"Our Omega," Elias corrects, and there's so much pride and possessiveness in those two words that it makes my heart clench even through the fog of pain and medication. "Who's going to be our wife. As soon as we can make it official. As soon as this is all over and she's recovered."
Dr. Reyes whistles low under her breath as Elias climbs out of the van, his silhouette framed by the snow falling outside before the doors close behind him. "Wife, huh?" she murmurs, half to herself as she turns back to check my vitals. She sighs, a sound of fondness mixed with exasperation that suggests she's dealt with plenty of protective Alphas in her career. "Alphas. Sooverprotective. So dramatic. Always with the grand declarations and the dramatic rescues." But there's warmth in her voice, not criticism. Understanding, even.
She taps on the partition separating us from the driver. "Move out. Take us to Oakridge General, priority route. And try to avoid the bumps if you can--our patient has had a rough enough day already, and I'd rather not have her throwing up from motion sickness on top of everything else."
The van begins to move, smooth and steady, the hum of the engine a soothing backdrop to the beeping of the medical monitors. Dr. Reyes turns back to me, adjusting the cold compress on my forehead with gentle hands, checking the IV line with practiced efficiency. Her movements are calm and competent, the kind of assurance that comes from years of handling emergencies.
Then she does something unexpected--she reaches out and gently strokes my cheek, a maternal gesture that makes something in my chest loosen. It's the kind of touch my own mother rarely gave me, the kind of simple comfort that says 'everything is going to be okay' without needing words.
"Rest, Miss Carlisle," she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of a promise. "You're in safe hands now. Those men of yours will be at the hospital before you know it, probably covered in someone else's blood and looking very pleased with themselves. That's Alphas for you. Can't help but make a statement when their Omega is threatened."
She chuckles quietly, adjusting the blanket that's been draped over me, tucking it around my shoulders with care. "But you're safe. That's what matters. You're safe, and you're loved, and you're going to be just fine. I've seen a lot of injured Omegas in my career, and I can tell you right now--you've got the kind of pack that would move mountains for you. Hold onto that. It's rare."
Safe. I'm safe. My Alphas came for me. They tore through security like it was nothing, threatened to destroy entire family legacies, shot a man in the leg without hesitation. They're making sure no one will ever try this again. And I'm safe.
The words wrap around me like a blanket, warm and comforting despite the cold compress on my forehead. I let my eyes close, let the gentle rocking of the van lull me toward sleep. The medication is doing its job, pushing back the heat symptoms, dulling the edge of the pain. I'm still aware of the ache in my body, still aware of the confusion of everything that's happened, but it feels distant now. Manageable.
They came for me. When it mattered most, when I was in danger, they came. They didn't hesitate. They didn't negotiate. They just came, guns blazing, ready to burn down anyone who dared hurt me.
That's what pack means. That's what love looks like when it's real.
Somewhere behind us, Julian is probably threatening to dismantle someone's entire financial legacy. Tank is probably demonstrating exactly why no one crosses an ex-military bodyguard. And Elias--sweet, protective Elias--went back to help them, even though firefighters aren't supposed to do the dirty work.
They're fighting for me. Bleeding for me. Making sure the people who hurt me understand exactly how badly they fucked up.
My family sent people to take me back, and my pack sent them a very clear message in return: She belongs to us now. Touch her again, and we'll show you what happens to people who threaten what's ours.
I'm crying, I realize distantly. Tears are leaking from beneath my closed eyelids, trailing down my cheeks in warm rivers. But they're not tears of fear or pain. They're tears of relief, ofoverwhelming gratitude, of finally understanding what it means to be protected.
Dr. Reyes doesn't say anything. She just hands me a tissue and continues monitoring the IV, giving me the dignity of my emotions without making them into a spectacle.
Six weeks ago, I ran away from a family that saw me as property. Tonight, three Alphas tore apart anyone who tried to drag me back. The contrast is so stark, so profound, it almost makes me laugh through my tears.
The night I ran, the snow fell like a warning. Tonight, the snow is falling like a blessing. Like the world itself is celebrating my freedom, like the universe is finally on my side.
I ran from people who treated me like property and found people who treat me like treasure. I escaped an arranged mating only to find something real, something chosen, something built on actual love instead of contracts and calculations.
The van continues through the snowy streets, carrying me toward the hospital, toward recovery, toward the rest of my life. The streetlights flash by the frosted windows, golden halos in the white night. Somewhere behind us, my family's people are learning a very hard lesson about what happens when you threaten someone who belongs to the Late Alphas. Somewhere behind us, my future is being secured through violence and money and the kind of ruthless determination that only pack bonds can inspire.
My Alphas will be there when I wake up. I know this with bone-deep certainty. They'll hold my hand and fuss over me and probably argue about who gets to stay closest to my bedside. Julian will pretend he's not worried while checking my vitals every five minutes and threatening to buy the entire hospital if they don't take better care of me. Tank will glare at anyone who looks at me wrong, will probably terrify the nursing staffinto giving me extra pillows. Elias will sneak contraband snacks into my room and tell me I need to keep my strength up, will probably try to smuggle Sasha in for emotional support therapy.
That's my pack. Overprotective, dramatic, occasionally violent, completely ridiculous, and absolutely, utterly, perfectly mine.
I let sleep take me, feeling safe for the first time since I was grabbed off the street this morning. The last thing I hear is Dr. Reyes humming something soft and tuneless, the steady beep of the monitor tracking my vitals, the quiet rumble of the van's engine as it carries me home. Home. Such a simple word for such a complicated feeling. But that's what Tank's house is now, what the Late Alphas have become. Home.
You're in safe hands now.
Those words follow me into sleep, wrapping around my consciousness like a promise.
I'm safe. I'm loved. I'm going to be okay.
And when I wake up, when the medication wears off and my heat finally arrives, I'm going to be surrounded by three Alphas who will take care of me through every moment of it.
Three Alphas who proved tonight, beyond any shadow of doubt, that they would burn down the world to keep me safe.
CHAPTER 39
Delulu Dreams And Rio Schemes
