8. Dante
Dante
" I s there something you want to tell me, Dante?"
Dez's voice cuts through the earpiece like a blade—sharp, no-nonsense, and low enough to sound casual, but I know better. That tone is anything but casual.
I pause on the back patio, one hand braced against the warm stucco pillar as I scan the quiet Los Angeles hills.
The evening air carries the scent of jasmine and distant charcoal grills, mingling with the faint traces of someone's expensive wine wafting from a neighboring property.
The sky bleeds orange and pink as the sun makes its slow descent behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the manicured landscape.
From this angle, I can see into the living room through the open sliding doors, the gauzy curtains barely stirring in the gentle breeze.
Brookes is curled up on the couch, tucked underneath Levi's arm, feet drawn under him like a cat seeking warmth.
His slender frame seems almost delicate against Levi's broad chest. The soft glow of the table lamp catches on Brookes’ features, highlighting the gentle curve of his cheekbone, the fan of his dark lashes against his skin.
Levi is speaking to him in that low, rumbling voice of his, one large hand absently stroking Brookes’ shoulder. Brookes listens with ease, nodding occasionally, his expression unguarded in a way I rarely see. There's something quieter in Brookes’ posture now, a stillness instead of tension.
"I'm going to assume this is about the video," I say finally, my voice flat, military-neutral.
The kind of tone that reveals nothing but confirms everything.
The same voice I've perfected through countless missions and deployments.
A careful neutrality that gives away no position, no weakness, no emotion.
"You assume right," Dez says. "It's all over social media.
Multiple angles. Trending on three platforms last I checked.
But I'm not calling to yell about security, Dante.
I already chewed out the photographer's team for twenty minutes straight.
I'm calling because of what I saw how your team reacted. "
I don't say anything. Sometimes silence is the better part of valor, something my father never understood but that I've learned through years of standing guard in rooms where words could get people killed.
I've watched men hang themselves with their own explanations, their own justifications. So, I wait, the phone pressed against my ear, my eyes never leaving Brookes’ form on the couch.
"I watched the way Levi carried him," Dez continues, his voice clinical but probing. "The protective curve of his body. How he shielded Brookes’ face from the cameras. That wasn't bodyguard protocol, Alvarez. It wasn't professional assessment. It was fear. It was personal."
A beat passes before I speak, weighing my words carefully like ammunition being loaded into a chamber.
Each syllable precise. "It is personal," I admit finally, the confession settling like a weight in my chest, both burden and relief.
To finally say it out loud, feels like a confession long overdue.
"So, I'll ask again," Dez says, his tone shifting from professional to something more pointed. "Is there something you want to tell me? Something about the nature of your team's relationship with Mr. Daniels?"
I sigh and scrub a hand over my jaw, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm.
The tactile sensation grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of defensiveness I'm teetering on.
My fingers linger there for a moment, pressing into the tension points where my jaw has been clenched tight all day.
Blowing out a breath, I finally voice what's been building for months, growing like something with roots and purpose.
"He's not just a client," I say, the words hanging in the evening air between us, impossible to take back now. The admission feels both terrifying and inevitable, like stepping off a ledge after hours of contemplating the fall.
"No shit," Dez says dryly, not a hint of surprise in his voice. "What I'm trying to determine is whether this is one of those situations where I need to start thinking about rotating the team or if this is one of those situations where I start prepping a contract shift."
My brow furrows, the implications filtering through my mind like sand through fingers. I've known Dez long enough to understand he never asks questions without already calculating several possible answers.
"What do you mean?" I ask, though part of me already knows.
"I put you, Levi, and Hero on this job because none of you were pack-affiliated.
None of you had outside bonds, or emotional entanglements.
I needed a detail that could work as one seamless unit.
" There's a pause, weighted with assessment.
"But I'm not blind. I’ve been observing the way you three moved around him.
Well, from afar when you're caught like today on camera.
The synchronicity, the protective formation that wasn't just tactical. You're forming something."
I glance inside again through the sliding glass door, unable to help myself.
The living room is bathed in the soft glow the setting sun, creating a sanctuary against the encroaching night.
Levi's saying something quiet, his large hands gesturing gently in that way they do when he's trying to coax a smile.
Whatever he's said makes Brookes roll his eyes dramatically and smack his shoulder with a throw pillow, the gesture playful and unguarded.
His laughter is genuine, unmanufactured, slipping through the air like a song meant for only us.
It reminds me of early morning desert light, rare, precious, and worth protecting at all costs.
The kind of beauty you'd stand guard over until your legs gave out.
"Yeah," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "We are."
Dez hums, a sound that contains multitudes of understanding. There's a knowing edge to it that makes me wonder just how much he's pieced together from surveillance footage and reports. How transparent we've been without realizing it.
"So, what I'm hearing is: if Brookes chooses you, chooses all three of you, then this isn't going to be just another contract.
" His voice is carefully neutral, but I catch the subtle shift in his tone, he's not just my boss anymore.
He's speaking as someone who understands what it means when duty transforms into something bone-deep and irreversible.
"No," I say firmly. The word feels like a vow, solid and unwavering. It resonates in my chest, an admission I've been holding back for months. "It isn't."
My gaze drifts back to the house, to where I can see Brookes gesturing animatedly at something Levi's said. The rose-scent of him lingers even out here, familiar now as my own heartbeat.
"Then you better have that conversation soon," Dez warns.
"Because if it does go that way, the lines between security and bond mate get real blurry.
You won't just be protecting him. You'll be his pack.
