That's what drags me back to consciousness--the sharp, unmistakable crack of gunfire, close enough to make my ears ring, close enough that I can smell the gunpowder in the air. I'm being grabbed, hauled upward, my limp body used as a shield by someone whose grip is too tight on my arm, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises.
"Don't come any closer!" The harsh-voiced man again--Damien-except now he sounds scared. Desperate. The arrogant contempt from before has evaporated, replaced by raw, primal fear. "I'll shoot her! I'll gladly fucking shoot her! Don't test me! I'll do it!"
Something cold and metallic presses against my temple--a gun, my sluggish brain supplies. He has a gun to my head. That should probably frighten me more than it does, but I'm too out of it to properly register the danger.
A familiar voice cuts through the chaos like a blade through silk--cold and precise and absolutely terrifying in its calmness. Julian North at his most dangerous, stripped of all pretense, revealing the ruthless businessman underneath the polished exterior.
"If you fucking dare shoot her," Julian says, and I've never heard him sound like this before--never heard this much ice in his voice, never felt the temperature of a room drop so dramatically from words alone, "your whole fucking legacy is over. Everything your pathetic family has built over generations.Gone. I will burn it to the ground and salt the earth so nothing ever grows there again. Every investment, every property, every business venture--I will systematically destroy it all. And then I'll come for you personally."
Julian. Julian is here. They came for me. They actually came for me. My ridiculous, dramatic, overprotective Alphas found me and came for me.
Before Damien can respond, there's another gunshot--sharp and decisive, the sound of someone who knows exactly what they're doing. Damien screams, a raw sound of agony that echoes through the warehouse, and suddenly the gun is no longer pressed against my temple. The grip on my arm loosens as my captor crumples to the ground, clutching his leg where blood is rapidly pooling.
"You shot his fucking leg!" someone shouts--Milo, maybe, his voice high and cracking with disbelief. "Holy shit, you actually shot him!"
"And you're damn lucky I don't amputate it right here and feed it to you," Julian responds, his footsteps approaching, each one measured and deliberate on the concrete floor. I can hear the click of expensive shoes, can smell his familiar scent of bergamot and sandalwood cutting through the chaos. "That's what happens when you hurt what's ours. When you dare to touch our Omega. Consider the leg a warning shot. A reminder of what I'm capable of. The next shot won't be so merciful."
Hands catch me before I can fall--gentler hands, familiar hands that know exactly how to hold me. The scent of campfire smoke and pine washes over me like a tidal wave of comfort, and I nearly sob with relief. Elias. My Elias. His arms are strong and steady around me, pulling me close against his chest where I can hear his heart pounding with adrenaline and fear and something that might be rage.
"Rosemarie." Elias's voice is tight with worry, cracking around the edges like he's barely holding himself together. "Rosemarie, can you hear me? Wake up, baby. Please wake up. Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me. Let me see those pretty eyes."
I want to. I want to so badly. But the best I can manage is a groan, my head lolling against his shoulder as he cradles me against his chest. His heartbeat is loud in my ear, fast and strong and real, proof that this isn't a dream, that I'm actually being rescued.
"What the fuck did you give her?" Tank's voice now, coming from somewhere to my left, carrying the kind of deadly calm that suggests imminent, terrible violence. The voice of a man who has killed before and will do so again without hesitation if the answer isn't satisfactory. "Answer me. What did you give her? What drugs?"
"We didn't give her anything!" Milo's voice, panicked and high, the voice of a man who knows he's out of his depth. "I swear on my life! Damien lost his temper and punched her out cold, and when she woke up, she was already acting like this. Disoriented, feverish, weird. We didn't drug her!"
"Her scent is all wrong," Elias says, his nose pressed against my hair as he inhales deeply, analyzing, cataloging. "It's... fuck. She's going into heat. That's what's wrong. She's going into heat and her body is fighting against it because she's injured and stressed and surrounded by strange Alphas. Her system is in overdrive trying to protect itself."
"Get her out of here." Tank's voice is hard as granite. "Now. Her parents brought reinforcements, and we have a medical van waiting outside. Our people. Trained professionals. Get her to safety while Julian and I handle the cleanup."
"Well, you're coming with," Elias says, already moving, adjusting his hold on me so he can carry me more easily,cradling me against his chest like I'm something precious. "Obviously. I'm not leaving you two alone with these idiots."
"Not without leaving these fuckers damaged permanently." Tank's voice is ice. "They put their hands on what's ours. They need to understand what that costs."
Julian speaks again, that terrifying calm still coating every word. "Elias, go. Get her to the medical team. Firefighters don't do this kind of dirty work anyway. That's for the investors with enough money to make problems disappear..." A pause, heavy with implication. "And for military douchebags who use 'bodyguard' as the friendlier term for 'if you touch what's mine, you will fucking die by my hands.'"
"Fine," Elias grumbles, and I can feel his reluctance in the tension of his arms. "But save a punch or two for me. I'll be back once she's stable."
I feel myself being lifted, cradled against Elias's chest like I weigh nothing. The world tilts and spins, and I must lose consciousness briefly because when I open my eyes again, we're outside in the cold night air. Snow is falling. I can see it drifting past the lights of what looks like an ambulance--no, a medical van, black instead of white, discreet and professional.
Then we're inside, and a cold towel is being pressed to my forehead, and I whimper at the relief of it against my overheated skin.
"Easy, easy." A woman's voice, calm and competent, with the practiced efficiency of someone who does this kind of thing regularly. "I'm Dr. Reyes. You're safe now. I'm going to take care of you."
There's a sharp pinch in my arm--an IV being inserted, I think--and the doctor continues speaking, her words directed at Elias now.
"We'll stabilize her. She's about to go into full heat, but this medication will stall it for a day or two at best. It'll give hertime to recover from the physical trauma, get proper rest and nutrition. Once she's stronger, you can proceed with... well." A hint of professional amusement. "Whatever you were planning for Valentine's Day."
"If she needs more time," Elias says, and his hand finds mine, squeezing gently, "we can wait. Her health comes first."
"We could administer a stronger suppressant to delay the heat further," Dr. Reyes offers, "but those come with worse side effects. Nausea, mood swings, potential interference with the eventual heat cycle. I don't recommend it unless absolutely necessary."
"No." Elias's voice is firm. "No unnecessary drugs. She'll be fine with us for her heat. She has three Alphas who will take care of her. Just... please prioritize treating her injuries. The heat can wait. Her wellbeing can't."
"We'll meet you at the hospital," he adds, and I feel him lean down to press a kiss to my forehead. "I just need to go back briefly. Show those men what happens when you touch our Valentine."
The doctor makes an amused sound. "Go on then, Mr. Alpha. Defend your woman's honor or whatever it is you need to do. We'll handle things here. Your girl is in safe hands."
