bia

Dean Di Laurentis leaned against the glass like he belonged in a hockey equipment ad. Sporting a Briar hoodie with a baseball cap shoved backward. An annoyingly amused expression plastered on his face.

Up close, he looked less polished than he did in the campus photos. Tired around the eyes. Hair curling slightly from the humidity of the rink.

Still irritatingly attractive, unfortunately.

“I support competence,” I replied. Dean barked out a laugh. “Jesus. Remind me never to disappoint you.” “You play hockey at Briar. I’m assuming disappointment isn’t something you experience often.” “Wow,” he said. “You know, most people start with hello.” I finally shut my textbook. “Most people don’t hover over me while I’m trying to study.” “Fair.”

For a second, neither of us said anything. The sounds of skates scraping across the ice filled the silence.

Then Dean nodded toward Leo. “You were right last week, by the way.” “About?” “The shoulder thing.” He crossed his arms. “Kid practically announces his backhand before he even moves.” I tried not to look too smug. “I’ve been telling him that for a year.” “Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged. “You explained it better than his last coach.”

That caught me slightly off guard.

Not because he complimented me. Mostly because he said it like he actually meant it. Before I could respond, a puck slammed against the boards behind him.

“Coach Dean!” one of the kids yelled. “Mikey said a bad word!” Dean closed his eyes briefly. “Fantastic.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

His head turned toward me immediately, like he was surprised I’d laughed at all. Then he grinned.

And that was probably the first real problem.

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Over the next couple weeks, Dean became weirdly unavoidable. Not in an aggressive way.

Just… present.

Sometimes he’d stop by the bleachers between drills to complain about the kids trying to fight each other. Sometimes he’d steal my highlighters. One time he sat next to me without asking and spent ten straight minutes trying to guess what I was studying based solely on diagrams.

“That one’s definitely the liver.” “It’s the brain.” “Well,” he said, frowning at the page. “That feels poorly drawn.”

Another time, he showed up with a caramel iced coffee and handed it to me casually.

“I didn’t ask for this.” “Yeah, but you looked miserable.” “I always look miserable here.” “That’s true,” he admitted. “But today looked worse.”

I tried very hard to stop the familiar feeling in my stomach.

It got worse after he started actually helping Leo. Not fake mentorship-program helping. Real helping.

Dean stayed late after practice fixing Leo’s shot mechanics. He chirped at him constantly, but he was patient about it. Never made him feel stupid. Halfway through one drill, Dean pointed toward the ice with his water bottle.

“Watch.”

Leo pushed forward into the line, shoulders level this time instead of dipping left before his backhand. The puck snapped cleanly into the top corner. Leo immediately turned toward the bleachers, both arms raised like he’d just scored a game winner.

Dean looked annoyingly pleased with himself.

“Okay,” I admitted reluctantly. “That was actually a good adjustment.” “Thank you,” Dean said solemnly. “I’ll remember this compliment forever.”

Leo adored him almost immediately.

“You know he likes you, right?” Leo asked one night while I helped him untie his skates. You: “Dean likes everybody.” Leo: “No, like likes you.”

I nearly dropped the skate.

You: “He does not.” Leo gave me a look that was far too knowing for a ten-year-old. “He asked if you were coming next Thursday.” You: “That doesn’t mean anything.” Leo: “He remembered your coffee order.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you paying attention to this?” Leo: “Because it’s embarrassing watching both of you pretend.”

I stared at him.

You: “Who let you get this nosy?” Leo: “You did. You raised me.”

Unfortunately, he had a point.

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The first time Dean and I really talked was because the rink vending machine ate my last five dollars. I smacked the side of it again.

Nothing.

“You know violence isn’t usually the answer.”

I looked over to find Dean walking into the lobby carrying his gear bag over one shoulder.

“This machine just stole from me.” “Tragic.” “I’m serious. That was the last of my cash.”

Dean crouched in front of the vending machine, inspecting it like it was a complex debate. Then he hit one specific spot with the side of his fist.

My granola bar dropped. My immediate thought was wow even a damn vending machine listens to him.

I blinked. “What.” “Spent enough years in hockey rinks, you learn things.” “You learn how to assault vending machines?” “It’s a gift.”

He handed me the granola bar with a dramatic flourish before dropping into the chair across from me.

“You’re here late.” “Organic chemistry.” “That sounds fake.” “It unfortunately isn’t.” Dean leaned back in the chair. “Okay, explain one chemistry thing to me.” “Why?” “Because I failed a chem quiz last semester and I’m still bitter about it.” A laugh slipped out. “You failed chemistry?” “Relax. I’m just pretty and athletic.” “That’s actually devastating news for women across campus.” “I know.”

He smiled when he said it, but there was something loose about him tonight. Less performative.

Not hockey-star Dean. Just… Dean.

And somehow that version made it worse for me.

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A week later, Dean picked up one of my anatomy flashcards off the table during practice.

