11. Cayenne
Chapter 11
Cayenne
The delicious scent of food drags me from dreams of glitter-mustached unicorns and binary code waterfalls. My stomach growls loud enough to startle me fully awake, the sound almost offensive after days of fever-induced nausea.
The disorientation hits next—this isn’t Theo’s nest of comfort and healing. Instead, I’m sprawled on the family room couch, blankets carrying traces of pack scent wrapped around me like layers of security code.
I stretch tentatively, cataloging improvements—my muscles still ache but no longer scream at every movement. The stabbing pain in my side has dulled to a persistent throb, and my thoughts no longer scatter like glitter when I try to focus.
Progress, even if it’s measured in centimeters rather than miles. Enough progress that Theo finally agreed to let me move from his nest to the common area this morning, though the protective concern in his eyes suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.
The TV’s silent flicker draws my attention before I’m ready. Numbers scroll across the screen, each digit a death toll that makes my heart stutter. Beta casualties rising—over two hundred in Chicago alone yesterday. Hospitals overwhelmed, with footage of makeshift treatment centers in school gymnasiums. A tearful interview with a woman who lost her beta husband and teenage son in the same day plays silently behind a news ticker announcing Sterling Labs’ promising breakthrough treatments, even as their stock plummets in real-time.
My enhanced beta senses—Sterling’s unwanted gift —pick up conversations three rooms away, the vibration of phones, the careful movement of pack members packing essential items. Something’s happening, decisions being made while I’ve been trapped in fever dreams.
“Don’t watch that.” Finn’s voice carries forced steadiness as he sets a tray on the coffee table, the ceramic clinking softly against wood. “Nothing you can fix today.”
I study him over the blanket’s edge. There’s something different in the way he holds himself—a careful precision that goes beyond his usual methodical nature. His movements remind me of fragile code, performing flawlessly while hiding fatal errors beneath the surface. My newly heightened beta senses detect an undertone to his scent—something sharp and wrong beneath the rain-washed calm I’ve come to associate with him.
“Leave it on,” I counter, yanking the blanket up to my chin like it might shield me from the death count scrolling behind him. “Besides, last time you guys decided to protect me from information, I ended up with my brother using me as a pincushion. Let’s not repeat that disaster.”
Finn hesitates, remote suspended between us. A slight tremor ripples through his hand—barely there, gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it. He shifts his grip, disguising the shake as he passes the remote to me.
“At least eat something first.” He settles into the armchair across from me, a chess board already set up on the side table. The pieces gleam in morning light—obsidian and frosted glass, arranged in perfect formation. “Mona left very specific instructions about caloric intake and recovery metrics. With charts. Many charts.”
“Of course she did.” I eye the soup he’s brought—something that smells amazing and probably has exact nutritional calculations attached to it. “How is my sister settling in? Has she set anything important on fire yet?”
“She’s...” He pauses, lips quirking up despite the shadows under his eyes. “She’s converted the guest house into something between a laboratory and a doomsday bunker. There might have been a small chemical reaction that resulted in some... thermal excitement.”
“Thermal excitement?”
“A fire.” He adjusts a chess piece, his fingers lingering a beat too long to steady themselves. “But she did cure the bees of their aggression issues, so we’re counting it as progress.”
A laugh bubbles up, then catches in my throat as the news continues its silent scroll of death behind him. More betas gone. More families shattered. More of Sterling’s legacy painted in blood and data.
“What’s with all the movement?” I gesture toward the hallway. “I can hear Ryker on at least three different calls, and Jinx hasn’t stopped moving since dawn.”
Finn’s expression shifts to something carefully neutral. “We can’t stay here. Sterling knows this location—it’s only a matter of time before he sends someone. Mona’s certain of it.” His fingers trace the edge of a chess piece. “We’re setting up a new safe house. Somewhere off-grid, somewhere he won’t expect.”
I absorb this, guilt settling heavy in my chest. “So I’ve cost you your home too.”
“No,” Finn says firmly. “Sterling’s obsession cost us a house. There’s a difference.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, surprising even myself. “For bolting. For thinking I could handle Sterling’s crazy family reunion solo. For...” I wave at the TV where beta death counts keep climbing like a stock ticker from hell. “For all this mess I dragged you guys into.”
Finn’s hands clench on the arms of his chair. “You did what you thought was right.”
“No.” The truth hits me like a system crash. “I did what was easy. I’ve got running coded into my DNA at this point. Easier to bolt than stick around for the hard conversations. Easier to play lone hacker than risk someone seeing past my firewall.”
His shoulders tense, and he reaches for a chess piece—the white knight—rolling it between his fingers like he’s measuring its weight. “We didn’t exactly make trust easy.”
“Look at me, Finn.” I wait until those too-bright eyes lock onto mine. “I’m officially retiring from the Olympic running team. No more bolting when things get complicated. No more hacking and running. I’m sticking with this mess—with the pack—even when it scares the hell out of me.”
