I smiled against his hair, feeling the warmth surrounding me, feeling the rightness of it settle into my bones. The cards had shown me what I already knew—that these three broken, beautiful men were exactly where they were supposed to be. That we were building something together, something strong enough to weather whatever storms came our way.
The Emperor. The Sun. The World.
Leadership. Happiness. Completion.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift, surrounded by warmth and the mingled scents of pine and honey and rain, listening to the steady rhythm of three heartbeats that somehow, impossibly, had become home.
Chapter Forty-Three
Artemis
Iheard them before I saw them—engines growling up the dirt road, too many and too loud for anything good. I set down my coffee and stood, moving to the edge of the porch, my bare feet silent on the weathered boards. Three black SUVs emerged from the tree line, sleek and expensive and completely wrong for bayou country. The kind of vehicles that belonged in gated communities and corporate parking garages, not on a dirt road surrounded by trees and moss.
"Harper," I called, keeping my voice calm even as something cold settled in my gut. "Remy. Silas."
They appeared within seconds—Harper from the kitchen, still wiping his hands on a dish towel, his gray eyes already hard as he tracked the approaching vehicles. Remy materialized from the bedroom, barefoot and shirtless, all the playfulness drained from his face. Silas simply was there, as if he'd materialized from shadow itself, positioning himself at the top of the porch steps like a guard dog waiting for a command.
"County plates on the middle one," Remy said, his voice low and serious, his amber eyes narrowing as he studied the convoy. "They brought law enforcement."
"Crescent Holdings," I replied, my hands curling into fists at my sides, recognition and fury burning through me in equal measure. "Guess they got tired of waiting for me to respond."
The SUVs pulled to a stop about fifty feet from the cabin, close enough to be aggressive, far enough to pretend they weren't. Doors opened in near-perfect synchronization. Men in expensive suits emerged from the first and third vehicles—corporate sharks, all sharp smiles and predator eyes. From the middle car came Sheriff Mouton, looking distinctly uncomfortable in his tan uniform, his hand resting on his belt like he wasn't sure if he should be here. I recognized the lead suit immediately. Preston Whitmore III. I'd looked him up after the letter arrived—always know your enemy.
"Ms. Delacroix," Preston called out, his voice dripping with false friendliness as he picked his way across the muddy ground, his thousand-dollar shoes already ruined. "I hope we're not interrupting anything. We just wanted to have a friendly conversation about your property situation."
"There's nothing friendly about three SUVs and a sheriff showing up uninvited on private land," I said, not moving from my spot on the porch, letting him come to me, making him look up. "You're trespassing. I have signs posted every fifty feet. Turn around."
His smile didn't waver, but something cold flickered in his eyes, the mask slipping just enough for me to see the predator underneath. "Now, Ms. Delacroix, there's no need for hostility," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture meant to look peaceful but only looked condescending. "We're here to help you. A young Omega, all alone out here, trying to maintain property that's clearly beyond your resources?—"
"I'm going to stop you right there," I interrupted, my voice sharp enough to cut glass, and I felt more than heard the rumble of approval from the Alphas behind me. "If the next words out of your mouth are anything about how I need a big strong Alpha to take this burden off my hands, you're going to regret making this trip."
Preston's smile finally cracked, irritation leaking through the polished facade. "Ms. Delacroix, I'm trying to be reasonable," he said, his tone hardening, the pretense of friendliness evaporating like morning mist. "The boundary survey from nineteen fifty-two clearly indicates that a significant portion of what you claim as your property actually falls within?—"
"That survey was conducted by a company that Crescent Holdings bought out six years ago," I cut him off again, taking satisfaction in the way his eye twitched. "Convenient, isn't it? And my family's property records go back to eighteen forty-seven—over a century before your little survey. You want to play games with paperwork? I've got paperwork that'll bury you."
"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be," Preston said, and now his voice had gone cold, the friendly mask abandoned entirely, his jaw tight with barely suppressed anger. "We have legal standing. We have resources you can't possibly match. We can tie this up in courts for years—longer than you can afford to fight."
"Is that a threat?" I asked, descending one step, then another, feeling my Alphas move with me like extensions of my own body. "Because it sounded like a threat. Sheriff Mouton, did that sound like a threat to you?"
The sheriff shifted uncomfortably, his weathered face flushing beneath his tan. "Now, Ms. Delacroix, Mr. Whitmore, let's all just calm down—" he started, his voice placating, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.
"I am calm," I said, and I was surprised to find it was true—calm like the eye of a hurricane, calm like the moment before a storm breaks. "I'm perfectly calm. I'm standing on my own property, on land my family has held for almost two hundred years, and I'm being threatened by a man in a suit who thinks he can bully me into giving up my home." I turned my gaze back to Preston, letting him see exactly what was in my eyes. "So let me be very clear, Mr. Whitmore. I'm not selling. I'm not negotiating. And I'm not going to be intimidated by corporate lawyers who think they can steal from people just because they have more money."
Preston's face had gone an ugly shade of red, his composure completely shattered. "You don't know who you're dealing with," he snarled, taking an aggressive step forward, his finger jabbing toward me like a weapon. "Crescent Holdings has resources you can't even imagine. We'll?—"
A growl cut through the morning air—not from my Alphas, but from me. It came from somewhere deep in my chest, somewhere primal and ancient, a sound I didn't even know I could make. It was the sound of a creature defending its territory, its home, its pack. It was the sound of something that would not be moved.
Preston froze mid-sentence, his eyes going wide, his aggressive posture crumbling as instinct overrode arrogance.
Behind me, my Alphas answered with growls of their own. Harper's was thunder rolling across mountains, deep and relentless. Remy's was sharper, almost musical, like the warning cry of something beautiful and deadly. Silas's was barely audible, just a whisper of sound, but somehow the most terrifying of all—the growl of something that had learned to kill in silence.
The corporate suits behind Preston were backing up, their expensive confidence evaporating. One of them—a youngerman, maybe an assistant—looked like he was about to bolt entirely.
"Here's what you don't understand," I said, and my voice had changed too, dropped into something deeper and rougher, something that didn't sound entirely human. "I am not a young Omega who needs saving. I am not alone. I am not weak." I descended the final step, putting myself on level ground with Preston, close enough to see the sweat beading on his forehead. "I am the granddaughter of Marie-Claire Delacroix, who held this land through two world wars. I am the niece of Marguerite Delacroix, who faced down developers and politicians and anyone else who tried to take what was hers. And I am telling you, right now, that if you want this land, you're going to have to go through me."
"And us," Harper added, stepping up beside me, his massive frame blocking out the sun, his gray eyes cold as winter stone. "You'll have to go through all of us."
"Every single one," Remy agreed, flanking my other side, his usual charm replaced by something sharp and dangerous, his amber eyes glittering like a predator's. "And trust me, mon ami, you don't want that fight."
