28. Roman Osprey
Roman Osprey
Honey’s house sits beneath two old magnolias, its pale-yellow siding softened by vines and flower boxes overflowing with pink petunias. Rain beads along the porch rail. A pair of muddy work boots waits beside sunflower sandals, close enough that the toes touch.
Tom has closed off the front walk. The florist box remains where the courier left it, surrounded by yellow evidence markers and the clean geometry of an active scene.
Wes parks behind a sheriff’s cruiser and turns toward Scarlet before she can reach for the door. “Stay with us until the porch is cleared.”
She looks past him toward the house. Honey stands inside the open doorway, with her pack at her side.
“I need to see her.”
“You will.” Wes brushes his knuckles along her cheek. “Let Tom finish checking the box first.”
Scarlet searches his face, then nods.
The concession costs her. I feel it in the quickening of her scent and the way her fingers close around the hem of my shirt beneath Wes’s jacket, both of which she is wearing.
I take her hand as we climb out.
Her body carries both of our scents. Cedar lies warm over her skin from sleeping against Wes and wearing his clothes.
Cardamom and cinnamon spice cling to her hair, her borrowed shirt, and the place along her neck where I kissed her before we left the cottage.
Beneath both, Scarlet remains green herbs, wet earth, and a sweetness that has grown richer over the last several days.
Honey steps as close to the doorway as Tom allows. Her blonde curls are gathered into a loose braid, and she wears a soft blue dress beneath a flour-marked apron. “There you are,” she says, relief softening her voice as she takes a step forward.
Scarlet’s shoulders lower. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Honey glances behind her. “You already know these two, but they’d like to meet your investigators before Callum decides exactly how close they’re allowed to stand and whether they’ve been properly vetted.
He’s already got his own crew across the street keeping watch on the neighborhood.
” She reaches back and draws the alpha forward by his hand. “This is Callum, my alpha.”
Callum is broad through the shoulders, with deep-brown skin, closely cropped hair, and a calm presence that holds the doorway without taking it over. He offers Wes his hand first, then mine. “Callum Reed.”
“Wes Osprey.”
“Roman Osprey.”
His grip is firm, his attention direct. Then he turns toward Scarlet, warmth softening his expression. “Good to see you, Scarlet. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
She glances toward the box on the porch. “Sweetheart Haven has poor timing.”
The beta comes forward next, tension riding his shoulders, his dark curls slightly disheveled from running his hands through them.
“And this is Micah,” Honey says. “My beta mate.”
Micah offers his hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
Honey smiles. “They have been taking excellent care of me while pretending not to panic.”
“We are not pretending,” Micah says. “Callum checked every door and window twice.”
“Three times,” Callum replies.
A dog barks from somewhere near the back of the house.
“Micah moved the dogs into our bedroom,” Honey says, “because they considered the deputies an exciting new audience.”
“They were licking the front window,” Micah says.
Honey leans lightly into Callum’s side. “Protection takes many forms.”
The three of them fit together with the ease of a pack that has spent years learning one another. Callum’s hand settles at Honey’s waist before she reaches for him. Micah moves closer when her attention drifts toward the box. Honey accepts comfort from both without needing to ask.
Scarlet watches them, and grief moves through her scent before warmth follows. Maribel is too recent. Ellis kneeling before a mate who could no longer feel the life they had built remains close enough to strike straight into that old, aching place in Scarlet where being left behind still lives.
I slide my hand from Scarlet’s fingers to the back of her neck. “Stay with me.”
She turns her face toward my wrist and breathes in. “I’m here,” she says, then presses a brief kiss to my pulse.
The softness of it catches me low in the chest.
Wes adjusts his jacket higher around her shoulders. His fingers linger against her skin longer than the task requires.
Scarlet gives him a sideways glance. “You realize moving the same jacket around doesn’t create additional fabric.”
“The rain keeps touching you.”
“It is falling from the sky. You have limited authority over it.”
His mouth curves. “We will work on that.”
The exchange is quiet, meant for her, but Callum’s attention passes over us.
He notices Scarlet standing between Wes and me, her hand curled around my wrist and cedar threaded through the shirt covering her body. His alpha scent eases by a degree.
He doesn’t announce whatever he sees. He only gives me a small, understanding nod and points toward the side of the house. “Tom cleared the back entrance. We can bring you in that way.”
