Harper caught me before I hit the ground, sweeping me up into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. "I've got you," he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with emotion he'd kept locked down during the confrontation but could no longercontain. "I've got you, sweetheart. It's over. It's okay. You're safe."
"That was terrifying," I whispered, my voice unsteady, my whole body shuddering with the aftermath of adrenaline and fear and fury. I buried my face against his chest, breathing in cedar, moonshine and safety. "The whole time. I was so scared the whole time. I thought I was going to throw up, or pass out, or both."
"You didn't look scared." Remy appeared at my side, pressing a kiss to my temple, his hand stroking down my arm in soothing circles. His fingers weren't quite steady, I noticed—he'd been just as terrified as me, just better at hiding it. "You looked like a warrior queen defending her kingdom, cher. Like Boudicca with an alligator instead of a chariot." A shaky laugh escaped him. "C'était magnifique. It was incredibly hot, by the way. I'm going to be thinking about that speech for the rest of my life. 'Three Alphas who would burn the world down'—I almost proposed on the spot."
"Not the time." Silas's voice was dry, but there was a ghost of a smile on his scarred face as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. His touch was impossibly gentle for hands that could do so much damage, hands that had been ready to do terrible things just moments before. "You did good, Artemis. Real good. Better than good."
"I nearly threw up on his fancy shoes," I admitted, a weak laugh escaping me despite everything. "Would've served him right, honestly. Bet that suit's dry-clean only."
Remy barked out a surprised laugh, his whole face lighting up with relief and affection. "There she is. There's my girl."
"What happens now?" I asked, wrapping my arms around Harper's neck as he carried me inside, the other two trailing behind us like guards flanking their queen. The house felt different now—safer, somehow, like the confrontation haddrawn a line in the sand that couldn't be uncrossed. "He's going to go back to his bosses and tell them?—"
"He's going to go back and tell them they're completely and utterly screwed." Remy's voice turned cheerful, bright with vindication. He flopped down onto the couch as Harper settled me beside him, immediately pressing close like he needed the physical contact as much as I did. "Because they are, cher. Foutu. Done for. I wasn't bluffing about those financial records—one phone call to the right reporter and Crescent Holdings is front-page news for all the wrong reasons. Two phone calls and they're under federal investigation. Three and their stock price tanks so hard their shareholders start filing lawsuits of their own."
Harper sat down on my other side, pulling me against his chest with a possessiveness that felt like coming home. His heart was pounding—steady but fast, the only outward sign of just how worried he'd been. "The lawyer said they have until tomorrow to respond to the lawsuit. After what just happened here tonight—after your little speech and Remy's threats and Silas being, well, Silas—I'm guessing they're going to be very motivated to settle."
"And if they don't?" I pressed my palm flat against Harper's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my fingers. "What if they're too stubborn? Too proud? What if Hartley gets back to them and they decide to double down?"
"Then we fight." Silas lowered himself to the floor in front of us, his back against the couch, close enough that I could reach out and touch his shoulder if I needed to. Which I did—needed to touch him, needed to feel all three of them close and solid and real. "Together. Like we always do."
Remy nodded, lacing his fingers through mine. "Mais oui, I meant what I said back there. I have enough dirt on these people to bury them ten times over. They try anything else—anything at all—and I start making calls. To the FBI. To the Times-Picayune. To every investigative journalist who's ever wanted to take downa corporate villain." His dimples flashed, but his eyes were serious. "They wanted to play dirty? Bien. We can play dirty too. We can play dirtier than they ever imagined."
I looked around at them—my pack, my family, these three impossible, wonderful, terrifying men who had somehow become my whole world.
"I love you." The words came out thick with emotion, with gratitude, with a fierce joy that felt too big for my chest to contain. "All of you. Even when you're being ridiculous overprotective alphas who materialize out of nowhere like some kind of bayou SWAT team."
"Probably have a lot less flour on your ceiling." Remy nudged my knee with his, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks, his smile finally reaching his eyes again.
"And fewer heart attacks," I added, poking him in the ribs. "Seriously, where did you all even come from? I didn't hear a single footstep."
"Trade secret, cher." Remy caught my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes dancing with mischief even in the dim light. I laughed despite myself, the tension finally shattering like ice in spring, and let myself sink into the warmth and safety of my pack's embrace.
We sat there for a long time, tangled together on my old couch, watching the last light fade from the sky through the windows. The stars came out one by one, scattered across the darkness like spilled diamonds, and the frogs sang their ancient songs, and none of us spoke. We didn't need to. The bonds between us said everything that mattered.
The phone rang just as the moon rose above the cypress trees, full and silver and impossibly beautiful.
Harper reached for it before I could, his jaw tight with renewed tension. "Yeah?" A pause, his brow furrowing. I watched his expression shift—surprise, then somethingcautious, something guarded but edged with hope. "Yes, she's here. Hold on."
He handed me the phone, his dark eyes searching my face. "It's Delphine LeBlanc."
My breath caught as I pressed the phone to my ear. "Ms. LeBlanc?"
"Ms. Devereaux." Despite her youth, her honeyed drawl carried the confidence of an Alpha twice her age—crisp with barely contained energy, an undercurrent of something that might have been triumph running beneath her professional calm. "I just received a very interesting call from Crescent Holdings' legal team. It seems Mr. Hartley's little visit to your property this afternoon has... accelerated their timeline considerably."
I gripped the phone tighter, my fingers aching with the pressure. "What does that mean?"
"It means they want to settle, cher. Tomorrow morning. Both parties present, face to face, with full legal counsel." A pause, weighted with significance. "They're scared, Ms. Devereaux. They're running scared. Whatever happened today, whatever you and your pack said to that man—it worked. They want this over, and they want it over fast. Before any of those financial records find their way to unfriendly eyes."
I looked at Harper, at Silas, at Remy—all three of them watching me with varying degrees of tension and hope, their faces painted silver and shadow by the moonlight streaming through the windows.
"Tomorrow morning," I repeated slowly, my free hand finding Harper's knee and squeezing, hardly daring to believe the words. "Where?"
"The parish courthouse. Nine sharp. I'll meet you there at eight-thirty to go over the final details." Another pause, and thistime I could hear the smile in her voice. "Get some rest tonight, cher. You've earned it. Tomorrow, we finish this."
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly, my fingers unsteady, my pulse racing with something that felt dangerously like hope.
