“Eight weeks. Doctor says everything looks good.” I paused, then added, “Danny’s... he’s had a rough time. His brother—“
“I know,” Sterling cut me off. “Read the file.”
Of course he had. Sterling never walked into a situation blind. I wondered, briefly, exactly how much he knew—about Dennis, about the beating that had nearly killed Danny, about the restraining order that meant nothing to a man like my brother-in-law.
The house grew larger as we approached, lights blazing from the windows despite the late hour. I’d left Danny inside with strict instructions to stay there, to let me handle the first contact with Sterling. My brother might be family, but he was also the most dangerous person I knew, and Danny was still jumpy around new people—especially alphas.
We were twenty yards from the porch when the front door opened, spilling golden light across the wooden boards. And there was Danny, silhouetted in the doorway, one hand resting protectively on the slight curve of his stomach.
I felt Sterling go still beside me, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly. Not a threat response—something more complicated. Interest, maybe. Assessment.
“Thought I told you to wait inside,” I called, trying to keep my voice light despite the sudden tension in my chest.
Danny didn’t move from the doorway. “You’ve been gone almost an hour,” he said. “I got worried.”
We reached the bottom of the porch steps, and for the first time, Danny got a clear look at Sterling’s face in the light from the house. His eyes widened, flicking between us—identical features, mirror images except for the expression.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “You really are twins.”
I climbed the steps, Sterling a half-step behind me. Up close, the differences between us were even more apparent—the small scar at the corner of Sterling’s mouth that I didn’t have, the way he held himself ready to move at a moment’s notice. But it was the eyes that gave him away—cool where mine were warm, calculating where mine showed emotion.
“Danny, this is my brother, Sterling,” I said, one hand coming to rest at the small of Danny’s back. “Sterling, this is Danny. My mate.”
Sterling nodded once, his eyes doing a quick assessment—taking in Danny’s height, weight, the way he stood with his weight slightly back, ready to retreat if necessary. Professional habit, not personal. But when his gaze dropped to Danny’s stomach, still mostly hidden by the loose sweater, something in his expression shifted—subtle enough that I wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t known him my entire life.
“So this is what was worth calling me back for,” he said, voice rough with something that wasn’t quite emotion.
The statement hung in the air between us—not quite a question, not quite an observation. I felt Danny tense beneath my hand, saw the flash of uncertainty cross his face before he buried it beneath careful neutrality. Old habits for him, too—the ability to become a blank page when threatened.
“It is,” I confirmed, meeting Sterling’s eyes over Danny’s head. “They both are.”
For a long moment, nobody moved. Sterling stood perfectly still, only his eyes showing he was processing anything at all. Danny remained half-hidden behind me, one hand still resting on his stomach in that protective gesture I’d come to recognize. And I stood between them, literally and figuratively—the bridge between the darkness of Sterling’s world and the light Danny represented.
Then Sterling nodded once, decisively. “Then they’re under my protection,” he said simply. “Until the threat is neutralized.”
The word—neutralized—sent a chill down my spine despite the warmth of Danny pressed against my side. I’d known what I was asking when I called Sterling. Known what kind of solution he’d bring to the table. But hearing it laid out so plainly, in that flat, professional tone...
Danny’s hand found mine, fingers intertwining with a squeeze that said, clear as words: I’m with you. Whatever happens.
I squeezed back, grateful beyond measure for his steady presence. Then I gestured toward the house, where the kitchen lights glowed warm and inviting through the windows.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll fill you in on what we’re dealing with.”
Sterling moved past us with that soundless grace that still made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, already scanning the interior of the house for threats, exits, defensive positions. I watched him for a moment, this mirror image who’d chosen such a different path, then turned to Danny.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, though the wariness hadn’t left his eyes. “He’s... intense.”
“That’s one word for it,” I agreed. “But he’s the best at what he does. And he’s family.”
Danny’s mouth curved in a small smile. “Like it or not?”
“Something like that.” I pressed a kiss to his temple. “Come on. Coffee’s waiting, and Sterling drinks his black enough to strip paint.”
We followed my brother into the house, into whatever came next. The night stretched before us, full of planning and strategy and the kind of cold calculation that had kept Sterling alive through missions that should have been suicide.
But as Danny’s hand settled warm in mine, as Sterling’s tall frame disappeared through the kitchen doorway ahead of us, I felt something uncoil in my chest—a tension I’d been carrying since that day at the courthouse, when Dennis’s eyes had promised retribution.
