"Okay." I set down my fork, the metal clinking against the plate, and looked between the three of them. "What is it?"
Harper wiped his mouth with his napkin, his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath his stubbled cheek. "We foundsomething. Wednesday morning, when we were—" He stopped, glanced at the others, something heavy passing between them.
"When you were what?" I asked, an edge creeping into my voice, my fingers curling around the stem of my wine glass.
"Patrolling." Silas's voice was flat, unapologetic, his pale eyes meeting mine without flinching. "Your property. All three of us showed up without planning it."
I blinked, my glass halfway to my lips. "You were patrolling my land?"
"Protective instincts." Remy shrugged, but his usual lightness was gone, his amber eyes serious for once. "We couldn't help it. After the storm, after everything—we needed to make sure the territory was secure." He winced at his own word choice, running a hand through his curls. "Your territory. Sorry."
I should have been annoyed. Instead, something warm bloomed in my chest, spreading through my ribs like honey. "What did you find?"
Harper's hands curled into fists on the table, the knuckles going white against the wood grain. "Eight trail cameras. Commercial grade, cellular upload capability. Someone's been watching your property." His voice dropped into a growl, low and dangerous. "Watching you."
The warmth in my chest turned to ice. "What?"
"Survey stakes too," Silas added, his pale eyes cold as river stones in winter. "Fresh tire tracks on the old logging road. Somebody's been busy."
"We did some digging." Remy pulled out his phone, scrolling to something, the screen casting blue light across his sharp features. "Crescent Holdings. They're planning an eco-tourism resort on the land north of yours. Luxury cabins, airboat tours, the whole package." His jaw tightened, the charm stripped away to reveal something harder underneath. "Problem is, they need water access. And your bayou frontage is the only way in."
"They've been watching me." My voice came out strange, distant, like it belonged to someone else. "To what—figure out how to take my land?"
"Pressure you into selling, most likely." Harper's scent had gone sharp, dangerous, filling the room with the smell of an Alpha ready to fight. "When that didn't work, maybe they figured they'd find something to use against you. Code violations, permit issues, anything."
"Or just wait for you to fail." Silas's voice was quiet but deadly, each word precise as a blade. "Isolated Omega, no pack, no support. They probably thought you'd give up eventually."
All three of them were growling now—low, rumbling sounds that vibrated through the floor and up through my chair. Gumbo lifted his head from his catfish, watching with interest, his tail giving a single curious twitch.
"We pulled the cameras," Harper said, his voice rough, barely controlled. "All eight. They're in my truck if you want to see them, or if you want to take them to the sheriff."
"We also may have left some markers of our own." Remy's smile had a dangerous edge, sharp as broken glass. "Nothing illegal. Just... let them know the territory's not undefended anymore."
I looked at the three of them—these Alphas who had shown up on my land without being asked, who had walked my property line like it was their own, who were growling at a threat to a woman they'd known for barely a month. My throat tightened.
"You could have told me before dinner," I said slowly, my fingers still wrapped around my wine glass.
"We wanted to." Harper met my eyes, steady and honest, gray as storm clouds. "But we also wanted you to know that we handled it. That you don't have to face this alone." He reached across the table, his hand palm-up, scarred and calloused andsteady. An offering. "Whatever you want to do—go to the sheriff, hire a lawyer, burn their whole operation down—we're with you."
I looked at his hand for a long moment, at the calluses and the strength and the patience in that simple gesture. Then I took it, his fingers warm and rough against mine.
"After dinner," I said firmly, squeezing once before letting go. "We deal with Crescent Holdings after dinner. Tonight is supposed to be about something else."
Harper's eyes softened, something tender breaking through the protective fury. "Yes ma'am."
Somewhere between Remy's third story about a disastrous gig in Baton Rouge and Silas slipping Gumbo another piece of catfish under the table, the tension eased. The threat was real, but it could wait. Tonight, I had other things to share.
"Did you just feed my alligator at the dinner table?" I raised an eyebrow at Silas, catching him mid-toss.
He didn't deny it, just wiped his fingers on his napkin, expression unchanged. "He earned it. Good guard duty."
Gumbo chewed with pointed satisfaction, his tail swishing once against the floor, jaws working around the fish.
"Progress," Remy said solemnly, raising his wine glass with mock ceremony, his amber eyes dancing with mischief again. "Our scaly overlord has accepted Silas as a viable food source."
Silas made a sound that might have been a laugh, low and rusty. Harper just shook his head, but he was smiling—really smiling, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look ten years younger.
After dinner, we moved to the living room. I poured more wine, stalling, my hands trembling slightly as I set the glasses on the coffee table. The nest was upstairs. I could feel it like a heartbeat, calling me, terrifying me.
