Chapter 27 | Angus
Angus
I stood like a mountain carved from fury, watching the woman I'd claimed as mine kneel in the ruins of everything she'd built with love and determination.
The acrid stench of burned dreams filled my nostrils, mixing with my chocolate scent that had sharpened to something darker, more primal.
.. like burned sugar mixed with the metallic tang of blood I hadn't yet spilled but would.
When the fire department had finally managed to get around the debris, they had done their job with efficiency, drowning the flames that had devoured the orphanage until nothing remained but blackened timber.
Water still dripped from the twisted metal that had once been window frames, each drop hitting the ground with a sound like tears falling on a grave.
The morning sun cast long shadows through the skeletal remains, creating patterns of light and dark that reminded me of prison bars — fitting, since whoever had done this had just sentenced themselves to something far worse than incarceration.
Heather's strawberry and cream scent had been overwhelmed by smoke and grief, but I could still catch traces of it beneath the destruction.
She knelt where the kitchen had been, her fingers sifting through debris with the desperate precision of someone searching for something that couldn't be found.
I clenched my fists when I saw her shoulders shake with silent sobs that cut through me like blades.
Behind her, Cole draped a white sheet over the covered form that had once been Heather’s mom.
"Easy, love," I murmured when Heather's searching grew more frantic, her fingers cutting themselves on shards of glass hidden in the ash. But she couldn't hear me through the storm of grief that had wrapped around her like chains.
Bennett crouched beside her, placing his arm around her and pulling her into his chest.
"She's gone," Heather whispered, her voice breaking. "She's really gone, and I never got to say goodbye."
The raw pain in her voice made something murderous unfold in my chest. These bastards hadn't just burned a building; they'd stolen the final moments between a mother and daughter and turned what should have been a peaceful passing into terror and flames.
For that alone, they'd earned every ounce of vengeance I was planning to deliver.
Dante appeared at the edge of the destruction, moving with purpose despite the soot that streaked his clothes and the exhaustion that shadowed his features.
He carried bottles of water from his restaurant.
His posture remained neutral, although his tone of voice curbed on comforting when he said, “Drink this, beautiful.” He knelt beside Heather with water that she needed more than she realized.
Shock and smoke inhalation were a dangerous combination, and her body had already been pushed beyond its limits.
But as I watched Heather finish the entire bottle, my mind was elsewhere, cataloging everything I'd seen, every detail that might lead us to the bastards responsible.
The way the fire had spread spoke of professional arson.
The timing that had coincided with Susie's disappearance wasn't a coincidence.
This had been planned by people who understood how to use tragedy as cover for their real objectives.
A sound escaped Heather's throat that barely qualified as human.
It was raw, guttural, and torn from places deeper than grief.
It was the cry of a woman who'd lost everything in one night, who'd watched her mother die while strangers stole another child she'd sworn to protect.
The sound cut through me like physical violence, making every protective instinct I possessed roar to life with murderous intensity.
She doubled over in the ash, her body convulsing with sobs that seemed too large for her frame to contain. Bennett didn't hesitate; he picked her up into his arms and carried her away.
"I've got you," he murmured against her hair, his voice carrying absolute conviction despite the chaos surrounding us. “I’ll take you home.”
She cried some more. “I don’t have a home,” she wailed. My heart sank into my stomach. It physically hurt.
Bennett sighed slowly, “You will always have a home with us.” He looked at the children still huddled together, “You all will.”
Cole straightened from his work, his movements careful and dignified as he approached our huddled group. "She's ready," he said quietly. "I'll handle everything from here."
Dante pressed another water bottle into Heather's hands, his marshmallow scent wrapping around our group like a blanket. "Drink," he insisted gently. "Your body needs this, even if your heart doesn't want anything right now."
The morning light continued to strengthen around us, illuminating destruction that looked even worse in daylight than it had in the orange glow of flames.
But it also revealed something else — the absolute determination in each of my pack brothers' faces, the promise that this wouldn't end with only grief and loss.
As Heather's sobs gradually quieted against Bennett's chest, I made a silent vow that would shape every decision I made from that moment forward. The men who'd done this. Jude and his pack. They'd hurt my family. My pack. My Omega.
And for that, they were going to learn exactly why some sleeping giants should never be awakened.
It was time to show them their new home. Our home. The mansion sat on the outskirts of Shaker City, and while we had to walk the whole way, due to the roads still being covered in debris, we got there in the end with depleted children, a tearful Omega, and angry Alphas.
The mansion rose before us like something from a dream, all warm stone and welcoming windows that seemed impossible after the nightmare we'd left behind.
I'd helped Bennett choose this place months ago, back when we'd been planning for a future that included an Omega.
Little did we know we would find her so fast, and have a ready-made family to boot!
But walking up the circular drive with our traumatized group felt like leading refugees from a war zone rather than bringing our family home.
The children moved with careful steps, their faces still streaked with soot despite Dante's attempts to clean them up.
Their eyes darted constantly between shadows and corners, seeking threats that might emerge from the darkness.
Bennett shifted Loubie Lou against his chest, the little girl having finally succumbed to exhaustion after hours of clinging to her rescued bunny.
Her small form looked impossibly fragile against his broad frame, her nightgown torn and dirty, but her breathing finally steady with sleep that had been hard-won.
