"Wouldn't expect anything less, cher." He caught my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm, his lips warm against my skin, his eyes never leaving mine. "Wouldn't want anything less."
Harper appeared at my other side, his arm settling around my shoulders, solid and warm and perfectly content. "We should celebrate. Properly. Tonight."
"I have some ideas about that." Silas's voice was low and warm, a rumble that vibrated through me, and the look he gave me—heated, promising—sent sparks spiraling through my veins.
"You three are going to be the death of me." But I was smiling as I said it, leaning into their warmth, my heart so full it felt like it might burst. "Fine. Celebration tonight. Family meeting later." I looked around at them—my pack, my mates, my home. "And whatever comes next—we face it together."
"Together." Harper pressed a kiss to my temple, his voice a promise against my hair.
"Always." Silas's scarred hand found mine, his pale eyes saying everything his words didn't.
"Mais oui, cher." Remy's dimples flashed as he bumped his hip against mine. "That's what pack means." We walked to the truck together, the four of us moving as one, and for the first time in months—maybe the first time in my entire life—I felt truly, completely, unshakably safe.
The fight was over.
We had won.
Whatever came next, we would face it the same way we'd faced everything else.Together.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Gumbo
Rawr
Chapter Fifty-Five
Gumbo
The sun was warm on my scales.
I lay on my rock—the good rock, the flat one that caught the afternoon light just right and held the heat long after the sky turned orange and watched my territory. The bayou stretched out before me, familiar as my own heartbeat. I knew every cypress, every patch of lily pads, every place where the water ran deep and cold. I had swum these waters since I was born. I would swim them long after this generation of soft-skinned creatures turned to dust and memory.
But for now, I had other concerns.
My human was happy.
I could smell it on her—that warm, sweet scent that had replaced the bitter tang of fear and loneliness she'd carried when she first came to the cabin. She smelled like contentment now. Like home. Like pack.
The word was not mine, not really. It belonged to the warm-blooded creatures who gathered around her, the three males who had slowly, grudgingly, earned their place in my territory.But I understood the concept well enough. Pack meant family. Pack meant protection. Pack meant the difference between surviving and thriving.
My human had a pack now. And I approved.
Mostly.
The loud one was on the porch, making noise with the wooden thing that had strings. His sounds were not unpleasant—better than the screaming metal boxes the other humans drove, better than the angry voices that had come before. He made my human laugh, which was good. Laughter meant safety. Laughter meant no predators nearby, no threats to address.
I had not liked him at first, this golden-furred male with the too-bright eyes and the too-quick movements. He reminded me of the herons—all flash and noise, drawing attention when stillness would serve better. I had watched him over the long weeks, had seen the way he positioned himself between my human and danger, the way his easy smile hardened into something fierce when threats appeared.
He was not just noise. There was teeth beneath the charm.
The day the bad-smelling man came in the shiny black box, the loud one had been the first to move. I had seen it—the way his body shifted, the way his eyes went flat and cold, the way he became something dangerous in the space between one heartbeat and the next. He had stood between the threat and my human, and he had not backed down.
I respected that. Herons could be vicious when protecting their nests.
The big one was inside, moving around the cabin with those heavy footsteps that made the wooden floor creak and groan. He was the largest of the three, built like a bull gator in his prime—all muscle and mass and quiet power. He moved slowly, deliberately, like he knew his own strength and was careful not to break things.
I had tested him, that first day. Let him see my teeth, let him feel the rumble of my warning in his bones. He had not run. Had not flinched. Had simply stood his ground and waited, those dark eyes steady, his hands open at his sides.
