby girl," I murmur to Luna. She babbles something that sounds like agreement, then sticks her fingers in my mouth.
I carry her back inside, surveying what is supposedly my domain.
The kitchen where they prepared meals as a family.
The living room with its worn furniture and baby toys scattered across the rug.
The stairs leading to bedrooms that probably smell like them—pine and rain and smoke, and clean mountain air.
Mine, but not mine. Theirs, but not theirs.
All of us caught in this strange limbo my grandfather created, bound by obligation and trauma and something else I'm not ready to name.
Luna yawns, and I check the clock.
Nap time, according to Austin's carefully written schedule.
Time to pretend I know what I'm doing, that I belong here, that I'm not terrified of the quiet and the responsibility and the way my body still hums from their presence.
"Come on, sweet girl," I whisper. "Let's figure this out together."