Toward the door.
"Is he..." Remy appeared on my other side, his amber eyes wide. "Is he trying to come inside?" He asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
Gumbo reached the porch steps and stopped, his ancient eyes fixed on me with something that looked almost like pleading. In fifteen years, he'd never tried to come inside. Never wanted to. He was a creature of the water, the mud, the wild spaces.
The fact that he wanted in now told me everything I needed to know about this storm.
"Okay, big guy." I moved to open the door wider, my heart pounding against my ribs as I stepped aside to make room for nine feet of prehistoric predator. "Come on in." I said softly, my voice steadier than I felt.
He climbed the steps slowly, his massive body barely fitting through the doorway, and made his way to the corner of the living room—the spot farthest from the windows, I noticed. He settled onto the wooden floor with a heavy sigh, his eyes still fixed on me with an expression I could only describe as grateful.
"Well." Remy said faintly, staring at the nine-foot alligator now occupying my living room. "That's... that's something." He managed, his voice strangled.
Silas had appeared in the doorway, his pale eyes taking in the scene with his usual unreadable expression. "Smart." He said simply, nodding toward Gumbo. "Safest place on the property." He moved into the cabin, carefully skirting the gator's tail, and took up position near the boarded window like he was standing guard.
Harper was the last one in, pulling the door shut behind him against the rising wind. He looked at Gumbo, looked at me, and simply nodded. "He's welcome." He said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to have an apex predator as a houseguest.
The wind screamed.
It started as a moan, building to a howl, then to something that sounded almost human in its fury. Rain lashed against theboarded windows in sheets, and even through the reinforced barriers, I could hear the crack of branches breaking, the groan of trees bending beyond their limits.
We gathered in the living room by unspoken agreement—me on the couch, Remy beside me with his guitar across his lap, Harper in the armchair closest to the door, Silas standing by the window like a sentinel. Gumbo hadn't moved from his corner, though his eyes tracked every sound, every shift in the cabin's structure.
The power went out at six thirty-two.
"And there it goes." Remy's voice was deliberately light as darkness swallowed the cabin, broken only by the emergency flashlight Harper had placed on the coffee table. "Good thing I brought candles." He said, already moving to light them, his familiar form casting dancing shadows on the walls.
I watched my three Alphas in the flickering candlelight, feeling something settle in my chest despite the chaos raging outside. They'd come. All three of them, without being asked, without hesitation. They'd shown up with tools and food and fuel, had worked all day to make my home safer, had stayed when they could have gone somewhere with stronger walls and higher ground.
A crack of thunder made us all jump, and I could have sworn I heard Harper growl—low and instinctive, his body angling toward me before he caught himself.
"Did you just growl at the weather?" I asked, turning to look at Harper, unable to keep the amusement from my voice as I caught the tail end of his rumble.
Harper's jaw tightened, a flush creeping up his neck that was visible even in the dim candlelight. "No." He said too quickly, his massive arms crossing over his chest defensively.
Remy snorted. "You absolutely did, mon ami. Don't worry, won't tell anyone the big scary Alpha—" Another crack ofthunder, and Remy's words cut off in a sound that was definitely, unmistakably, a growl.
"You were saying?" Silas asked dryly from his position by the window, and I could have sworn there was humor in his pale eyes.
"Instinct." Remy muttered, his cheeks darkening to a deep rose as he slumped back against the couch cushions. "Thunder sounds like a threat. Can't help it." He defended, his fingers finding the guitar strings and plucking out a nervous melody to cover his embarrassment.
I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest. Here I was, trapped in a cabin during a hurricane with three Alphas who couldn't stop growling at thunder and an alligator who'd invited himself inside, and somehow it felt more like home than anything had in years.
"I should make dinner." I stood from the couch, needing to move, needing to do something with my hands besides twist them in my lap. "We've got plenty of food that needs to be eaten before it spoils anyway." I added, already heading toward the kitchen, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.
"I'll help." Remy set down his guitar carefully, leaning it against the couch before following me, his shoulder brushing mine as we navigated the dark kitchen by flashlight.
We worked together in comfortable silence, heating soup on the camp stove Harper had thought to bring, slicing bread, putting together a simple meal that felt like a feast in the circumstances. Through the window over the sink—the one window Harper hadn't boarded because it was protected by the porch overhang—I could see nothing but darkness and rain.
"You okay, chere?" Remy asked softly, stepping closer until his chest nearly touched my back, his hand finding the small of my back with familiar ease.
"Yeah." I leaned into his touch, letting his warmth steady me as the wind howled outside. "Better than okay, actually. I know that's strange, given..." I gestured vaguely at the storm raging beyond the walls, the windows rattling in their frames.
"Not strange." He turned me to face him, his amber eyes soft in the candlelight. "You've got your pack around you. Even if we're not official yet." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "That's supposed to feel good. That's the point." He said gently.
I stretched up to kiss him—soft and sweet and grateful—and felt him smile against my lips.
"Soup's burning." Harper's voice came from the doorway, gruff and awkward, and we broke apart to find him standing there with an expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and longing.
