"Yeah." He dried his hands on the towel I offered, his gaze finally meeting mine. "Tonight... watching Thibodaux play guitar, watching Boudreaux with your alligator... it's different than I thought it would be." He paused, searching for words. "They're not enemies. They're not competition. They're just..." He trailed off again.
"Pack." I supplied softly, reaching up to touch his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under my palm.
"Pack." He agreed, leaning into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment in something like contentment, his scent wrapping around me—cedar and moonshine, warm and familiar now, like coming home. "It's been a long time since I had one of those." He admitted, his voice rough, and I remembered that his grandparents had raised him, that he'd lost his parents young, that he'd been carrying the weight of the Fontenot name alone for so long.
"Me too." I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling him shudder slightly at the contact. "We're building one now. Together." I squeezed his arm. "Go join Silas. I think Gumbo wants to show you his favorite log." I suggested, giving him a gentle push toward the door.
He went, his heavy footsteps fading as he crossed to the dock.
I watched from the window as Harper settled onto the weathered boards beside Silas, the two of them sitting in silence as the sky turned gold and pink and purple. On the porch,Remy's guitar shifted to something livelier, his fingers dancing over the strings, his voice lifting into the humid evening air.
This could work.
Against all odds, against all logic, against everything I'd ever been taught about Alphas and Omegas and the way the world was supposed to function—this strange, impossible, beautiful thing could actually work.
I just had to believe it.
Gumbo rumbled from somewhere outside, low and satisfied, like he'd known all along.
Maybe he had.
Chapter Fifteen
Artemis
The Saturday after our first pack meeting dawned bright and humid, the kind of Louisiana morning that promised sweat and mosquitoes and air so thick you could drink it. I'd told them to meet me at the dock at seven—early enough to beat the worst of the heat, late enough that even Remy might manage to drag himself out of bed.
Gumbo was already in the water when I came out with my coffee, his massive form cutting through the shallows with prehistoric grace. He surfaced near the dock, his amber eyes finding mine with what I could only describe as anticipation.
"Big day." I told him, settling onto the weathered boards with my feet dangling over the water, the wood warm beneath my thighs. "They're coming into our territory today. All three of them." I took a sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat settle on my tongue. "Try not to eat anyone." I added, watching his snout dip below the surface in what might have been acknowledgment or might have been disdain.
The rumble of Harper's truck reached me first, followed almost immediately by the growl of Remy's motorcycle. I smiled into my coffee cup. They were learning.
Silas, of course, was already there.
I didn't know how long he'd been watching from the tree line—could have been minutes, could have been hours. He emerged from the shadows, his pale eyes catching the early light, his dark clothes somehow not looking ridiculous in the growing heat. The dog tags at his throat glinted as he moved toward the dock with that silent, predatory grace that made my pulse quicken despite myself.
"You're early." I said, not turning around, feeling rather than seeing him settle onto the dock a few feet away from me, his scent drifting toward me on the morning breeze—rain and moss and something wild.
"Couldn't sleep." He replied, his voice rough with disuse, his pale eyes fixed on the water where Gumbo had disappeared beneath the surface. "Nightmares." He added, quieter, like the word had been dragged out of him against his will.
I didn't push. Didn't offer platitudes or empty comfort. I just shifted slightly, letting my shoulder brush against his, offering warmth without words. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, his breathing evening out.
Harper appeared at the end of the dock, his massive frame blocking the early morning sun. He took in the scene—me and Silas sitting close, our shoulders touching—and something flickered in his dark eyes. Jealousy, maybe. Or possessiveness. Then it was gone, replaced by a careful neutrality that cost him more than he'd ever admit.
"Morning." He rumbled, his deep voice rough with sleep, his dark hair slightly mussed in a way that made him look almost approachable, his flannel sleeves already rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
"Coffee's in the kitchen." I said, jerking my chin toward the cabin. "Help yourself." I watched him nod and turn, his heavy footsteps fading across the dock.
"He's trying." Silas said quietly, his pale eyes tracking Harper's retreat. "The jealousy. He's fighting it." His jaw tightened. "I can smell it on him. The effort." He paused, something like respect flickering in his expression.
"Can you?" I turned to look at him, curious despite myself. "Smell the effort, I mean." I asked, studying his sharp profile.
"Emotions have scents." He said it like it was obvious, his scarred fingers drumming absently against the dock. "Fear. Anger. Want." His pale eyes met mine, intense and unblinking. "You smell like anticipation right now. And something sweeter underneath." His nostrils flared slightly, and I felt heat creep up my neck.
"That's very forward of you." I managed, though my voice came out breathier than I'd intended, my heart picking up speed.
"You asked." The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to count, his pale eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
