Chapter 14 #2
“Oh, I’m committed.” Silas took a drink of his coffee, and I noticed his hands were completely steady despite the exhaustion that had to be dragging at him. “I’ve been committed since she figured out I was scent-sensitive without me saying a word. You know how rare that is?”
“Pretty rare,” Beau said.
“Unheard of,” Silas corrected. “I’ve been hiding it for eight years. Perfected the performance, kept everyone at exactly the right distance, made sure no one looked too close. And she took one lunch with me, had one conversation where I wasn’t performing quite as hard as usual, and just knew.”
He set down his coffee mug with more force than necessary.
“She saw me. Actually saw me. Not the flirt, not the joker, not the guy who makes everything seem easy and fun. She saw that I was reading her, that I knew things I shouldn’t know, and instead of being uncomfortable or scared or weird about it, she just acknowledged it and moved on. ”
“That matters to you,” I observed.
“That matters to me more than anything.” Silas’s voice was intense in a way it rarely was, the humor stripped away to reveal the person underneath.
“I’ve been alone in crowds for eight years because everyone I meet is performing and I can feel them performing and it’s exhausting.
With her, I don’t have to pretend I don’t know what she’s feeling.
She knows I know, and she’s okay with it. ”
“So we’re doing this,” Beau said. Not a question this time. A statement of fact.
“We’re doing this,” I confirmed. “All of us. No backing out, no second-guessing. We prove to her that we’re not Nathan. That we see exactly who she is and we’re not going anywhere.”
“We prove she’s not too much,” Silas added.
“We prove she’s exactly enough,” Beau finished.
A sound from upstairs made all three of us freeze. Not distress, exactly, but need. The kind of vocalization that came from deep heat, from biology demanding attention, from an omega who was trying to ride out the waves alone.
Sable’s scent had been building all afternoon, filling the house with cedar smoke and autumn rain and something that made every alpha instinct I had demand I go to her. Every breath brought more of it, stronger and more present, until the entire safe house smelled like her.
Like pack.
But we’d promised to give her space. To let her have privacy until she asked for more. To not crowd her, not push her, not make her feel like we were taking advantage of her vulnerability.
“How long?” Beau asked quietly.
Silas closed his eyes, and I knew he was using that scent-sensitivity he tried to hide. Reading the pheromones in the air, interpreting them, understanding what her biology was doing even from a floor away.
When he opened his eyes, they were darker than usual. Affected by her scent, by the call of a compatible omega in heat.
“She’s in the thick of it,” he said, voice rough. “Another hour, maybe two, and the heat will peak. That’s when she’ll need us most. When the waves get too intense to manage alone.”
“If she wants us,” I corrected.
“She wants us. She’s just scared to admit it.
” Silas rubbed his temples like his head hurt.
Probably did. Scent-sensitivity during an omega’s heat had to be overwhelming.
“Fear and desire smell almost the same when they’re this intense.
Both spike adrenaline, both cause elevated heart rate, both make scent stronger. But I can tell the difference.”
“What’s the difference?” Beau asked.
“Fear pulls back. Desire leans in.” Silas looked up at the ceiling, toward where Sable was alone in my bedroom. “She’s leaning in. She wants us. She’s just terrified we’ll hurt her.”
The weight of that settled over the room. The responsibility. The trust she was offering even though she’d been betrayed before. The risk she was taking by letting us into her space during heat, when she’d be at her most vulnerable.
I thought about my team. About Martinez and Keane and Johnson and Michaels and Kowalski and Davis. Six names I’d memorized, six faces I saw every time I closed my eyes. Six brothers who’d trusted my tactical assessment, my judgment, my leadership.
I’d led them into that compound based on intelligence that turned out to be wrong. Made the call to proceed despite signs that should have warned me off. Put them in position to be ambushed because I’d missed something critical in the planning stage.
And they died while I survived.
For three years, I’d lived with that guilt. Convinced myself I didn’t deserve happiness, didn’t deserve connection, didn’t deserve anything good because I’d failed so completely at the one thing that mattered. Keeping my team safe.
