Silas said nothing. He just smiled—a small, terrible smile that made two of the suits take another step backward.
Before Preston could respond, before anyone could move, the bayou behind us exploded.
Gumbo erupted from the water like something out of a nightmare—nine feet of armored muscle and prehistoric fury, water cascading off his massive body as he hauled himself onto the bank with terrifying speed. His jaws opened wide, revealing rows of teeth that had been tearing through flesh since before humans learned to walk upright, and he let out a hiss that sounded like the gates of hell swinging open.
One of the suits screamed—a high, undignified shriek that echoed off the trees.
Preston stumbled backward so fast he fell, his expensive suit hitting the mud with a wet splat. The sheriff had his hand on his gun but seemed frozen, unable to process what he was seeing. The other corporate types were in full retreat, all pretense of professionalism abandoned.
Gumbo positioned himself between me and the intruders, his massive tail sweeping through the mud, his ancient yellow eyes fixed on Preston with the patient hunger of an apex predator. He rumbled—that deep, prehistoric sound that meant he was deciding whether something was worth eating—and took one deliberate step forward.
"That," I said, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice, watching Preston scramble backward in the mud like a crab, "is Gumbo. He's lived on this property for years. He's very territorial." I paused, letting that sink in. "And he hasn't had breakfast yet."
"Call it off!" Preston shrieked, his voice cracking, all pretense of authority gone, his face pale and streaked with mud. "Jesus Christ, call that thing off!"
"He's not a thing," I corrected, my tone mild, as if we were discussing the weather. "He's family. And he doesn't like people who threaten his pack."
Gumbo snapped his jaws together with a sound like a gunshot. Someone—I couldn't tell who—actually whimpered.
"Here's what's going to happen," I said, stepping forward until I stood right beside Gumbo, one hand resting on his massive, armored back. "You're going to get up out of that mud. You're going to get back in your fancy cars. And you're going to drive away and never come back to my property again."
"This isn't over," Preston spat, struggling to his feet, his ruined suit dripping mud, his face twisted with humiliation and rage. "We have legal grounds—we'll take this to court?—"
"Then I'll see you in court," I said simply, stroking Gumbo's scales, feeling him rumble with pleasure under my touch. "But I should warn you. My pack includes a successful businessman with excellent lawyers." I nodded toward Harper. "A musician whose family has more money and connections than God." A nod toward Remy. "And a former special operations soldier who knows exactly how to make problems disappear." My eyes found Silas, who was still wearing that terrible smile. "And that's not even counting my nine-foot alligator, who really doesn't like uninvited guests."
Preston opened his mouth—maybe to threaten, maybe to argue, maybe just to salvage some scrap of dignity from the wreckage of this confrontation.
Harper moved before he could speak, stepping forward until his massive frame loomed over Preston like a mountain about to collapse. "The lady told you to leave," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the chest, his gray eyes promising violence if the message wasn't received. "I won't ask again."
For a long, tense moment, nobody moved. The morning air hung thick with tension, with the smell of mud and fear-sweat and something primal.
Then Preston turned and fled.
There was no other word for it. He fled—stumbling through the mud toward the SUVs, his ruined dignity abandoned in the dirt. The other suits followed, practically climbing over each other to get to the vehicles. The sheriff lingered for just a moment, his weathered face troubled.
"Ma'am," he said quietly, his voice heavy with something that might have been shame. "I'm sorry. They said it was just a property dispute. I didn't know?—"
"Tell your mama I said hello," I interrupted, my voice softer now, the feral edge receding. "She's a good woman. Raised you better than this."
He flinched like I'd slapped him, then nodded once and retreated to his cruiser. We stood there—the four of us, plus Gumbo—and watched the SUVs back frantically down the dirt road, their fancy suspensions protesting every rut and root. They didn't slow down until they hit the main road and disappeared around the bend.
The moment they were gone, Remy let out a whoop that startled birds from every tree in a hundred-foot radius. "Did you see his face when Gumbo came out of the water?" he crowed, his amber eyes bright with manic glee, his whole body vibrating with triumphant energy. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack! I thought I was going to have a heart attack!"
"The one in the gray suit wet himself," Silas observed, the ghost of a smile playing at his scarred lips, his pale eyes warm with something that looked suspiciously like pride. "Could smell it from the porch."
"You were incredible," Harper said, his voice rough with emotion as he turned to face me, his gray eyes soft despite the lingering tension in his massive frame. "You didn't need us at all. You handled them yourself."
"I did need you," I corrected, reaching out to take his hand, feeling his fingers curl around mine like he never wanted to let go. "I need all of you. That's what pack means."
Gumbo rumbled and nudged my hip with his massive snout, demanding attention. I laughed—a slightly hysterical sound—and reached down to scratch behind his eye ridges.
"Yes, you too," I murmured, feeling him melt under my touch like a scaly, prehistoric cat. "Very scary. Very impressive. Best guard dog in Louisiana."
He rumbled again, sounding insufferably smug.
"They'll be back," Silas said, his voice quiet but certain, his pale eyes fixed on the empty road. "This isn't over. They're embarrassed now, humiliated. That makes them dangerous."
"I know," I agreed, watching the dust settle where the SUVs had been. "But next time, we'll be ready. We'll have lawyers and documentation and whatever else we need to fight them in court instead of in my front yard."
