21. Wes Osprey
Wes Osprey
The camera alert cuts through the room, and every soft part of Scarlet locks.
A minute ago, she was warm and loose against Roman’s chest, a quilt over her legs and both our scents worked deep into her skin.
Her mouth is swollen from mine. Her hair is tangled from Roman’s hands.
Tenderness colors the way she shifts on the couch after taking both of us inside her.
She dresses quickly. Her fingers drag the bright fabric of her skirt into place as though clothing can turn what happened between us into a sealed room no danger can enter.
The sight awakens a violent protectiveness in my chest.
Roman checks his phone first. “Pepper sent a preliminary update.”
I look at mine. The grainy camera feed shows movement near the greenhouse. A pale blur passes through the lower corner. A dark shape bends near the ruined marigold bed before slipping out of frame toward the water side of the property. It’s nothing useful, just enough to know someone is outside.
“Stay inside,” I say.
Scarlet’s head snaps up.
It was the wrong thing to say. The command is already between us, sharp and familiar in all the worst ways. Her honeyed scent collapses beneath panic.
“Right,” she says too calmly. “We’re back to that.”
Roman’s regretful gaze meets mine over her shoulder.
I force my alpha down before instinct turns one bad sentence into another. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
Scarlet reaches for her boots beside the couch. The movement pulls her mouth tight, and I know she’s sore even before she pauses to hide it.
My alpha wants to carry her upstairs, lock every door, and handle the threat without letting it breathe near her. But that isn’t how I keep Scarlet Sage. I crouch in front of her rather than standing over her. “I need you with us.”
Her fingers still on the boot leather.
Roman lowers his phone. “That’s better.”
Scarlet studies my face. Fear is twisting the room around her, but she hasn’t disappeared behind it yet. “What did the camera catch?”
“Movement near the greenhouse, not enough to identify anyone.”
She puts on one boot, then the other.
Roman reads Pepper’s message. “She compared the samples from the hidden dock with the broader marsh collection. The dock sample is more concentrated. She also found an unidentified plant-based binding compound.”
Scarlet looks at him. “Binding how?”
“Something in the sample appears to help the material cling to vegetation instead of dispersing quickly. She needs more testing before she can identify it or say how it got there.”
I retrieve my field light from the table. “And the lower levels Pepper found elsewhere?”
“Separate collection points,” Roman says. “We don’t know whether they share a source.”
Scarlet’s breathing slows a fraction.
I open the hall-table drawer and take out the heavy flashlight I noticed yesterday. “You know the yard better than we do,” I say, handing it to her. “Stay between us. Watch the porch line and the water path. If you see movement, call it.”
Her eyebrows raise. “You’re giving me a job?”
“I’m using the person who knows the property.”
“That sounds suspiciously respectful.”
“I’m trying something new.”
Roman’s mouth curves. “Growth.”
Scarlet lifts the flashlight. “Don’t sound relieved. It makes me want to become difficult.”
“You were already committed,” he says.
The affection in his voice warms her scent despite the fear.
We move.
Scarlet follows, Roman close enough behind her to catch a slip without crowding her. The greenhouse waits at the edge of the yard, red paint gleaming wet beneath the field light.
Bondbreaker. The crude eyes beneath the word stare from the glass.
Rain gathers in Scarlet’s hair and darkens the hem of her skirt against her calves. Cedar and cardamom still cling to her beneath the earth and fear.
She looks thoroughly satisfied. She also looks ready to fight anyone who notices.
A gust moves through the cypress trees.
Scarlet’s beam cuts toward the water side. “Left.”
I pivot toward the old path, but nothing moves beyond the palmettos. Rain taps leaves. Swamp water shifts through roots. The darkness offers no shape I can separate from the trees.
Roman crouches near the marigold bed. “Wes.”
A bundle rests between the ruined stems. Marigold stalks and swamp grass have been woven together with white thread and a narrow strip of white ribbon. A folded paper sits beneath it, protected from the mud by a thin plastic sleeve.
Scarlet stops short. “That’s built like the protection kits at Dupree’s stand.”
Roman looks from the thread to the bundled plants. “Something people in town would recognize as ritual material.”
“And trust enough to carry home,” I say.
The arrangement is careful, too careful to match the paint.
Scarlet steps closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “This wasn’t here earlier.”
“No.” I pull on the gloves from my pocket before lifting the paper.
It’s a photocopy. Scarlet’s body goes rigid beside me. Three lines have been circled in dark ink:
Held too tightly.
Release worsens after false protection.
Consent mark fails when only one side agrees.
Scarlet makes a small sound.
Roman rises slowly. “The camera was already installed.”
“Yes.”
“Whoever placed it knew the camera was there and accepted the risk.”
