Rescued By My Reluctant Alphas (Hollow Haven #4)

Chapter 1

Sable

The October wind carried the scent of pine and approaching winter as I stood in the middle of the Hollow Haven Community Center parking lot, clipboard in one hand and radio in the other.

Fifteen emergency responders clustered in front of me, a mix of fire, medical, and security personnel who looked various degrees of alert at seven in the morning.

“All right, listen up.” My voice cut through the low conversations without needing to be raised.

Years of coordinating disaster responses had taught me that authority came from certainty, not volume.

“This is a multi-agency mass casualty drill. We have a simulated structural collapse with twenty civilian actors playing injured parties. Your objectives are triage, extraction, and transport coordination. Questions?”

A young beta firefighter raised his hand. “Rules of engagement, ma’am?”

“Treat it like the real thing. Your decisions will be evaluated, but more importantly, they’ll be teaching moments for areas we need to improve.

” I glanced down at my tablet, pulling up the scenario parameters.

“You have wounded ranging from green tag to black tag. Resource allocation matters. Time matters. Communication between agencies matters most.”

I caught sight of three alphas standing slightly apart from the main group, and something in my chest tightened uncomfortably. The suppressant patch on my arm suddenly felt too warm against my skin.

The first was broad-shouldered with short-cropped dark blond hair, his turnout gear identifying him as fire crew.

He stood with the kind of stillness that spoke of complete focus, his attention fixed on me with an intensity that made my omega instincts flutter awake despite the medication keeping them muted.

The second was younger, maybe thirty, with tousled chestnut hair and a paramedic uniform that looked slightly rumpled even though I suspected he’d just put it on.

He was watching me too, but there was something different in his gaze.

Almost analytical, like he was reading more than what I was saying.

The third stood at the back, arms crossed over a tactical vest, all black clothing and military bearing. His dark eyes tracked every person in the lot with methodical precision before settling back on me. When our gazes met for half a second, I felt it like a physical touch.

I looked away, focusing on my tablet with more attention than the simple diagram required.

Five years in Hollow Haven, and I’d successfully avoided this exact situation. Small mountain towns meant limited dating pools, and I’d been perfectly content with that. My job kept me busy. My apartment was comfortable. I had everything I needed.

I did not need to notice three alphas who were definitely noticing me back.

“Fire team, you’re on extraction and structural safety,” I continued, forcing my voice to remain level and professional.

“Medical handles triage and transport prep. Security manages crowd control and scene safety. You have thirty minutes to complete primary objectives. Radio channels are preset to your assigned frequencies. Command post will be here with me.”

The briefing continued for another ten minutes, covering communication protocols, resource allocation procedures, and performance evaluation criteria.

I’d run variations of this drill in four different counties, and the structure was second nature now.

What wasn’t second nature was the way my skin felt too tight, or how I kept catching cedar smoke and vanilla and leather on the wind, distinct scents that shouldn’t have penetrated my suppressants this clearly.

“Move to your starting positions,” I called out. “Drill begins in five.”

The group dispersed with the efficient chaos of professionals who knew their roles. I pulled up the evaluation matrix on my tablet and tried to ignore the fact that the broad-shouldered firefighter was still looking at me.

His captain, a beta woman in her fifties, noticed. “Calder, you planning to participate, or you gonna stand there all morning?”

The alpha, Calder, turned away without responding, but not before I caught the back of his neck going slightly red.

Interesting.

The drill went better than expected. Fire team coordinated well with medical, security maintained clean perimeter control, and only two minor communication breakdowns occurred that I’d need to address in the debrief.

I watched the feeds from multiple points, making notes on my tablet while monitoring radio chatter on four different channels simultaneously.

This was where I belonged. In control. Coordinating. Making sure all the pieces moved together so that when real disaster struck, Hollow Haven would be ready.

Not standing at an altar in a white dress while an alpha I’d trusted looked at me with something like disgust and said the words that had broken something fundamental inside me.

I shook my head sharply, pushing the memory back into the locked box where it belonged.

That was five years ago. Different state.

Different life. I’d moved to Hollow Haven specifically because no one here knew about the humiliation of being rejected mid-ceremony in front of two hundred guests.

No one knew that Nathan had decided, right there at the altar, that I was too difficult, too independent, too much work for any pack to want.

“Command, this is Medical One.” The radio crackled with the paramedic’s voice, the one with the tousled hair and bright hazel eyes. “We’ve got a green tag becoming yellow. Requesting fire assist for extraction.”

“Fire Two, respond to Medical One’s location,” I said into the radio, tracking positions on my tablet. “Medical One, what changed your assessment?”

“Patient reports increasing chest pain and difficulty breathing. Could be developing pneumothorax from rib fracture.”

Good catch. The civilian actor was supposed to deteriorate at the fifteen-minute mark to test continuous triage protocols. Medical One had identified it early.