That comes with different expectations and a different kind of risk.
" There's weight behind his words, the kind that comes from experience, not just protocol.
"I know," I reply. I've spent enough nights lying awake thinking about it, mapping out every possibility, every potential consequence.
Drawing mental diagrams of how we'd need to restructure our security approach, our living arrangements, our entire lives.
Calculating the danger that would come from being not just his shields, but his heart. "We all do."
"And for what it's worth. . ." Dez's voice softens, just a touch.
It's rare enough that I straighten, focus sharpening.
"I hope he chooses you. All of you. The way the man looks at you three when he thinks no one's watching—" He pauses.
"Well, let's just say I've seen enough to know something real when I see it. "
The call ends, and I'm left staring into the house, at the image of them. Brookes and Levi. They fit together, despite their differences, despite everything. Like puzzle pieces that shouldn't match but somehow create something complete.
I slip my phone into my pocket and take a long breath before heading back inside. The scent of ocean air follows me inside mingling with the lingering notes of Brookes’ rose fragrance permeates every corner of this house now.
Brookes is just standing from the couch, murmuring something to Levi.
His shirt clings damp to his slender frame, ocean salt still crusted at the hem, marking the line where the waves had lapped against him during the photo shoot.
He catches my eye, a tired little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
I smile back, because yeah, I'm gone for this man.
"I'm gonna rinse all this off," he says, his voice carrying a soft rasp of exhaustion. "Feel like I've still got sand in places it shouldn't be." His fingers brush absently against his collarbone, drawing my attention to the delicate line of his neck.
Levi huffs a soft laugh, but there's still something tight in his expression, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. The aftershock of today's craziness.
Hero leans back into the doorway as Brookes passes him, a hand brushing lightly over Brookes’ shoulder in wordless acknowledgment.
It's a gesture so small most wouldn't notice, but I catch the way Brookes leans into it for just a fraction of a second, seeking that reassurance.
We all watch him disappear down the hall, footsteps soft against the wood floors, the echo of his presence lingering in the space he leaves behind.
Then it's just us. Three Alphas with a conversation that can no longer wait.
Levi's perched on the arm of the couch, shoulders tense, arms folded across his broad chest. The fabric of his shirt stretched tight across his muscles, betraying the anxiety he's trying to contain. Hero claims the single chair near the window, eyes cutting to me with that quiet intensity of his. Outside, the California sunset paints the sky orange and purple, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors of Brookes’ living room.
I sit on the edge of the sofa, feeling the weight of what's about to happen settle around us like gravity. The leather creaks beneath me, somehow amplifying the silence between us. My hands rest on my knees, steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
Then I start talking.
"Dez saw the video."
That's all it takes.
Levi lets out a sharp exhale through his nose, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife.
His dimples disappear as his expression tightens.
Hero's jaw ticks, just once, a tell I've come to recognize as his version of alarm.
His hazel eyes narrow slightly, ready for the bomb drop and the possible fall out.
"He said what we're doing, this thing with Brookes, if it goes beyond protection, it has to be his choice. But he also said. . ." I pause, letting the weight of it settle, running my palm over my buzz cut. "He said he pulled us together for a reason. Because none of us were in a pack."
Hero raises a brow, the small gesture speaking volumes from him. His fingers tap once against the armrest. "He was playing matchmaker?"
I shrug. "Not exactly. But he thought we might become something. Now he's asking if what we're becoming. . .includes Brookes." The words hang in the air between us, charged with possibility and complication.
Silence stretches for a beat, filled with the distant hum of the air conditioner and the faint sound of running water from the bathroom where Brookes is showering.
Levi shifts, the couch arm creaking beneath his weight, voice low and rich with certainty.
"I knew the second he let me carry him the first time.
Months ago, when the paparazzi cornered him during his therapy visit.
When he didn't flinch. When he just held onto me.
" His gaze drops to his hands, large and powerful yet gentle when they touch Brookes, like he can still feel the tremble of Brookes’ fingers there.
"That's not something I walk away from. Not after seeing how much trust that took for him. "
Hero nods once, slow and deliberate. His fingers stop their tapping.
"He matters to me." He doesn't elaborate, because Hero doesn't need to.
His economy of words has always said more than paragraphs could.
The way his eyes soften when he says it tells the rest of the story.
"But this doesn't work unless we're all in. Completely."
"We're not walking into this for the wrong reasons," I add, needing to make this clear, leaning forward with elbows on my knees.
"It's not because he needs protecting. It's not because we feel obligated.
It's because we care." The word feels inadequate against the depth of what I'm beginning to feel, but anything stronger might be premature.
My cedarwood scent intensifies with the emotion I'm trying to contain.
Levi lifts his head, eyes meeting mine with a directness that cuts through pretense. The constellation tattoo on his arm seems to shimmer as he shifts. "Because he's ours?"
Hero's mouth quirks, that rare half-smile that transforms his stoic features. "Because he might be. If he wants to be."
It's not a decision we make for him. It never was. I've spent too many years watching Alphas claim without asking, take without offering. The memory of my father's controlling nature flashes through my mind. We won't be that. Not to Brookes. Not to anyone.
This moment, just the three of us here, acknowledging it aloud, it feels like the first real step toward something, toward a pack. Toward us. The tension in the room shifts, becoming something electric with possibility.
I can only hope when Brookes comes back into the room, still damp from the shower and smelling like roses and warm skin, the sweet fragrance that's become as necessary to me as breathing, we'll be ready to tell him.
I can only hope that he wants this just as much as we do.