12. Deacon
CHAPTER 12
DEACON
I watch Charlotte leave Teagan's office, her curves swaying with each step. The burner phone Joker gave her is clutched in her hand like a lifeline. Beaux follows behind her like a loyal guard dog, his eyes never leaving her ass. Can't blame him, I'm guilty of the same.
My fingers drum against my thigh as I fight the urge to follow. Every instinct in my body screams to chase after her, to surround her with my scent, to claim what my soul already recognizes as ours. But I stay rooted in place, knowing that crowding her now would be a mistake.
"The way you're staring holes into her back, I'm surprised she doesn't feel it," Josiah quips, the corner of his mouth twitching up .
I tear my eyes away from Charlotte's retreating form. "She's a ticking time bomb."
The words hang heavy in the room. We all know what that means, what it could trigger in all of us. Teagan's shoulders stiffen, his hazel eyes darkening slightly.
"I know." His voice is deceptively calm. "But we need to keep her as busy as we can. Maybe engage with her on a one-on-one basis so as to not trigger her heat. She needs a chance to get to know us."
I inhale deeply, recalling the honeyed cinnamon that clung to her skin, undercut with something smokier. "It could be hours. Maybe days. The doctor wasn't clear."
"Fuck." Joker runs a hand over his face. "It's not ideal."
"Understatement of the year." I pace across the room, my thoughts racing back to my sisters—to what happened to them when their heats came. My thoughts always go back to my own personal experiences. I would never want that for Charlotte. She's been through so much already. Trauma on top of trauma is something I want to shield her from. My sisters were married off to Alphas three times their age, treated like breeding stock by my so-called religious parents. It's not Charlotte's predicament but the woman has already been forced to?—
The memory makes bile rise in my throat.
"We need to be careful with her," I say, my voice harder than intended. "An unclaimed Omega in heat in a house with three Alphas and a Beta, you know we're playing with fire. I know we all want her here. Want her, but. . ."
Teagan leans against his desk, arms crossed. "Like I said, we'll rotate. One at a time in her presence. Ease her into pack life."
"Pack life?" I stop pacing. "She hasn't agreed to anything."
"Yet." Teagan's voice is firm. "She will. It's not an if, Mo. It's a when."
I bristle at his certainty. "She deserves a choice."
"She'll have one," Joker interjects, ever the mediator. "But Te's right, she's pack. You felt it in her presence. We all did."
I had. God help me, I had. But that doesn't make it right to assume.
"I'm not going to be part of forcing an Omega into anything," I say, my voice dropping to a near-growl. "You didn't see what I saw growing up. My sisters—" The words catch in my throat, memories flooding back of their tear-streaked faces as they were led away to their ‘blessed unions’.
Teagan's expression softens. "This isn't the same, Deacon."
"Isn't it? We're already planning her future without her input."
"Planning for contingencies," Joker corrects. "There's a difference."
I run a hand over my cornrows, frustration building. "My parents used to talk about my sisters' 'divine purpose' the same way you're talking about Charlotte's place in our pack. All righteous certainty, no regard for what they actually wanted." The room falls silent.
"That's not us," he finally says. "You know that's not us."
"I know." And I do. These men are my brothers, my family by choice rather than blood. But principles matter. "I just, I admire her. After everything she's been through, look at her, her strength, her fire. The way she stands up to Beaux's bullshit without flinching. If she stays with us," I continue, "I want it to be because she chooses us. Not because we maneuvered her into it. Not because her biology gave her no choice. But because she wants this pack as much as we want her. "
Joker's rain-scent wraps around me, calming. Our beta may be frantic by nature, but he is our solace just the same. "She will. But her heat is still coming, and we need to prepare."
"Separate rooms, we take turns training her," Teagan decides. "And we keep our distance unless she explicitly asks otherwise."
I nod, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. "And if she wants to leave after?"
"Then she leaves. After we've solved the problems with the Senator and she's safe. She's free." Teagan meets my eyes, his gaze unwavering. "I promise you that, Deacon."
I hold his stare, searching for any hint of deception. There is none. Just the steady resolve of my pack Alpha.
"Alright." I exhale slowly. "But I'm serious about this. I'd rather lose her than keep her against her will."
"Agreed," Josiah says, his fingers already tapping away at his tablet. "Though I doubt Beaux will make it easy for her to walk away."
That's an understatement. Motley had practically vibrated with possessive energy from the moment he laid eyes on her. Called her his ‘Harlequin’, a name that means more to him than any of us fully understand .
"Beaux will fall in line," Teagan states with quiet authority. "We all will. For her sake."
I nod, but the unease lingers. Charlotte Matthews isn't just any Omega. She's a fighter, a voice for her designation. And something tells me the four of us might be in for more than we bargained for when we brought her into our territory.