“Noted,” I responded. “Continue protocol.”

The drill continued, and I continued evaluating, right up until the thirty-minute mark when I called scene complete.

The actors climbed to their feet, brushing off dirt and comparing notes on how realistic their injuries had been portrayed.

The emergency responders gathered for the immediate hot wash, that first debrief while everything was still fresh.

I pulled up my notes and prepared to tear apart every mistake with the kind of clinical precision that had made me very good at my job and very difficult to work with, according to Nathan.

But that was before I’d learned that being difficult was better than being something I wasn’t.

The debrief took an hour. I highlighted the communication breakdowns, praised the adaptive triage from Medical One, and pointed out three separate safety violations that could have resulted in secondary casualties in a real scenario.

The responses ranged from defensive to thoughtful, which was about what I expected from a first drill with this particular group composition.

“Questions?” I asked, scanning the assembled personnel.

The military alpha raised his hand. “Your structural stability assessment protocol. You’re using the federal standard?”

“Modified for mountain terrain and local building codes,” I corrected. “The federal standard assumes a different foundation type than what we have here.”

“Makes sense.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me with those dark, assessing eyes. “You have military training?”

“EMT and emergency management certifications. I considered enlisting.” I met his gaze directly, something I’d learned to do to combat the assumption that omegas couldn’t maintain eye contact with alphas. “Chose coordination over field work.”

“Dane Hollow.” He extended a hand. “I run tactical training for local businesses. Your modified protocols are solid.”

I shook his hand briefly, noting the calluses and controlled strength. “Sable Wynn. And thank you.”

“If you ever want to consult on active shooter scenarios, I could use your perspective.”

It was a professional offer. Completely reasonable. So why did it feel like something more?

“I’ll consider it,” I said neutrally, releasing his hand and turning to address the full group. “Next drill is scheduled for three weeks out. Location and scenario parameters will be distributed via email. Dismissed.”

The group scattered, some heading to vehicles, others clustering in small groups to dissect the morning’s performance. I packed up my equipment with efficient movements, already mentally preparing the after-action report I’d need to file with the county emergency management office.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I turned to find the broad-shouldered firefighter, Calder, standing a respectful distance away.

Up close, he was even more imposing. Easily six-two, with shoulders that spoke of years hauling equipment, and hands that looked like they could bend steel.

But his voice was quiet, almost gentle, and he wasn’t using his size to crowd me.

“Yes?”

“The structural weakness you mentioned in the community center. The load-bearing wall on the east side.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that seemed unconscious. “I should have caught that in my last inspection.”

“It’s recent damage,” I said, pulling up the building assessment on my tablet. “Hairline fracture in the foundation, probably from the earthquake tremor we had six weeks ago. I only noticed it because I was specifically looking for post-seismic damage.”

“Still.” He looked uncomfortable, like admitting a mistake physically pained him. “It’s my job to catch those things. Someone could have been hurt.”

“But they weren’t.” I studied him, noting the way he held himself with that particular stillness of people carrying guilt they hadn’t earned. “You can’t catch everything, Calder. That’s why we have multi-point inspection protocols.”

“Beau,” he said quietly. “My name is Beau.”

“Sable.” The name felt strange on my tongue in this context, personal instead of professional. “And you did good work today. Your team’s extraction protocols were efficient.”

Something shifted in his expression, pleasure and surprise mixing with what looked like disbelief. Like he wasn’t used to being praised.

Before I could analyze that further, my stomach chose that moment to remind me I’d been running on black coffee since five in the morning. The sound was embarrassingly loud in the relative quiet of the emptying parking lot.

Beau’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Station has coffee and breakfast sandwiches. You’re welcome to join us. Least we can do after you spent your morning making us look incompetent.”

“I didn’t…” I started, then caught the hint of dry humor in his tone. “That was almost a joke, Calder.”

“Beau,” he corrected again.

“Right.” I considered the offer. Professional networking, I told myself.

Building relationships with local emergency services was part of my job.

It had nothing to do with the way cedar smoke and charcoal seemed to wrap around me whenever he was close, or how my suppressant-muted omega instincts were trying very hard to convince me that this alpha smelled like safety. “Coffee would be good.”

“Follow me to the station?” He was already moving toward a truck that had definitely seen better days, all function over form.

“Copy that.”

As I packed the last of my equipment into my sensible sedan, I caught sight of the paramedic, Medical One, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. When he noticed me looking back, his face transformed into an easy grin, dimples flashing in a way that probably worked on most people.

I looked away, started my engine, and focused on the practical matter of following Beau’s truck to the fire station.

Professional networking. That was all this was.

The fact that I could still smell cedar smoke even with my windows rolled up and my suppressants at full strength meant absolutely nothing.

Nothing at all.