A small smile plays at his lips, though it seems to take effort. “Even from Mona’s medical lectures about proper nutrient absorption rates?”
“Well, maybe from those.” I reach for the soup that smells like actual food instead of hospital slop. “Half her medical terms sound like she’s keysmashing with a science dictionary. Though I’m pretty sure metabolic disruption cascade is just Mona-speak for you’re gonna feel like crap for a while.”
“Your move.” He nods toward the chess board, already set up with an opening I recognize from games we played before everything went to hell. “If you’re feeling up to it.”
The invitation carries weight beyond the simple words. This is Finn offering me what I need most—normalcy, challenge, connection without pressure.
“Knight to F6.” I smile as he makes the move for me, his fingers steady again as they lift the frosted glass piece. “You’re going for the Ruy Lopez, aren’t you?”
“Am I that predictable?” His eyes spark with challenge despite the fatigue etched around them.
“To me? Always.” I take another spoonful of soup, the warmth settling in my still-recovering body. “You forget I’ve watched you analyze security systems. You always start with solid fundamentals before trying anything flashy.”
“While you...” He moves his bishop to B5, the classic attack. “You go for chaos right out of the gate.”
“Controlled chaos,” I correct, gesturing for him to move my pawn to C6. “There’s always a method.”
“Like running straight into Sterling Labs with no backup?”
The question lands like a check I didn’t see coming. “Low blow, Professor.”
“Just pointing out that your methods sometimes need...” His fingers brush mine as he hands me the remote, his skin burning hot against my own. “Refinement.”
“Come sit with me?” The request comes out more vulnerable than I intend, gesturing to the space beside me on the couch. “I promise not to infect you with my plague.”
Something soft crosses his face. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
I lift the blanket in invitation, and he settles beside me, our shoulders touching. The contact grounds me like a properly secured connection, reminding me of all the quiet moments I’ve missed while trying to be strong alone. He lifts the chess board, setting it between us on the couch.
“Bishop to A4,” he says, moving his piece. “Your turn.”
His laptop sits open on the chair he abandoned, lines of code scrolling across the screen in a diagnostic pattern I recognize. “Having trouble with something?”
“Maybe.” He tries to sound casual, but I know that tone—the one that says a problem has been twisting his brain into knots. “There’s this firewall that’s being particularly stubborn. I’ve been trying to find a way through it to access some of Sterling’s research servers.”
“Show me?”
He reaches for the laptop, and I catch the slight tremble in his hands before he stills it through sheer force of will. The code is elegant but complex—exactly the kind of puzzle my fever-clearing mind has been itching to solve.
“Oh, that’s mean.” I study the pattern while absently moving my knight to F6. “Whoever built this likes to play dirty. Look at how they’ve nested the authentication protocols.”
“I’ve been working on it for hours.” His voice carries exhaustion that seems deeper than one stubborn firewall would cause. “Can’t quite see the pattern.”
“Here.” I point to a sequence. “They’ve hidden a backdoor in plain sight. See how this variable keeps shifting? It’s not random—it’s a Fibonacci sequence wrapped in binary.”
He leans closer, our heads together like we’re sharing secrets. Just like this, it’s easy to forget everything that came between us—all the fear and running and noble intentions. Right now, we’re just two betas doing what we do best: solving puzzles together.
“It’s brilliant,” he murmurs, fingers hovering over the keys. “But every system has a vulnerability.”
“Just like people,” I say quietly.
He glances at me, something unspoken passing between us. “Check.”
I look down to see his bishop threatening my king. “Sneaky.”
“I learned from the best.” His smile carries warmth despite the sheen of sweat now visible at his temples.
I move my king out of danger, turning my attention back to the code. “So what are we looking for in Sterling’s servers anyway?”
“Everything.” His voice hardens. “Research data. Test subjects. The full composition of the virus he infected you with.”
“Mona doesn’t know?”
“She knows components.” He makes another move, his focus split between games. “But Sterling compartmentalizes everything. No one person has the full picture except him.”
“Smart.” I tap a sequence into his laptop. “Evil, but smart.”
“Like father, like daughter.” He catches himself. “Sorry, that was?—”
“Accurate.” I keep typing. “Though I’d like to think I use my powers for slightly less genocidal purposes.”
A laugh escapes him, genuine despite the strain around his eyes. “Like rick-rolling government agencies?”
“That was one time.” But I’m grinning now. The fever still simmers under my skin, but my mind feels clearer than it has in days. “God, I need to do something. Anything. I’m going stir crazy.”
“We could always go cliff diving.” He says it casually, but I catch the spark in his eyes as he captures one of my pawns. “That spot up at Lake Morrison is perfect this time of year.”
“Seriously? I can barely walk to the bathroom without help.”
“Not now, obviously.” He shifts, adjusting his position like he’s trying to get comfortable in his own skin. “But soon. When you’re stronger. When we’re both...” He trails off, catching his slip.
“Both what, Finn?”
