The beach is warm beneath my bare feet--soft white sand still holding the heat of the day even as the tropical night wraps around us like a silk embrace. The ocean stretches endlessly before me, waves catching the reflection of each firework burst and scattering it across the water like scattered diamonds. The air smells of salt and tropical flowers, of woodsmoke from somewhere distant, of the faint sweetness of fruit and the intoxicating blend of my Alphas' scents mingling together in perfect harmony.
Rio. I'm in Rio. I'm actually in Brazil, standing on a private beach, watching fireworks explode over the most beautiful ocean I've ever seen.
I still don't entirely understand how I got here. One moment I was in a hospital bed in Oakridge, drugged to the gills and ranting about cheese balls and vacation destinations, and the next I was waking up in the most comfortable bed I've ever experienced. The transition is still hazy in my memory--fragments of a private jet, of being carried, of soft voices promising everything would be okay.
When I finally woke up properly, I was surrounded by Egyptian cotton sheets that felt like clouds against my skin and the golden warmth of Brazilian sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. For a long moment, I just lay there, convinced I was still dreaming. The ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, stirring the gauzy white curtains. The sound of the ocean was constant and soothing, waves breaking somewhere close, the rhythm like a heartbeat.
The villa is stunning--all white walls and flowing curtains and terracotta tiles that stay cool underfoot even in the tropical heat. The architecture is modern but warm, all clean lines and natural materials that blend seamlessly with the landscape. There's a pool that seems to merge seamlessly with the horizon, an infinity edge that makes it look like you could swim straight out into the Atlantic Ocean itself.
Palm trees sway in the constant warm breeze, their fronds creating dancing shadows across the stone patios where we've had every meal since arriving. And everywhere, everywhere, there are flowers--hibiscus in shades of coral and pink, bougainvillea cascading over walls in waterfalls of magenta, orchids tucked into corners and hanging from eaves in colors so vibrant they almost don't look real. The scent of them perfumes the air, mixing with the salt of the sea and the warmth of the sun-baked stone.
A private island. They rented us a private island. Who does that? Who just casually rents an entire island for a weekbecause their Omega mentioned wanting to go to Rio while high on anti-heat medication? These men are insane. Beautiful and loving and completely, utterly insane.
My Alphas, apparently. My ridiculous, over-the-top, absolutely unhinged Alphas who seem to have made it their personal mission to give me everything I've ever mentioned wanting, whether I was serious or not.
The fireworks are just the opening act, I realize, as the first drones begin to rise from somewhere behind the villa. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, ascending into the darkness like a swarm of mechanical fireflies. They move in perfect formation, their lights shifting and pulsing as they arrange themselves into patterns against the star-scattered sky.
"A drone show," I breathe, completely mesmerized. "They organized a drone show."
The drones form shapes--first a heart, then a butterfly, then what might be a coffee cup (Julian's doing, I'm certain). The colors shift from pink to gold to purple, each transformation seamless and beautiful, and I find myself laughing with pure delight as the ocean waves tease at my ankles and the warm breeze lifts my hair.
Sasha runs circles around my feet, barking happily at the chaos overhead. His white fur is practically glowing in the reflected light of the display, and his tail is wagging so hard his entire back end is swaying. He's been in absolute heaven since we arrived--all this sand to dig in, all these waves to chase, all this space to run. The poor dog probably thinks he's died and gone to canine paradise.
"Look at that, Sasha," I tell him, crouching down to ruffle his ears. "Look at those lights. Aren't they beautiful?"
He barks in response--whether in agreement or just general excitement, I'm not sure--and then takes off down the beach again, chasing the shadows of the drones across the sand.
I can't believe this is my life now.
I woke up this morning to breakfast in bed--fresh tropical fruit and fluffy pancakes and the most perfect coffee I've ever tasted, served alongside a cream envelope with my name written in elegant calligraphy. Inside was a document that made my heart stop: the official registration confirming me as the bonded Omega of Tank Maddox, Elias Brooks, and Julian North. Signed, sealed, stamped with government approval.
Official. I'm officially theirs. They're officially mine. After everything--the kidnapping, the rescue, the chaos, the hospital stay, the delirious Rio rants that I still haven't lived down--we made it. We actually made it. The paperwork is done, the stamps are in place, and no one can ever take me away from them again.
I cried when I read it. Tank held me while Julian pretended he wasn't getting emotional and Elias made increasingly inappropriate jokes to lighten the mood. They'd filed the registration the day after the rescue, while I was still recovering, wanting to make sure that legally, undeniably, I belonged to them and they belonged to me.
The Valentine's Day we had planned was supposed to be perfect--romantic dinner at some fancy restaurant Julian had reserved weeks in advance, matching tattoos at the parlor where we got our first ones, officially cementing our bond in all the traditional ways. We were supposed to spend the day together, making new memories, celebrating the beginning of our forever.
Instead, my ex-pack decided to ruin everything by kidnapping me right off the street and trying to drag me back to my family like I was property to be reclaimed, like I was a stray dog that had wandered too far from home and needed to be returned to its rightful owners.
Turns out they were behind everything--the threatening text messages that made me look over my shoulder constantly, thevandalism at the bakery that had Julian buying bulletproof windows, the constant, crawling feeling of being watched. My parents had apparently declined their counteroffer for my "return" (as if I was a library book that had been overdue for too long, as if my existence was a transaction to be negotiated), and their solution was to simply take me by force and present me like a gift-wrapped peace offering to secure their business alliance.
Clearly, that didn't go well for them. Three furious Alphas with military training, unlimited financial resources, and absolutely zero hesitation about violence tend to be poor people to cross.
As for their current whereabouts? I have no fucking clue. The news reported them as "missing"--and yes, the quotation marks were included in the official reports, which is giving very strong "play stupid games, win stupid prizes" energy. I don't know what Julian, Tank, and Elias did, and honestly? I'm not sure I want to know. Some things are better left in the realm of plausible deniability.
They hurt me. They threatened me. They tried to take me away from the people I love. And now they're "missing." There's a certain poetic justice to that, even if I'm choosing not to examine it too closely.
But tonight isn't about them. Tonight isn't about the trauma or the fear or the weeks of recovery. Tonight is about standing on a beach in Rio de Janeiro, watching a drone show light up the sky, feeling the warmth of the tropics seep into my bones and chase away the last lingering chill of everything we've been through.
Tonight is about living in the moment.
The drones are rearranging themselves again, and I watch with idle curiosity as they shift from an abstract pattern into something more defined. Letters, I realize. They're forming letters.
W... I... L... L...
My heart starts beating faster.
Y... O... U...
