Gumbo rumbled again, as if in agreement.
"He probably has," I admitted with a soft laugh, reaching over to lace my fingers through Remy's free hand, his skin warm and slightly sticky from chicken grease. "He's very judgmental."
"Fair," Remy said, his dimple finally appearing, some of his usual lightness returning. "I've made a lot of bad decisions."
"And yet, here you are," I said softly, squeezing his hand, watching the sun climb higher over the bayou, watching my alligator and my Alpha finally make peace. "Still standing. Still here."
"Still here," he echoed, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss against my knuckles, his lips soft and warm. "And planning to stay." Gumbo chose that moment to splash both of us with his tail—a great sweeping arc of water that left us sputtering and soaked.
"Hey!" Remy yelped, jerking back, nearly losing his balance on the dock. "I thought we were friends now!" I burst outlaughing, wiping bayou water from my face, watching Gumbo sink back into the shallows with what I could only describe as a smug expression.
"That means he likes you," I managed between giggles, wiping water from my eyes, my soaked shirt clinging to my skin. "Trust me."
"Your definition of 'like' needs some work, chere," Remy grumbled, but he was grinning, his golden curls dripping water down his face, his eyes bright with joy instead of fear for the first time since he'd started his campaign to win Gumbo over.
I leaned in and kissed him—soft and sweet and tasting like forever.
"Welcome to the family," I murmured against his lips, feeling his smile form beneath mine. His answering grin was brighter than the Louisiana sun.
Later, after we'd dried off and changed clothes and Remy had told Harper and Silas the story at least three times—complete with dramatic reenactments—I found Gumbo back at his favorite basking spot near the cabin.
I settled down beside him, close enough to touch, and scratched behind his eye ridges the way he liked.
"Thank you," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper, watching the way his ancient eyes half-closed with pleasure. "I know that was hard for you. Trusting someone new."
Gumbo rumbled, low and content.
"He's a good one," I continued, my fingers tracing the familiar patterns of his scales, rough and warm from the sun. "They all are. Harper's steady and strong. Silas is quiet but he sees everything. And Remy..." I smiled, thinking of amber eyes and easy charm and the vulnerability he hid beneath both. "Remy makes me laugh. Makes me feel light. I need that."
Another rumble, this one almost questioning.
"I'm going to bond with them," I said, the words feeling real and solid and right as I spoke them aloud to my oldest friend, my voice steady with certainty. "All three of them. I know it's not traditional. I know it's not what most people do. But it's what I want. It's what I need." I paused, letting my hand rest against his massive side, feeling the steady rhythm of his ancient heart. "And I think Aunt Marguerite would approve."
Gumbo's tail twitched—a small movement, but one I'd learned to read years ago. Agreement. Acceptance.
Maybe even blessing.
"I love you, you know," I said, my voice thick with affection, leaning my head against his sun-warmed scales, closing my eyes and breathing in the familiar scent of mud and water and home. "No matter how many Alphas I bond, you were my first. My best. My grumpiest."
Gumbo rumbled one more time, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was laughing. The bayou stretched out before us, wild and beautiful and ours. Somewhere in the cabin, I could hear my Alphas moving around—Harper's heavy footsteps, Silas's silent ones, Remy's cheerful humming.
My pack. My family. My home.
I closed my eyes and let myself believe in forever.
Chapter Forty-Two
Artemis
Iwoke up buried in Alphas. Harper was at my back, one massive arm draped over my waist, his breath warm and steady against my hair. Remy was curled against my front, his face tucked into my neck, golden curls tickling my chin. Silas was somehow wedged between me and Remy, his scarred hand resting on my hip, his pale eyes already open and watching me with that quiet intensity that used to unnerve me and now just felt like home.
"Morning," I whispered, not wanting to wake the others, my voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," he murmured back, his thumb tracing idle circles against my hip bone through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt, his pale eyes glinting with mischief. "You drool in your sleep."
"I do not," I protested, my hand flying to my chin to check, and his lips twitched in what might have been a smile.
"Made you look," he said, his pale eyes warm with rare amusement.