His peppermint scent had gentled to something protective and warm, wrapping around her like a shield against the trauma trying to follow us home.
"Right then, let's see what we've got here," I said, pushing open the heavy front door with one hand while keeping the other on Tomas's shoulder.
The boy had barely spoken since we'd left the ruins, his blanket clutched around him like armor against a world that had just proven how quickly safety could be stripped away.
The foyer opened before us. Cole turned on the lights, and warm golden rays seemed to embrace rather than expose. High ceilings arched overhead, supported by beams that spoke of strength. It was nothing like the fragile orphanage that had burned so easily. They’d be safe here.
"This is home now," I told the children, my voice carrying conviction despite the way Denson's eyes kept darting toward the windows. "These walls are strong, these doors are solid, and nothing bad can reach ye here."
Dylan coughed softly, the sound still carrying traces of smoke damage, but he managed a small nod as he took in the grand staircase that curved upward like something from a fairy tale. "It's really big," he whispered, the first words he'd spoken since we'd pulled him from the burning building.
"Big enough for everyone to have their own room," Bennett said, his voice gentle as he adjusted Loubie Lou's position. "Your own space, your own things, your own place to feel safe."
I watched the children's faces as the meaning of his words sank in.
After months of shared rooms and donated beds, the concept of personal space seemed almost too large to grasp.
But I could see hope flickering behind their traumatized expressions.
It was the first light I'd seen since this nightmare began.
"Come on then," I said, herding them toward the living room where furniture had been arranged to accommodate a large family. "Let's get ye settled while the adults sort out the important bits."
The smell of hot chocolate drifted from the kitchen before I saw Dante emerge with a tray that held steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits that somehow still looked perfect despite everything we'd been through.
"Thought everyone might need something warm," he said, his voice carrying the gentle authority that made following his suggestions feel like being cared for rather than managed. "Hot chocolate for the little ones, tea for the adults."
The children accepted their mugs with the careful reverence of people who'd learned not to take kindness for granted. Even Loubie Lou stirred enough to take a few sips when Bennett held the cup to her lips, her bunny tucked securely under one arm as if she'd never let it go again.
But it was Heather who concerned me most as she sat rigid on the edge of the massive couch, her body present but her mind clearly elsewhere.
Her strawberry and cream scent had muted to something gray and distant, as if even her pheromones were withdrawing from a world that had proven too dangerous to fully inhabit.
Cole appeared at her shoulder with the kind of quiet presence that had become his signature, his hand settling on her shoulder in comfort.
"I need to make arrangements," he said quietly. "But I'll be back soon, and everything will be handled properly."
She nodded without really seeing him, her fingers wrapped around her tea mug with a grip so tight her knuckles had gone white.
But her eyes remained vacant, staring at something none of us could see.
.. perhaps the flames that had consumed everything she'd built, perhaps the empty space where Susie should have been sitting among the other children.
"We have to find her," she said suddenly, her voice cracking with desperate intensity that cut through the room's careful calm. "Susie's out there somewhere, and they have her, and we're just sitting here drinking tea like everything's fine."
The words hit the children like physical blows.
Tomas pulled his blanket tighter, while Dylan's breathing quickened with anxiety that threatened to spiral into panic.
They'd been trying to process the loss of their home, their safety, their surrogate grandmother.
To add the reality of Susie's disappearance was more pressure than their young minds could bear.
"We'll find her," Bennett said, his voice carrying absolute conviction as he settled Loubie Lou more comfortably against his chest. "We have everything in hand, Heather. Plans are already in motion. But right now, you need to rest. You all do."
She shook her head with violent denial, tea sloshing over the rim of her mug to splash across her smoke-stained clothes. "I can't rest. Not while she's out there. Not while those monsters have her."
But even as she protested, exhaustion was winning the battle against the adrenaline that had kept her functioning through hours of crisis.
Her eyelids drooped despite her efforts to stay alert, her body swaying slightly as shock and grief finally overwhelmed the desperate energy that had sustained her.
Bennett moved with careful precision, setting Loubie Lou on the couch beside the other children before taking a position next to Heather. His hand found hers where it clutched the mug, gentle fingers working to loosen her death grip before the ceramic shattered from the pressure.
"Just for a few hours," he murmured, his peppermint scent wrapping around her like a sedative. "Let us watch over things while you get some strength back."
She tried to argue, tried to maintain the vigilance that had defined her approach to protecting her family, but her body had reached its limits. Her head tilted toward his shoulder despite her mental protests, seeking comfort her conscious mind wanted to reject.
I watched as her breathing gradually deepened, the tea mug tilting dangerously in her loosening grip. Bennett caught it smoothly before it could fall, setting it aside while his other arm circled her shoulders to support her as consciousness finally surrendered to exhaustion.
"There's a good girl," he whispered, lifting her with care. "Let us carry this for a while."
The sight of her finally at rest should have been comforting, but I found myself studying every shadow, every window, every potential entry point that might threaten this sanctuary we'd created.
The children were safe for now, Heather was getting the rest her body desperately needed, and my pack brothers were already planning our response to the bastards who'd done this.
But somewhere in the darkness beyond these strong walls, a fourteen-year-old girl was counting on us to find her before it was too late.