Chapter 14
Dane
The safe house felt different with three other people in it.
I’d built this place three years ago, after I came back from overseas and couldn’t handle living in town where people wanted to talk about what happened.
Where neighbors looked at me with pity or curiosity or that particular kind of discomfort that came from knowing someone had survived when others hadn’t.
Where every conversation eventually circled back to the question I couldn’t answer.
What happened over there?
How did you make it out when your team didn’t?
Are you okay?
I wasn’t okay. Hadn’t been okay since the day I’d crawled out of that compound with shrapnel in my leg and six bodies behind me. Six men I’d led into that operation. Six brothers who’d trusted my tactical assessment, my judgment, my leadership.
Six ghosts who followed me everywhere I went.
So I’d bought this property and built this house and told myself it was temporary.
Just a place to decompress, to process, to figure out how to live in a world where my entire team was dead and I wasn’t.
The property was fifteen acres of mountain forest, isolated enough that I couldn’t hear traffic or neighbors or anything except wind and wildlife.
Defensible, with clear sight lines in all directions and only one approach road that I could monitor from the house.
The structure itself was designed for extended isolation.
Generator backup, well water, propane heating, communication equipment that could reach emergency services even without cell coverage.
Reinforced construction that could weather everything from heavy snow to high winds.
I’d built it with military precision, every detail calculated for security and self-sufficiency.
It was supposed to be temporary, or at least that was what I told myself. A safe place to heal, to work through the nightmares, to figure out how to be a person again instead of just a survivor.
Except I’d never figured that out. The nightmares didn’t stop. The guilt didn’t ease. And temporary became permanent because the safe house was the only place I felt like I could breathe without the weight of six deaths pressing on my chest.
Until today.
Today, it was full of people who mattered.
Beau was in my office, setting up the communication equipment with the focused intensity he brought to everything.
I could hear him moving around, muttering to himself as he ran diagnostics on the satellite link and tested the backup systems. Making sure Sable would have full coordination capability even from this remote location.
Silas was raiding my kitchen, and I could hear his running commentary even from the living room.
“Dane, your pantry is a thing of beauty. Military precision meets survivalist paranoia. I respect it, but also, have you heard of fresh vegetables? No judgment, just concerned about your scurvy prevention strategy.”
“There’s a root cellar,” I called back. “Carrots, potatoes, onions. And a freezer with meat.”
“Of course there is. Of course you have a root cellar. Why wouldn’t you have a root cellar in your mountain fortress of solitude?”
But there was affection in his voice, not mockery. Silas understood, better than most, why someone might need a place like this. A place to retreat when the world got too loud, too demanding, too much.
And upstairs, Sable was riding out the first waves of her heat in my bed.
The thought made my alpha roar with possessive satisfaction that I had to actively suppress. My bed. My blankets carrying my scent. My space that had never held anyone except me, now sheltering an omega who smelled like cedar smoke and autumn rain and everything I hadn’t known I was missing.
Except she wasn’t mine. Wasn’t ours. We hadn’t earned that yet.
She was here because she needed safety during her heat, not because she’d chosen us as a pack. And the difference mattered. I wouldn’t claim her, wouldn’t push for more than she was ready to give, wouldn’t let biology override her choice.
Even if every instinct I had was screaming at me to go to her, make sure she was safe, eliminate any threat to her wellbeing.
“Communication array is solid,” Beau said, appearing in the living room doorway.
His hands were dirty from handling cables, and there was a smudge of dust on his cheek.
He looked tired but satisfied, the way he always did after completing a task well.
“Satellite link is stable, backup systems are tested, and I’ve set up encrypted channels for emergency coordination.
She can run the whole county from here if she needs to. ”
“Good.” I was kneeling in front of the fireplace, building a fire even though the house was warm enough. Old habits. Fire meant security, meant warmth, meant survival. “Thanks for handling that.”
“You really built this place to withstand extended isolation.” Beau moved to the window, checking the perimeter like I’d taught him during one of our tactical training sessions.
