44. Elena
Chapter forty-four
Elena
"Elena? You okay?" Cole’s voice is a warm wave of concern, his hand instantly, steadyingly at my elbow as his scent flares with protective worry.
"Mostly," I manage, my voice strangled into a squeak that’s definitely not champion material. "But, um… I think our romantic moments on stage might have just officially kicked my heat into gear."
The three alphas exchange glances that could only be described as ‘Oh, crap.’
Their scents, which had settled into a simmer after my… quickie … with Dorian, now roar back to life, swirling together into a heady, knee-weakening cocktail that my body is very interested in sampling. Extensively.
"Holy cannoli, what do we do?" James blurts out, his usual swagger deflating into wide-eyed panic.
Dorian, ever the cool-headed strategist, is already whipping out his phone, his thumb tapping with terrifying efficiency. "My villa. We'll take one of my cars." He says it with the calm authority of someone who regularly navigates hostile takeovers.
A laugh, slightly hysterical, bubbles out of me despite the next wave of discomfort making my toes curl. "Of course this would happen now . Because my life’s motto is clearly 'Timing is everything.'"
Another cramp hits, sharper this time, and I sway. Cole steps closer.
"Permission to deploy Operation: Human Chariot?" he asks quietly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
I nod, past caring about dignity. "Permission desperately granted."
In one smooth, surprisingly effortless motion, he scoops me into his arms (making my inner omega squeal in the best way). The contact, even through layers of clothing, sends little zings of electricity across my hypersensitive skin.
Dorian and James, bless their alpha instincts, immediately flank us, parting the now-gaping crowd like seasoned bodyguards clearing a path for royalty.
Faces rush past in a blur of wide eyes, parted lips, and the flash of phone cameras.
But my focus narrows: Cole’s strong arms, the heady mix of alpha scents wrapping around me like a shield…
and the demanding throb building deep inside me.
"Marcus is bringing one of the cars to the east exit," I hear Dorian say, snapping his phone shut, his voice a calm command cutting through the din. "It'll be waiting. James, handle the local press."
"Journalists? Now ?" James exclaims with mock horror, then winks, his swagger snapping back into place. "Don’t worry, Elena, darling! I shall dazzle them with my verbosity and rugged charm. They won't know what hit 'em."
As we near the exit, a small gaggle of local reporters, smelling a story juicier than my tart, descends. Camera flashes pop like rogue fireworks.
"Mr. Beaumont! Ms. Avery! Over here! What’s the scoop? Are you dating?"
James steps forward, a shield of grins and distracting banter.
"Whoa there, folks! Give the champion some air! She’s overcome with joy, and possibly too much sugar.
Normal after such a sweet victory. We’re just taking her for a quick check-up to make sure her heart isn't confusing excitement with cardiac arrest." I bury my face against Cole's chest, half mortified, half giggling.
A Bentley, clearly part of Dorian's fleet, glides to the curb.
Cole, with surprising gentleness for a man his size, maneuvers me into the plush leather backseat, the cool material a temporary balm.
He slides in beside me as Dorian takes the other side.
A few seconds later, James appears slightly breathless, hopping into the front passenger seat.
"North road, Marcus," Dorian instructs the driver. "Let's avoid the main highway bustle."
"Yes, Mr. Beaumont."
I rest my head against Cole’s shoulder, trying to breathe through the escalating waves of heat. Every nerve ending is doing the tango. The car is now saturated with three prime alphas and one rapidly ripening omega. It should be overwhelming. Instead, it feels… right. Safe.
"How far to this sanctuary of yours?" Cole asks, his voice a low rumble.
"Twenty minutes, give or take," Dorian replies.
James bounces his knee. "Should we make a pit stop? You know, for… supplies? Champagne, maybe?
Dorian offers a rare, small smile. "The villa is fully stocked. One must always be prepared for the… unexpected."
I manage a sound that's half groan, half snort. "Of course it is. It’s completely normal to have a heat-readiness kit on standby."
"Well," Dorian replies, with a perfectly straight face, "let's just say I had a small hunch on the events..."
The car winds its way into the wooded hills, weaving past sprawling estates tucked behind stone walls and iron gates. Eventually, we turn onto a private drive, where terraced gardens spill gracefully down the hillside, framing a view of the lake.
A quiet sigh escapes me. The villa is every bit as breathtaking in the daylight as it was under the stars.
"This is your little weekend spot?" Cole asks, his voice tinged with awe.
"More than that," Dorian replies, a touch of warmth in his tone as the car glides to a halt. "It's legacy. My grandfather bought and restored it decades ago."
A butler straight out of a luxury estate brochure opens my door, bowing slightly. "Ms. Avery, Monsieur Beaumont. Refreshments are prepared." He offers a silver tray with chilled, lavender-scented towels that feel divine against my forehead.
"Ah, Gerard, wonderful timing," Dorian says.
Cole lifts me again. I wrap my arms around his neck, inhaling his scent as another cramp washes through my lower stomach.
"Will you be requiring anything further, Monsieur?" Gerard asks, impeccably neutral.
"We are settled, thank you, Gerard. You may take the rest of the day off."
"Very good, sir."
Cole carries me through the arched doorway, Dorian deftly unlocking his massive oak door. The interior literally steals James's and Cole's breath away as they take it all in.
"Sweet mother of pearl," James mutters. "This must have cost more than Lakeview itself."
Dorian chuckles, leading us toward a wing I hadn't seen, stopping in front of a beautiful mahogany door. "The primary suite. Just redone. Best views, most comfortable amenities."