But Sable didn’t see failure when she looked at me. She saw someone who could keep her safe. Someone who understood threat assessment and tactical planning and how to make hard decisions under pressure. Someone strong enough to carry the same kind of damage she carried and still function.
Maybe that was enough.
Maybe surviving didn’t mean I had to spend the rest of my life punishing myself.
Maybe I could build something new without betraying the memory of what I’d lost.
“I’m going to check the perimeter,” I said, setting down my coffee. “Make sure the property is secure. When she calls for us, I want to be ready.”
Outside, the late afternoon sun was breaking through the remaining storm clouds, turning everything golden. The property looked exactly like it should. Trees standing tall after the storm, debris scattered but nothing major, the approach road clear and visible from the house.
Defensible. Isolated. Safe.
I’d chosen this location specifically because it gave me sight lines in all directions.
Could see anyone approaching from at least a quarter mile away, which meant plenty of time to assess threat level and respond appropriately.
The house was positioned on high ground, the back against a rock face that couldn’t be scaled without equipment, which meant only three sides to defend instead of four.
Old habits. Tactical assessment even in civilian life, even when the likelihood of needing to defend the property was minimal to non-existent.
Except now I was grateful for those habits.
Grateful for the paranoia that had made me build this place like a fortress.
Because Sable needed somewhere she could be vulnerable without worrying about strange alphas showing up.
Needed space to let her heat run its course with people she was choosing, not people forced on her by circumstance.
My phone buzzed. Message from Margaret, the county emergency manager.
Status check. How’s your coordinator doing?
I replied quickly. Secured in a safe location. She’ll resume remote coordination when she’s ready. Probably 48 hours.
Margaret’s response came fast. Good. Tell her we’ve got this. She trained us well. Everything’s under control here.
Will do.
Also tell her to actually rest. Woman’s been running on pure stubbornness and coffee for two days. We can handle things without her for 48 hours.
I smiled slightly. Margaret had clearly figured out what kind of coordinator Sable was. The type who ran herself into the ground before admitting she needed help.
The type who probably tried to work through her heat because asking for space felt like weakness.
The type who needed people to make her rest, make her eat, make her acknowledge that taking care of herself mattered.
Good thing she had three alphas who were willing to do exactly that.
I pocketed the phone and continued my circuit around the property. Checked the generator housing, made sure the propane tanks were secure, verified that the solar panels on the roof were undamaged from the storm. Everything was functional. Everything was ready.
The property was as secure as I could make it. No threats visible, no concerns flagged, no reason to worry about anything except what was happening inside the house.
Except me.
I wasn’t ready for what it would mean to claim an omega. To admit I wanted a pack. To acknowledge that surviving my team’s death didn’t mean I had to punish myself forever by staying alone.
Wasn’t ready to open myself up to that kind of vulnerability, that kind of connection, that kind of potential for loss.
But I was going to do it anyway.
Because Sable mattered more than my guilt. And maybe, just maybe, we could help each other heal. Could build something new without betraying what we’d lost. Could find a way to be a pack that honored our damage instead of ignoring it.
When I came back inside, Beau and Silas were in the kitchen preparing food.
They’d laid out supplies on the counter with careful organization.
Protein bars, fresh fruit, sandwiches already made and wrapped.
Water bottles, sports drinks, juice. Everything an omega might need during heat to maintain strength and hydration.
“She’s going to need to eat,” Silas said without looking up from where he was cutting fruit. “Between waves. Heat burns massive calories, and she hasn’t eaten much today. I’ll make sure we have everything ready.”
“Bossy for someone who’s not the pack leader,” I observed.
“Someone has to be practical.” But he was smiling, that quick flash of dimples that meant genuine amusement rather than performance.
“Besides, you’re busy doing your brooding protector thing.
Walking the perimeter, checking for threats, making sure the fortress is secure. I’m being useful in other ways.”
“The perimeter is secure.”
“Of course it is. You built this place like you were expecting siege warfare.” Silas finished with the fruit and moved on to arranging everything on a tray.
“But seriously, she’s going to need sustained nutrition.
Heat’s hard on the body even without the emotional component. And this one’s going to be intense.”
“How can you tell?” Beau asked.