“So we do a trial period at Dane’s place,” Silas suggested. “See how it works. If it doesn’t, we look at other options. But let’s not buy a house together until we know we can survive living together.”
“Agreed,” Beau said. “No major financial commitments until we’ve proven we can handle the daily reality of pack life.”
“What about work?” Sable asked. “Our jobs intersect constantly. We need rules about professional boundaries.”
“When we’re on duty, we’re professionals first,” I offered. “Pack bonds don’t compromise emergency response. We treat each other the same way we’d treat any other colleague in terms of assignments and decisions.”
“Except we have the bonds,” Beau pointed out. “Which means we’ll feel each other’s distress during dangerous situations. We can’t pretend that won’t affect us.”
“We acknowledge it affects us and we do the job anyway,” Sable said firmly. “I won’t compromise operational decisions because I want to protect my alphas. You don’t compromiserescue protocols because you’re worried about me. We trust that we’re all competent professionals who can handle our jobs.”
“And we fall apart together after,” Silas added. “Professional during the crisis, emotional mess in private. That’s healthy.”
The pasta came together as we talked, all of us moving around the small kitchen with increasing coordination. It was chaotic and cramped, but it was working. We were working.
Over dinner, sitting crammed around Dane’s small table, something shifted. The tension from the fight eased. The uncertainty about how to function as pack settled into tentative confidence. We talked about stupid things and serious things, about work schedules and heat protocols and how to handle holidays.
We were learning each other. Building something real instead of something ideal.
As we cleaned up together, Beau caught Sable smiling while she dried dishes.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just... this is nice. All of us together, figuring it out, being messy and imperfect and still functional.”
Through the bonds, I felt all three of us glow with pleasure. Making her happy made us happy. That was pack. That was what I’d been missing in all my planning and organizing and trying to control everything.
Sometimes the messy, unplanned approach was better because it left room for joy.
“Same time tomorrow?” Silas asked. “Pack dinner and figuring out life?”
“Same time tomorrow,” Sable confirmed. “And every day after that.”
We were building something. Slowly, imperfectly, but genuinely. And maybe that was better than any spreadsheet I could have created.
Chapter 23
Beau
The call came through at oh-six-hundred, pulling me from the first decent sleep I’d had in days. Not nightmares this time, just the comfortable weight of knowing the pack was nearby, safe, accounted for.
“Fire One, this is Dispatch. Structure fire at 428 Maple Street. Elderly woman trapped on the second floor. All units respond.”
I was moving before my brain fully engaged, years of training taking over. Structure fire. Elderly woman. Second floor. Variable included potential collapse, smoke inhalation, mobility issues in the victim.
And 428 Maple Street was Mrs. Jenkins’s house. The sweet older lady who made cookies for the entire block and kept tabs on everyone’s wellbeing.
“Copy that, Dispatch. En route.” I grabbed my gear and headed for the door, already calculating response time and resource requirements.
Sable appeared in the hallway, instantly awake despite it being barely dawn. Through the bond, she’d felt my spike of adrenaline, the shift from sleep to emergency response mode.
“Structure fire,” I said before she could ask. “Elderly woman trapped. I need to go.”
“I’m coming too.” She was already reaching for her coordinator gear. “Margaret’s off today, which means I’m senior coordinator on duty.”
“Sable, you don’t have to respond to every call.”
“I do when it’s a structure fire with a trapped civilian.” Her voice carried absolute certainty. “That requires senior coordination. Besides, this is Mrs. Jenkins. She makes those cookies we all love.”