“Nothing.” But there’s sweat beading at his temples now, his moves in the chess game becoming less precise. “Just thinking about that jump. The free fall. Nothing else quite like it.”
“Except maybe certain activities in barns?” I bump his shoulder, trying to lighten the moment.
His laugh turns into something that might be a cough if he didn’t master it so quickly. “That was... a very good day.”
“That seems like forever ago.” I make a bold move with my queen, taking his knight despite the risk. “The barn, the jump, everything. Back when I thought being brave meant doing the craziest thing possible.”
“And now?” He counters my queen, his hand steady through what must be pure determination.
“Now I think maybe being brave means staying. Trusting. All the things that terrify me more than any free fall.”
He’s quiet for a moment, fingers hovering over a bishop. “You know what I think about when I jump?”
“Besides holy shit, this is awesome?”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “That moment right before. When everything in your body screams that this is insane, that you should step back. But you jump anyway.” His voice drops. “Because sometimes the scariest things are exactly what we need.”
“Like trusting crazy pack and their artistic omega?”
“Like trusting yourself enough to let others catch you.”
The honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. Here’s Finn, the guy who calculates risk for fun, who jumps out of planes and off cliffs, telling me it’s okay to be scared of the emotional free fall.
“I really fucked up, didn’t I?”
“We all did.” He leans his head back, eyes closing briefly. “But you came back. That’s what matters.”
“Because you came for me.”
“Always will.” The words come out perfectly articulated, like he’s focusing on each syllable. “Pack means... nobody falls alone.”
He makes another move, but it’s sloppy—a dangerous sacrifice of his queen that isn’t part of any strategy I’ve ever seen him use. It’s as if he’s forgotten the board between us, the game we’re playing, the code we’re breaking. Each move in the chess game mirrors his deterioration—strategic brilliance giving way to feverish impulse.
“Finn?” I study his face rather than the board, really seeing the strain now—the too-bright eyes, the slight flush across his cheekbones, the careful way he holds himself. My heightened beta senses pick up the wrongness now—the fever-sweet edge to his scent, the uneven rhythm of his breathing.
“Your move,” he says, but his gaze has fixed on something beyond the board, something only he can see.
“Did you take your temperature this morning?” I reach for his forehead, but he intercepts my hand, turning the gesture into another chess move.
“Check,” he murmurs, though his move doesn’t create any threat I can see.
The code on his laptop suddenly flashes green—access granted. The firewall has crumbled, revealing Sterling’s database. But I barely register the victory as Finn’s pupils dilate rapidly.
“Finn?” I set the chess board aside, pieces scattering across the blanket. “How long have you been sick?”
He tries to focus on me, but his eyes won’t track right. “Just need to... calculate the trajectory...”
Then his eyes roll back, and he starts to collapse.
“Finn!” I lunge for him, but my virus-weak muscles betray me. We both slide sideways on the couch, his head landing heavy in my lap. “No, no, no. THEO!”
My hands shake as I press against his burning forehead. The fever that’s been stalking him finally pounces, turning his skin to fire beneath my touch.
“RYKER! SOMEONE!”
Footsteps thunder from different directions. Theo appears first, his artist’s grace forgotten in his rush. His omega instincts take over immediately—he’s at Finn’s side in seconds, hands gentle but urgent as they check vitals, his purr starting automatically though it carries distressed undertones. I catch the strain in his movements, his own battle with suppressed heat making his hands shake even as he works.
Then Jinx, already snarling, his body vibrating with the need for action but finding no enemy to fight. His eyes dart around the room as if searching for something tangible to attack, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “What happened?” The question comes out more growl than words.
Ryker’s commanding presence fills the doorway last, his tactical mind already working—I can practically see him calculating options, weighing variables, prioritizing responses. Unlike Jinx’s chaotic energy, Ryker channels his concern into immediate organization. “Medical wing. Now. Theo, stabilize him. Jinx, clear a path.”
“He’s burning up.” The words catch in my throat. “He tried to hide it. I should have noticed sooner, I should have?—”
“Move.” Mona’s clinical voice cuts through my panic. When did she even get here? “Fascinating. The virus presents differently in males. Very interesting data points. Much research potential.”
“Mona!”
“Right. Sorry. Scientific observation later. Medical intervention now.” She produces a syringe from one of her endless pockets. “This should help with the fever. Probably. The research is ongoing.”
Theo helps shift Finn so Mona can access his arm. His skin burns against mine, fever painting him in shades of agony I know too well.
“Don’t you dare.” I grip his hand, chess pieces falling between us like forgotten possibilities. “Don’t you dare think about jumping without a parachute, you adrenaline junkie idiot.”
Through the fever haze, his fingers squeeze mine. Just once. Just enough.
“Get him to the medical wing.” Mona’s already moving, all pretense of chaos dropped in the face of genuine emergency. “Now.”
As they lift him, his head lolls toward me. His lips move, forming words I barely catch.
“Checkmate... in three.”
Then his eyes close, and I’m left holding nothing but scattered chess pieces and the echo of all the things we still need to say.