Scarlet stares at the page. “They’re using her.” Her voice has gone flat. “My grandmother. My flowers. My house.” She looks at the evidence bag in my hand. “Now she gets another place on your board.”
“Yes,” I say.
Roman curses behind her.
Scarlet pales.
I continue before the answer can cut deeper. “It goes on the board because someone selected this text and staged it here for us to find.”
Her mouth tightens. “Convenient.”
“Deliberate.” I gesture toward the greenhouse without stepping closer to her. “The paint is fast and crude. The bundle is arranged. The paper was protected from the rain. It was purposeful.”
Her gaze moves from the paint to the bundle.
Roman kneels beside the flower bed. “It was constructed to be read.”
“By me,” Scarlet says.
“Possibly,” I answer. “By all of us, certainly.”
She laughs once, the sound splitting at the edge. “Wonderful. My dead grandmother has entered scape-goat portion of the investigation.”
“Scarlet.”
“Don’t.” Her eyes lock on mine. “I know that face. You’re arranging me into the case again.”
A harder answer would be easier. Instead, I tell her the truth. “I’m arranging the evidence around you because someone keeps putting it there.”
Her lips part.
“I’m not turning you into a suspect,” I say. “I’m trying to understand how your history is being used so we can stop whoever is doing it.”
The rain thickens.
Water runs through my hair and down the back of my shirt. Scarlet stands close enough that I can feel the heat of the body Roman and I had beneath our hands minutes ago.
The instinct to touch her is overpowering but I force myself to wait.
Her gaze drops to my open hand. Then she steps to me.
Her forehead presses to my chest, and her fingers close around the sides of my shirt.
I wrap one arm around her shoulders. Roman moves behind her, setting a warm palm against her lower back.
The three of us stand in the rain with evidence at our feet and danger somewhere beyond the trees.
She purrs once, faint and strained.
I lower my mouth to her hair. “We’ve got you.”
Roman’s thumb moves once against her back.
Scarlet lets out a breath and stays where she is, only for a few seconds. Then she steps away on her own. “Bag the paper before I become emotionally reasonable.”
Roman smiles. “Terrible risk.”
The teasing puts a little color back in her face.
I seal the photocopy and ribbon separately. Roman photographs the bundle in place before bagging the plant material dry.
“Pepper needs to compare the plants and thread,” he says.
Scarlet looks toward the greenhouse. “Marigolds were my grandmother’s protection flower.”
That detail doesn’t solve anything, but it might lead us to an answer. I write it in my field notes exactly as she said it.
“Nothing else gets touched until daylight unless the rain threatens it,” I say.
Scarlet lifts one brow. “You’re leaving my murdered marigolds in evidence purgatory?”
“I’ll cover the bed.”
“With what? Your authority?”
“A tarp.”
Roman turns his cough into a laugh.
Scarlet wraps one arm around herself and looks toward the water path. “They came back after the cameras went up.”
“Yes.”
“They wanted me to find this.”
“They wanted it found,” I say. “We don’t know whether you were the only intended audience.
” I look at the bundled plants again. “And if Pepper finds the same compound on this material, we’ll know the bundle itself can carry exposure.
That still won’t tell us whether it’s the only drug delivery route. ”
She turns toward me. “Does that difference matter?”
“It does.” The truth warms her scent one reluctant degree.
Roman checks Pepper’s next message. “She wants the bundle kept dry and separate from the dock samples.”
I nod and finish sealing the evidence.
Scarlet keeps looking toward the dark line of trees. The pleasure from earlier hasn’t vanished completely. It remains beneath the fear, in the way her body angles toward both of us without conscious calculation.
I look at the house, the porch light, the blinking camera beneath the eaves, and the water-side darkness beyond it. “You’re not staying here alone tonight.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Wes.”
“I’m not ordering you out of your house.”
“That’s a promising beginning.”
“Roman and I are staying. You choose where we sleep: couch, floor, porch, separate rooms, truck. You can change your mind at any point.”
Roman’s voice softens. “Whoever came here did it while we were on the property.”
Scarlet looks back at the bundle. Rain moves down her face. “Every time I let people close, this town gives me proof I shouldn’t.”
I step near enough that she can reach me without being crowded. “Don’t let whoever did this decide for you.”
Her eyes lift toward mine. For one second, her fear clears enough for me to see the omega who pulled Roman and me toward her and chose us both without apology. She reaches for my hand. Roman takes the other.
“All right,” she says. “You stay.”
The decision settles through my alpha like a permanent request.
Behind us, Roman’s phone chirps again.
A second camera. Water side. We turn toward the screen.
The feed shows rain, black trees, and a faint pair of reflective eyes low beside the swamp path, too indistinct to identify and too steady to ignore.