The bedroom is… palatial. The bed could host a small slumber party. Windows open onto a private terrace. A door hints at a spa-sized ensuite. And yes, scattered across the bed are the softest, fluffiest blankets and pillows imaginable. It’s an omega’s heat-nest dream.
Cole gently sets me down. "This is…" I start, but a twinge steals the rest. "It's beautiful."
"Only the best for our Pastry Queen," Dorian quips, concern softening his eyes. "For now, let's get you some water and food," he continues. "Cole, you'll find fresh linens and more comfortable clothing for Elena in the en-suite. James—"
“On it,” James cuts in, already heading to the terrace. “Fresh air coming right up.” He slides the windows open, letting in a soft breeze that smells of pine and lakewater. "And with all the switches in here, I'm betting there's mood lighting."
I watch them, a little dazed, as they move with unspoken coordination. These three powerful alphas, who, in another dimension, could be at each other's throats over me, are working together, creating a haven for my comfort. It’s unexpected and overwhelmingly sweet.
Cole returns from the ensuite with an emerald green silk robe. It shimmers.
"Would this be more… comfortable?" he asks, his gaze gentle.
I nod, my skin practically screaming to be free of the clothes I’ve been in all day. As Cole, ever the gentleman, turns his back and James frowns at the wall of switches (trying to figure out which of the dozen controls what), I slip into the robe. Bliss.
James finally finds how to dim the lights, and Dorian returns with Fiji water, crackers and artisanal cheese.
"How are you feeling, chérie ?" Dorian asks.
"Like my skin is too small," I admit. "And everything smells… intense. Distractingly so."
"Including us?" James asks, mischief glinting.
A blush rises. They all smell divine. Cole's cedar and musk, James's bergamot and saffron, Dorian's sandalwood and cinnamon. A symphony just for me.
"We're here for you, Elena," Cole says sincerely. "Whatever you need. What you choose."
Tears sting at the corners of my eyes. "This probably isn’t how any of you planned to spend your Sunday."
Dorian chuckles. "Candidly, I can think of far worse predicaments."
I laugh, then wince. "Surreal. This morning I was fired. Now I'm a champion, with three amazing alphas… and about to go into heat in a mansion that could have its own zip code."
"Villa," Dorian corrects smoothly. "And as for being fired… surely you don’t still believe that. You’re Pierre’s most valuable asset.
He’d be insane not to hire you back." His expression shifts, turning thoughtful.
"But honestly, you're ready for more. You should think seriously about opening your own bakery. "
I gasp, not from pain. "My own… You think I could?"
"Undoubtedly," Dorian replies, smiling now. "I’ve seen hundreds of bakers rise and fall, and I know you'll succeed more than anyone I've ever met." He pauses, his gaze steady. "You know I could help you, right? With getting it started."
"W-what?"
He leans in slightly, his voice soft but sure. "Let me invest in you, Elena. Call it a loan, if that makes it easier. Or a gift, if your pride allows. You deserve it."
"You’d make it the best damn bakery this side of the Atlantic," James adds.
Cole nods, eyes shining. "You have the talent. The fire. All you need now is the launchpad."
"Oh my god," I breathe, "my own bakery…"
"Which would mean you wouldn't be an employee anymore…" Dorian smiles, "but an entrepreneur."
My tears spill freely. After the humiliation, the certainty that my career was toast, I not only have a future, but it’s the future I’d barely dared to dream of. My own creative space. My own business…
"But I don’t… I don't deserve this," I whisper, my voice thick. "Not after how I pushed you all away."
"This isn't about what you did or didn't do," Dorian says, his voice steady and grounding.
"It's about your talent. Your heart. What you've accomplished despite everything working against you.
" His gaze softens. "Besides, can any of us really claim we haven't screwed up at some point?
I mean, I literally got caught with my pants down during a baking competition. "
I snort-laugh despite the heat building in me. "That's one way to put it."
"What matters," he continues, a smile tugging at his lips, "is what we choose to do next. And I'm not just talking about a bakery anymore, Elena."
He swallows hard, his usual composure flickering. "What I'm trying to say is... I want you, Elena. I'm pretty sure we all do." He looks at James and Cole.
James grins, though there's something vulnerable in his eyes. "Damn right I do. You've got me wrapped around your little finger, Elena. Hope you're ready for that level of devotion."
Cole nods slowly, his usual stoic mask softening. "Couldn't have said it better myself. We all want you, Elena. And honestly?" He glances at the other two with something like fondness. "I think we work well together."
"I… I want you too," I say, my voice soft but clear, meeting each of their gazes. "All of you. As incredibly different and wonderful as you are. Even if we're all figuring this out as we go."
Another wave of heat pulses through me, making me shift restlessly against my silk robe. "Also…" I twist my fingers together, looking down shyly. "Just… just to be one hundred percent sure… Will you all… help me through this? My heat, I mean?"
The air shifts. Their expressions turn hungry. Primal. But they fight it, their eyes locking onto mine, filled with something deeper than just lust.
"Of course, chérie ," Dorian says, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that makes my knees weak. "It would be my profound honor to take care of you."
"Sugar, I've been fantasizing about this since our first 'fake' kiss," James adds, his usual swagger replaced by something raw and honest. "I'm happy the script finally caught up."
Cole steps closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper meant just for me. "Nothing would mean more to me, Elena. I want to take care of you, to be there for you through every moment of this."
The moment shimmers. Then another rush of heat crashes through me. I gasp, arching.