Honey’s home is bright in the easy way of a place that is used every day, sunlight catching on worn countertops and the soft scuffs of familiar routines.
Cookbooks lean against the backsplash. Dog toys fill a basket beneath the window.
Three ceramic mugs sit beside the sink in different stages of use.
Micah leads us into the living room, where the curtains remain closed over the front windows. “I asked the neighbors for their doorbell footage,” he says. “Two sent files. The others are checking.”
“That was smart,” Wes says. “Forward the original files to Tom. The sheriff’s office can preserve them and handle any connected searches.”
“I’m sending them now.”
Scarlet crosses to Honey as soon as they are safely inside.
Honey opens her arms, and Scarlet folds into them.
The hug begins carefully, then Honey presses her cheek against Scarlet’s hair and holds tighter. Soft omega warmth flows through the room.
“I’m sorry,” Scarlet whispers.
Honey pulls away far enough to look at her. “For what?”
“My name was on the box.”
“You didn’t write it there.”
“It came because of me.”
Honey’s expression remains gentle. Her thumbs stroke Scarlet’s knuckles. “It came because someone wanted to frighten you.”
“They chose your house.”
“And they found a house with locks, cameras, dogs, and two men who treat storm preparation like a sacred duty.”
Callum looks toward her. “The hurricane checklist has never failed us.”
“You laminated it.”
“Water resistance matters during hurricanes.”
Micah looks at me. “There are three copies.”
“Redundancy saves lives,” Callum says.
Honey smiles at them, all fondness, and returns her attention to Scarlet. “We are all right. My pack is safe, and I’m standing right here with you. You don’t need to disappear to prove you love me.”
Scarlet’s eyes shine.
Honey smooths a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “You have already spent too much time alone.” The words come with the same care Honey uses when sliding coffee across the bakery counter.
Scarlet’s mouth trembles before she leans forward and rests her forehead against Honey’s. “Best friends, pinky swear tight,” Scarlet sings.
“Day and night,” Honey sings back.
Micah walks to me while Callum gives the women room. “They have been friends since elementary school,” he says.
“I can tell.”
“Honey decided Scarlet needed adopting when they were little.”
From across the room, Scarlet says, “I heard that.”
Honey smiles. “You were eating lunch behind the greenhouse.”
“I preferred the greenhouse.”
“You were hiding.”
“I was cultivating mystery.”
“You had mustard on your cheek.”
Scarlet laughs, the sound watery around the edges, and slips her arm around Honey’s waist.
Tom appears at the kitchen door and removes his rain-spotted hat. “The box is clear of explosives and mechanical devices. We are setting up a controlled examination on the porch.”
Scarlet releases Honey reluctantly. “Can I watch?”
“From inside, through the front window. No one crosses the marked line.”
Wes steps beside her. “Agreed.”
She glances at him. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Enjoying what?”
“Being right.”
He shrugs. “It happens.”
We move into the dining room, where a wide front window overlooks the porch. Callum opens the curtain several inches, angling it so we can see the porch at a slant without standing directly in front of the glass.
Deputies have set up a folding table just off the porch steps, positioned within clear view of the window but beyond the marked perimeter. A county evidence technician arranges sealed collection kits beneath a portable light, the beam cutting through the gray morning.
Dr. Cole joins a secure video call on Tom’s tablet, where we’re all watching a live feed of the porch. Pepper is visible beside her on another screen, surrounded by photographs and comparison samples.
Scarlet looks toward Pepper. “You got pulled into this too?”
“Apparently identifying the dock plants and Earl’s roadside materials earned me another morning with Dr. Cole,” Pepper says.
“She has been useful,” Dr. Cole says.
Pepper points toward the screen. “Write that down. Tom will deny it later.”
Tom ignores Pepper’s comment and places the tablet where Scarlet can see the evidence table outside while Pepper and Dr. Cole follow the technician through the secure video feed. Pepper leans closer to her screen as the plant material comes into view, while Dr. Cole directs the testing.
The technician photographs the box, swabs the exterior, and removes the white ribbon with forceps. He cuts through the tape while Tom narrates each step for the recording.
White tissue fills the top. Beneath it lie three dried marigold heads, a swamp lily, a loop of white thread, and a cheap stone charm.
Honey’s hand finds Callum’s.
Scarlet reaches backward, and Wes takes her hand before she has to search. I settle beside her and place my palm at the base of her spine. She shifts until her shoulder touches my chest and her hip rests against Wes.