Scanning the tree line, noting sight lines, assessing approach vectors.
Good habits, ones that might save his life someday.
“That was the idea.” I added wood to the fireplace, watching the flames catch and spread. “Never thought I’d be using it for this.”
“For what? Sheltering an omega during her heat, or admitting you actually want a pack?”
I shot him a look, but he was smiling slightly. Not mocking. Just observant.
“Both,” I admitted.
Beau was quiet for a moment, still looking out the window. “She’s scared.”
“I know.”
“Not just about the heat. About us. About what happens after.” He turned from the window, his blue eyes serious. “She thinks we’re going to look at her when she’s vulnerable and decide she’s too much trouble. That we’ll do what Nathan did.”
“I know that too.” I fed another log into the fire, adjusting the placement with more attention than it required. Creating the perfect structure, the optimal airflow, the kind of fire that would burn steady and hot for hours. Control in small things when everything else felt uncertain.
“Are we?”
“What?”
“Going to reject her.” Beau crossed his arms, his posture shifting into something more confrontational.
Not aggressive, but firm. Making sure I understood how serious he was.
“Because if there’s any chance any of us is having second thoughts, we need to leave now.
Before her heat hits full force. Before we take something we can’t give back. ”
The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Because he was right. Once we claimed her, once pack bonds formed, there was no walking away without causing damage. Omega biology was wired for permanent bonds, for the kind of connection that ran deeper than choice or logic.
If we bonded with her and then left, it would break something fundamental inside her.
Just like Nathan had.
I met Beau’s eyes directly. “I haven’t had second thoughts since the first day I saw her running that drill.
Maybe before that, if I’m being honest. Watching her coordinate emergency response, seeing her command authority, the way she made hard decisions without hesitation.
” I paused. “I just spent three years convincing myself I didn’t deserve a pack.
That wanting connection was selfish when my team was dead. ”
“And now?”
“Now I think maybe she’s right. Maybe we’re all disasters who can help each other stop being disasters.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension that lived there permanently. “Maybe surviving doesn’t mean I have to punish myself forever.”
“Maybe,” Beau agreed quietly.
“What about you?” I asked. “You ready for this? Ready to commit to pack with an omega you’ve known for six weeks? Ready to deal with everything that comes with that?”
Beau was quiet for a long moment, and I saw him processing. Weighing the decision the way he weighed every decision, careful and thorough and aware of consequences.
“I saved three people last night,” he finally said. “An omega and two kids, trapped in a submerged vehicle. The exact scenario that’s haunted me for years.”
“I know. You did good work.”
“I saved them because Sable looked at me and told me I could. When I was frozen, when the panic was taking over, when I was about to let someone else handle it because I was convinced I’d fail again.
” He turned to look at me fully. “She saw past the failure to the person I’d been before.
Made me believe I was still that person. ”
“You are that person.”
“I know that now. Because of her.” His jaw tightened slightly.
“First time in three years I’ve done a water rescue without freezing.
First time I’ve slept without nightmares.
That was last night, Dane. One night of sleeping in the same building as her, knowing she was safe, knowing we were building something. And the nightmares didn’t come.”
The significance of that settled between us. Three years of nightmares, gone after one night of feeling like he had a pack.
“I’m not walking away from that,” Beau said firmly. “From her. If there’s a chance we can build something real, something that helps all of us heal, I’m taking it.”
Silas appeared from the kitchen carrying three coffee mugs, somehow balancing all of them despite the fact that they were full. He had that particular grace that came from years of emergency medicine, the ability to move quickly without spilling or dropping or causing unnecessary chaos.
“Who’s walking away from what?” he asked, handing us each a mug. “Because if someone’s planning an exit strategy, I need to know so I can talk them out of it or possibly tackle them. I’m light but I’m scrappy.”
“No one’s walking away,” I said. “We’re making sure we’re all committed before this goes further.”