Chapter 10 Dane #2
The next hour tested everyone’s limits. Radio chatter was constant, updates coming in from all three shelter locations, weather conditions deteriorating further, and reports of minor flooding in several low-lying areas.
Sable coordinated everything with the same calm authority she’d shown all day, but I could see the exhaustion starting to show.
Her movements were slightly less sharp, her responses taking a fraction of a second longer.
She needed rest. Needed food. Needed someone to make her stop pushing herself past reasonable limits.
At nineteen thirty, during a brief lull in radio traffic, I moved to her station.
“When did you last eat?”
She glanced up, distracted. “What?”
“Food. When did you last have actual food, not a protein bar Beau left on your desk six hours ago?”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She gave me a look that would have made lesser men back down. I held her gaze, waiting.
“This morning,” she finally admitted. “Breakfast. I had breakfast.”
“That was twelve hours ago.”
“I’m aware of how time works, Dane.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled. Even exhausted and running on empty, she had attitude. It was one of the things I admired about her.
“You need fuel,” I said. “You can’t coordinate effectively if your blood sugar drops.”
“I said I’m fine.”
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick message to the group text with Beau and Silas. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast. Twelve hours.
Beau’s response came immediately. Make her eat something.
Silas’s reply was more colorful. Boss lady gets mean when her blood sugar drops. Feed her before she snaps at someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I showed her the messages.
Sable stared at my phone, then at me, and something shifted in her expression. Not anger. Something softer. More vulnerable.
“You three have a group text about looking after me?”
“We have a group text for emergency coordination,” I corrected. “You happen to be the subject of coordination sometimes.”
“That’s not better.”
“Maybe not. But it means you have three people watching your six. Making sure you’re okay even when you’re too busy taking care of everyone else to take care of yourself.”
She was quiet for a long moment, and I could see her processing that. The fact that we cared. That we’d formed a unit around her without asking permission. That we weren’t going away.
“There’s soup in the break room,” I said quietly. “Thermos that someone brought. It’s still hot. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Five minutes during an active emergency response.”
“Five minutes so you don’t collapse when we need you most.”
She held my gaze, and I let her see what I was feeling. The concern. The protectiveness. The absolute certainty that her wellbeing mattered to me more than anything else happening inside or outside this building tonight.
Finally, she nodded. “Five minutes.”
I followed her to the break room, not because I didn’t trust her to actually eat, but because I couldn’t seem to stay away from her. Some instinct that went deeper than training, deeper than logic, insisted I needed to be where she was.
The break room was empty, which was a mercy. Sable didn’t need more people watching her, judging her, noticing that her suppressants were failing and her scent was calling to every alpha in range.
I found the thermos Beau had mentioned and poured soup into a mug. Chicken and vegetables, simple and nourishing. I handed it to her and watched her take the first sip.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Those two words landed harder than they should have. Gratitude from Sable felt earned, felt significant.
“You’re welcome.”
She ate in silence, and I gave her space but stayed close enough that my presence was a barrier between her and the door. If anyone came looking for her, they’d have to go through me first.
“This is weird,” she said after a minute.
“What is?”
“This. You. All three of you.” She set the mug down and looked at me directly. “Six weeks ago, I didn’t know any of you. Now you’re bringing me soup and coordinating via group text and I’m letting you. That’s weird.”
“Weird bad or weird different?”
She considered that. “Different. I think. Maybe.” She ran a hand through her short curls, frustrated.
“I don’t know. I don’t usually let people do things for me.
I handle my own problems, manage my own needs.
But you three just keep showing up and somehow I keep letting you and I don’t know what that means. ”
“It means you’re not as isolated as you’ve been trying to be,” I said. “It means maybe you’re ready to let someone care about you.”
“I’m not ready.”
“But you’re considering it.”
She didn’t deny it, which was significant. Sable wasn’t someone who left things ambiguous. If she didn’t want something, she said so clearly.
“My suppressants are failing,” she said abruptly. “I know you’ve noticed. All three of you. Every alpha in this building has probably noticed.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t concern you?”
“Should it?”
She gave me an exasperated look. “Dane. I’m an omega whose suppressants are failing in a building full of emergency responders during a high-stress situation. That’s textbook dangerous.”
“You’re safe here.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’m here.” I moved slightly closer, not crowding her but making my presence clear. “Because Beau and Silas are watching too, even from Creek Hollow. Because every person in this building respects you and knows that anyone who doesn’t would answer to us.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s very alpha of you.”
“I’m very aware.”
“It should bother me. That possessive claim. That assumption that you have any right to protect me or make declarations about my safety.”
“But it doesn’t.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “No,” she finally admitted. “It doesn’t. And that’s what scares me.”
I understood that fear. Had felt it myself every time I thought about what it would mean to let myself want her. To acknowledge that the careful distance I’d been maintaining was a lie I told myself to stay safe.
“Sable.” I waited until she met my eyes. “I’m not going to push you. None of us are. But I need you to know something.”
“What?”
“I always know where you are. I’ve known since that first day at the drill.
I know when you get to work in the morning, when you leave at night, what route you take home.
I know which coffee shop you stop at on Wednesdays and which grocery store you use.
” I paused. “I’m telling you this because you deserve to know, and because you deserve to decide if that’s something you can accept. ”
She stared at me. “That should be creepy.”
“I know.”
“It should feel controlling or invasive or like you’re stalking me.”
“I know.”
“But it doesn’t.” Her voice was soft, almost wondering. “It just feels like someone cares whether I make it home safely. Like I’m not alone in this town anymore.”
“You’re not alone.”
The moment stretched between us, heavy with things neither of us was ready to say. Her scent was stronger now, cedar smoke and autumn rain wrapping around me like she was claiming space in my senses.
My phone buzzed, breaking the moment. Message from Beau in the group text.
Cardiac patient stabilized. Heading back to base. ETA twenty minutes.
I showed Sable the message and watched relief cross her face.
“I should get back to the command center,” she said.
“Five minutes isn’t up yet.”
“Yes it is.”
“Then five more minutes. Finish the soup.”
She gave me a look but picked up the mug again. I counted it as a victory.
When she finished, we walked back to the command center together. The rain was still hammering the roof, the storm showing no signs of letting up. It was going to be a long night.
But as I took my position at the security station and watched Sable return to coordinating emergency response, I felt something settle in my chest. Purpose. Direction. The certainty that I was exactly where I needed to be.
Protecting her. Supporting her. Making sure she knew that whatever happened next, she wasn’t facing it alone.
When Beau and Silas returned twenty minutes later, soaked and exhausted but mission successful, I saw them both look immediately for Sable. Saw the same relief I’d felt when we’d gotten them home safely.
We were all disasters, like Silas had said. Three broken alphas circling an omega who thought she didn’t need anyone.
But maybe we were the kind of disasters who could piece each other back together.
Maybe that was enough to start with.