God help us all when her heat finally hits.
I find myself drawn toward Charlotte's room like a compass seeking north. Every step down the hallway feels purposeful, inevitable. The conversation with Teagan and Josiah still weighs heavy on my mind, but there's something else pulling me forward—something primal that I'm trying my damnedest to control.
When I round the corner, I'm not surprised to see Beaux's broad frame leaning against the wall outside her door. He's got that predatory stillness about him, the one that reminds me we were killers long before we were businessmen.
"She in there?" I keep my voice low, even though the walls in this house could probably withstand a bomb blast.
Beaux's lips curl into that dangerous smile of his. " She’s talked to her parents, then Mercy, Faith, and Freeya via video chat. Now, she’s talking to her friend, Brookes. Reassuring him she's safe, I assume. Then I overheard her talking about needing clothes." His lip ring catches the light as he speaks. "I offered to take her shopping, buy her whatever she wants." He shrugs. "She told me to fuck off, then slammed the door in my face. A woman after my own heart." He sighs dreamily.
I can't help the chuckle that escapes me. "You've got a real way with women, Motley."
"She's not just any woman." His eyes darken, and I catch the faint shift in his scent, whiskey and black pepper so sharp, my nose twitches. "She's my Harlequin."
The nickname again. I don't know exactly what it means to him, but with his love for comic books, I understand it's significant. Beaux doesn't get attached easily, a side effect of bouncing through the foster system, I suspect. But when he does let you in it's for life.
"We need to talk about her." I lean against the opposite wall, mirroring his stance. "Had a little powwow with Teagan and Joker while you were trailing after her."
Beaux's eyebrow arches. "Let me guess. Teagan wants to take it slow, Joker's calculating probabilities, and you're worried about her autonomy."
I stare at him. Sometimes I forget how perceptive he can be beneath all that chaos.
"Something like that," I admit. "Her heat’s coming, and when it does?—"
"When it does, she'll choose us. We will get her through it." The certainty in his voice borders on arrogance. "All of us."
I shake my head. "It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" He pushes off the wall, stepping closer. The tattoos peeking out from his collar seem to shift with his movements, mythical creatures dancing across his skin. "You think it's a coincidence she's here? That she fits with us like she was made for this pack?"
"I think she's a woman who's been through hell and deserves the right to make her own choices without a bunch of Alphas deciding her fate for her." The words come out harsher than intended, memories of my sisters shadowing every syllable.
Beaux studies me for a moment, his expression softening just a fraction. "This isn't like your sisters, Deacon."
The fact that he's zeroed in on exactly what's eating at me is both irritating and comforting. "It feels like it."
"It's not and you know it." He taps his temple. "Call it instinct, call it fate, call it whatever the fuck you want. But that woman in there? She's ours. And we're hers. Have been since we saved her."
I want to argue, to remind him that people aren't possessions to be claimed, but there's something in his conviction that resonates with a part of me I try to keep buried. The part that recognized Charlotte the moment we carried her past the threshold of our home, like a puzzle piece I didn't know was missing.
"Her biology's going to make decisions for her soon." I keep my voice low, conscious of the closed door nearby. "I don't want her looking back with regret."
"Heat or no heat, Charlotte Matthews isn't the type of woman to do anything she doesn't want to do. I think she's made that clear in the one conversation we've had with her." Beaux's smile turns genuine, something rare for him. "That's why she's perfect for us."
I exhale slowly, letting his words sink in. "Teagan says we take it slow. One-on-one interactions, keep the pheromones manageable."
"Smart." He nods. "But ultimately futile. "
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means the universe has plans, brother." He gestures between us, then toward the door. "This thing? It's kismet."
I've never believed in fate the way Beaux does. My faith was beaten out of me early, replaced with pragmatism and a fierce protection of choice. But standing here, with Charlotte's honeyed scent faintly detectable even through the closed door, I find myself wanting to believe.
"She'll choose us," Beaux says again, softer this time. "Not because her heat demands it, but because it's right."
The conviction in his voice tugs at something deep within me. For all his wildness, all his unpredictability, Beaux has always had an uncanny ability to see truth where others see chaos.
I push off the wall, suddenly needing space to think. "I hope you're right."
"I am." His certainty is unshakeable. "And when I'm proven right, I expect a formal acknowledgment of my superiority."
That pulls a reluctant laugh from me. "In your dreams, Motley."
But as I turn to leave, to give Charlotte the space she needs, I can't help the dangerous flicker of hope igniting in my chest. What if Beaux is right? What if, after everything, we've somehow found our missing piece?
I dare to hope, even as I prepare for disappointment. Because that's what faith is, isn't it? Belief in the face of doubt. And God help me, I want to believe in her. In us. In what we could be together.