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.
“Her scent.” Silas tapped his nose. “Scent-sensitive, remember? I can read intensity levels, and hers are off the charts. This isn’t going to be one of those manageable heats that omegas can ride out alone with some toys and determination. This is going to be the kind that requires pack support.”
“Good thing she has a pack,” I said.
“Does she?” Silas looked at me directly. “Because we haven’t actually asked her. We’ve assumed, we’ve implied, we’ve actedlike we’re building toward a pack. But we haven’t said the words.”
