"My family has connections," Remy said slowly, something complicated moving behind his amber eyes, his usual lightness replaced by something heavier. "Old connections. The kind that remember favors owed. I haven't talked to them in years, but for this—for you—I will."
"Remy," I said softly, reaching out to cup his face with my free hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."
"I want to," he said, his voice fierce and certain, his amber eyes burning with determination. "This is my home now. You're my home. And I'm done running from hard things."
Harper's hand tightened around mine. Silas moved closer, his shoulder brushing Remy's. Gumbo rumbled contentedly at my feet. We stood there together as the morning sun climbed higher, four people and one prehistoric reptile, united against whatever came next.
Let Crescent Holdings regroup. Let them bring their lawyers and their legal threats and their corporate intimidation tactics.
We'd be ready.
They still had no idea what they were really dealing with.
Chapter Forty-Four
Artemis
The sedan that pulled up to my cabin was silver, sensible, and exactly the kind of car my mother would drive—nothing flashy, nothing that might draw attention, nothing that might suggest the family had any personality whatsoever. I knew who it was before the doors opened. Knew it in my gut, in the way my scent soured and my hands started to shake, in the way my heart dropped into my stomach like a stone.
"Artemis?" Harper's voice came from behind me, his heavy footsteps crossing the porch, concern bleeding into his tone. I felt him stop just behind my shoulder, his warmth at my back, his scent shifting from relaxed contentment to sharp alertness. "Who's?—"
"My parents," I whispered, and my voice sounded strange to my own ears, distant and flat, like it belonged to someone else entirely. My fingers had gone numb. My chest felt hollow. "My parents are here."
Harper went rigid beside me, his massive frame coiling with tension, every muscle in his body locking tight. I could feel therumble building in his chest before he suppressed it. "The ones who?—"
"Yes." I couldn't say more. Couldn't explain. My throat had closed up, sixteen years of buried pain suddenly clawing its way to the surface like something that had been waiting in the dark.
The driver's door opened first. My father emerged—Richard Delacroix, tall and distinguished, gray at the temples now, wearing khakis and a polo shirt like he was heading to the country club. Even from here I could catch hints of his Alpha scent—something sharp and astringent, like expensive cologne trying too hard. He'd always been the quieter of the two, content to let my mother run the show, content to stand behind her decisions even when those decisions involved shipping their only daughter off to the bayou like damaged goods.
Then the passenger door opened, and there she was.
Colette Delacroix looked exactly the same as she had the last time I'd seen her—perfectly coiffed blonde hair, tasteful pearl earrings, that expression of perpetual disappointment that I'd spent my entire childhood trying and failing to wipe away. Her Alpha scent hit me even across the distance—sharp and dominant, the kind of scent that demanded submission from lesser dynamics. She was wearing a cream-colored blouse and pressed navy slacks, as if she'd dressed for a charity luncheon rather than destroying her daughter's peace.
Two Alphas. They'd expected an Alpha child, a proper heir to continue their legacy of dominance and control. Instead, they'd gotten me—an Omega. I still remembered the way my mother's face had fallen when I presented. The way my father had left the room without a word. Their disappointment had been written on their faces from that moment forward, and it had never faded.
Being an Omega had been reason enough to get rid of me entirely.
"Artemis," she called out, her voice carrying that particular blend of false warmth and barely concealed reproach that had defined my entire childhood, her heels sinking into the soft ground as she picked her way toward the cabin like the mud personally offended her. "We need to talk, sweetheart."
The endearment made my stomach turn.
"No," I said, not moving from my spot on the porch, planting my feet like roots growing into the wood, "we don't." I heard the screen door open behind me—Remy and Silas, drawn by the tension crackling in the air, by the way my scent had gone sharp and bitter. The boards creaked under their weight, and I felt the air change as they took in the scene.
"What's going on?" Remy asked, his usual playfulness completely absent, his amber eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. His bare feet were silent on the porch boards as he moved to flank me, his body angling protectively, the muscles in his arms tensing beneath his sun-kissed skin.
"Her parents," Harper said, the words clipped and hard as granite, his hand settling on the small of my back in a gesture of support. His palm was warm through my thin shirt, steady and grounding.
"Ah." Silas's voice was soft, dangerous, his pale eyes fixing on my parents with predator intensity as he positioned himself on my other side. He moved like smoke, like shadow, and something in his stillness promised violence if it became necessary. "The ones who abandoned her."
The morning air seemed to thicken between us—my pack on the porch, my parents in the yard, and years of pain stretched taut as a wire about to snap. My mother's perfectly composed face flickered with something—irritation, maybe, or the faintest hint of shame—before smoothing back into that mask I knew so well. Her eyes swept over the three Alphas flanking me, and her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
"I see," she said, each word dripping with judgment, her chin lifting as if she'd just confirmed her worst suspicions. "So it's true, then. Everything they told us."
"Everything who told you?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended, my nails digging into my palms.
"Crescent Holdings reached out to us last week," my father said, speaking for the first time, his voice that same measured, reasonable tone he'd always used when delivering bad news, as if being calm made betrayal acceptable. "They were concerned about you, sweetheart. They said you were being... influenced. Manipulated by?—"
"By three Alphas who've taken advantage of a vulnerable Omega living alone," my mother finished, her voice hardening into something righteous and ugly, her eyes raking over Harper, Remy, and Silas like they were dirt on her designer shoes. "They said you were in over your head. That you needed your family."
