Silas said nothing, but I felt his hand brush against my lower back—brief, barely there, but warm. Agreement without words. I blinked rapidly, my eyes suddenly stinging. These men. These impossible, ridiculous, wonderful men.
"Don't get mushy on me." I said, my voice rougher than I intended, thick with emotion I was trying desperately to swallow. "We've got a lot of ground to cover." I pointed my paddle toward the distance, where the bayou opened up into a wider stretch of water. "That way. I want to show you something." I cleared my throat, pushing the softness aside.
We paddled for nearly an hour, the morning sun climbing higher and the humidity wrapping around us like a wet blanket. I pointed out landmarks as we went—the tree where a family of herons nested every spring, the bend in the water where catfish liked to congregate, the spot where I'd found Gumbo as a juvenile, smaller than he had any right to be and meaner than hell.
"He was barely three feet long when I found him." I said, watching Gumbo's massive form shadow us through the murky water, his prehistoric bulk gliding with deceptive grace. "Some idiots had been using him for target practice. Left him for dead." My voice went cold at the memory, anger flickering through my chest. "I brought him home, patched him up, fed him until he stopped trying to bite my hand off every time I got close." I smiled, something fierce and proud. "Took about six months." I added.
"Now he's nine feet of murder waiting to happen." Remy eyed the alligator nervously, his fingers drumming against his thigh in that restless way of his. "Heartwarming." His voice was dry, but I caught the reluctant respect underneath.
"He's family." I said simply, watching Gumbo's eyes track us from just above the waterline, ancient and patient. "He'd die for me. And he'd definitely kill for me." I paused, letting that sink in. "Keep that in mind." I added lightly, though we all knew I wasn't entirely joking.
"Noted." Harper rumbled, his dark eyes meeting Gumbo's amber ones across the water, some silent communication passing between predator and predator. "He's impressive. Good instincts." He said it with genuine admiration, his respect for the animal evident in his tone.
"He likes you." I observed, watching the way Gumbo's tail flicked almost lazily, his body language relaxed despite the proximity of three large Alpha males. "He doesn't like most people." I glanced back at Silas, who had remained silent for most of the journey. "Something about the way you carry yourself." I mused.
"Predator recognizes predator." Silas said simply, his pale eyes meeting Gumbo's for a long moment before returning to the water ahead. "We understand each other." His voice carried a weight that suggested he wasn't just talking about the alligator.
"Great." Remy muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his cramped position. "Everyone's bonding with the giant murder reptile except me. Cool. Very cool." His amber eyes darted between Gumbo and the water like he expected to be attacked at any moment.
"You tried too hard." I told him, guiding the pirogue around a cluster of lily pads. "Gumbo doesn't respect eager. He respects patience." I paused, a smile tugging at my lips. "And fish. Bring him fish next time. Good fish, not gas station bait." I advised.
"Fish." Remy repeated, his amber eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I can do fish. I literally guide fishing tours for a living." Some of his usual confidence crept back into his voice."Watch me win over your scaly boyfriend, cher. Just you wait." He declared, determination flickering in his expression.
"He's not my boyfriend." I corrected, laughing despite myself. "He's my roommate. Big difference." I watched Remy's face scrunch in confusion and laughed harder, the sound echoing across the still water.
The boundary of my property came into view around midmorning—marked by a series of old cypress trees that Marguerite had carved with protective symbols when she'd first bought the land. I'd added my own marks over the years, a patchwork of wards and warnings that most people wouldn't even notice.
"We're at the edge." I said, slowing the pirogue, letting it drift in the sluggish current. "Everything on this side is mine. Everything past those trees is?—"
I stopped.
Something was wrong.
The feeling hit me like a punch to the gut—a wrongness in the air, a disruption in the careful balance of my territory. I scanned the tree line, my eyes searching, my instincts screaming.
There.
Bright orange against the muted greens and browns of the bayou. Stakes. Survey stakes, planted in a neat line along what should have been untouched land.
"What the hell." I breathed, my voice coming out harder than I intended, anger rising in my chest like bile. "They've expanded." I paddled toward the shore, my strokes sharper now, more urgent.
"Crescent Holdings?" Harper's voice was a low growl, his shoulders tensing, something dangerous flickering across his features.
"Has to be." I guided the pirogue to the bank, hopping out before it had fully stopped, my bare feet sinking into the softmud. "This is way past the property line they were disputing. This is—" I pushed through the undergrowth, following the flash of orange, my heart pounding with fury.
The stake was driven deep into the soft earth, orange plastic flag fluttering in the faint breeze. Next to it was another. Then another. A whole line of them, marching through my bayou like an invading army.
"They're marking the whole eastern corridor." I said, my hands curling into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. "This land has been in my family for four generations. Marguerite fought to keep it wild, fought to keep the developers out, and these—" I kicked the nearest stake, sending it flying into the undergrowth, my chest heaving with rage.
Harper was beside me before I'd even registered him moving, his massive presence a wall of warmth at my back, his hand settling on my shoulder—heavy, grounding, steadying.
"We'll handle it." He said simply, his deep voice rough with barely contained anger, his scent sharpening with protective Alpha fury—cedar smoke and something darker, more dangerous.
"How?" I spun to face him, my green-gold eyes blazing. "They have lawyers. They have money. They have—" I gestured helplessly at the stakes, at the violation of my home, at everything I couldn't control.
"They don't have us." Silas said, appearing from the trees like a ghost, two more stakes in his scarred hands, pulled from the earth without ceremony. "They don't have a pack watching your back." His pale eyes met mine, steady and certain.
"What he said." Remy emerged from the undergrowth, five stakes tucked under his arm like firewood, his usual humor replaced by something harder, more focused. "These corporate types think they can bully people because they've got money and connections." His amber eyes darkened, something dangerousflickering in their depths. "They haven't met us yet." He dumped the stakes at my feet, his jaw set, his scent sharp with protective anger—river water gone cold and fierce.