“CN Seven,” he read. “This sounds fake already.” “It’s the facial nerve.” “And you just know that immediately?” “I’ve already had to memorize all twelve cranial nerves for three separate classes this past semester.” “That’s horrifying.” “You’re telling me.” He flipped the card over. “Okay, wait. What does this one do?” “Motor function for facial expression. Taste for the front two-thirds of the tongue.” Dean stared at me for a second. “You people are terrifying.” “You play hockey for fun.” “Yeah, but concussions are different from homework.”

Somehow, he made being mocked feel like a compliment.

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The rink got colder the later it got.

By the second half of practice, I’d started stuffing my hands into my sleeves between highlighting notes.

Dean noticed eventually.

Didn’t say anything about it, either.

He just walked past after drill rotations and dropped his Briar hoodie over my head like he was throwing a blanket over furniture.

I pulled it down enough to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?” “You looked cold.” “And this was your solution?” “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The stupid thing smelled like laundry detergent and his cologne.

Is it bad that I wanted to take it home?

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By the time the late-night skating happened, it didn’t feel random anymore. It felt inevitable in the way small things sometimes do before you realize they’ve become important.

Leo’s practice had ended almost an hour earlier. One of the other parents offered to drive him home, which left me alone in the nearly empty rink lobby with my laptop, a pile of flashcards, and a rapidly deteriorating mental state.

The overhead lights above the rink had been dimmed, leaving the ice washed in cool blue light that stretched long shadows across the empty surface.

Dean wandered out of the varsity locker room sometime after ten, hair damp from his shower and duffel bag hanging off one shoulder.

He slowed when he spotted me.

“You’re still here?” “Anatomy exam tomorrow.” “Bad?” “I think my brain has started rejecting information on principle.”

Dean dropped into the chair across from me and picked up one of my flashcards before I could stop him.

“CN Ten,” he read. “This one sounds important.” “The vagus nerve.” “Huh?”

Despite myself, I grinned down at the table.

Dean noticed.

That was the issue with him lately. He notices things.

Dean grinned slightly before flipping the card over. “What’s it do?” “Parasympathetic control of the heart, lungs, digestive tract—” “Okay, hold on.” He held up a hand. “How are you remembering all of this?” “I’m not,” I said flatly. “I’m actively dying.” “Seems dramatic.” “You failed chemistry.” “That was one time.” “Didn’t you just say you were still bitter about it?” Dean pointed at me. “See? This is why I can’t stand pre-med students. You people remember everything.”

After a minute, he leaned back in his chair and nodded toward the rink doors.

“You need a break.” “I really don’t.” “You’ve been staring at flashcards for like three hours.” “I have an exam.” “And your eyes look crossed.” “They are crossed.”

Dean stood up and grabbed two pairs of skates from beside the rental counter.

“Oh my god.” “Ten minutes.” “Dean—” “Doctor’s orders.” “You’re not a doctor.” “Well… Coach's orders, then.” he said, which honestly sounded more like a question.

I should’ve said no.

Instead, twenty minutes later, I was stepping out onto freshly zambonied ice in borrowed skates while Dean skated backward in front of me with entirely too much confidence.

The rink was quiet except for the soft scrape of blades cutting across the ice.

Better than anatomy, unfortunately.

Dean matched my pace easily. “You know, you’re less scary when you’re not holding flashcards.” “That’s disappointing. Fear was all I had going for me.” “Nah.” He glanced over at me briefly. “You’ve also got the judgmental staring thing.” “I do not.” “You absolutely do.”

I opened my mouth to argue and immediately lost balance slightly on a turn.

Dean caught my waist automatically. For a second, neither of us moved.

Then he let go.

Not awkwardly per se.

Just aware. As usual.

“Oh my god,” I muttered. “Leo is never hearing about this.” Dean chuckled quietly. “Your reputation survives another day.”

We skated another lap after that.

Then another.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t thinking about the exam anymore.

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You didn't look up immediately. You couldn't. You were in the middle of synthesizing a complex thesis statement, your fingers flying across the keyboard. But the sudden shift in the air—the immediate intrusion of expensive cologne, cherry-flavoured chewing gum, and the distinct scent of a cold hockey rink—told you exactly who had breached your perimeter.

"Hey," a low voice whispered.

You ignored him, aggressively highlighting a paragraph on your screen.

A large hand slid into your peripheral vision, gently tapping the wooden table right next to your mousepad. "Hey. Look at me."

With a long, suffering sigh, you finally lowered your eyes from the screen and leveled Dean with a flat, unimpressed stare.

He looked entirely out of place among the quiet academics. His thick, perfectly styled blonde hair was slightly messy, a few stray strands falling across his forehead. But instead of his usual smug, devastatingly handsome smirk, Dean looked thoroughly miserable. His blue eyes were narrowed, tracking your face with a tight, intense scrutiny.

"You're late," Dean muttered, leaning his forearms on the table, invading your space.

"I'm not late, Dean," you whispered back, keeping your voice low to avoid the wrath of the librarian. "I never said I was meeting you today."

"Doesn't matter," he countered, a cocky, unapologetic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Practice ended at five, which means you’re exactly forty-five minutes late to coming home and paying attention to me," He tapped his watch with a dramatic sigh, tilting his head as his eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by how ridiculous he was being. "And Tucker said he saw you walking with some guy from your seminar. The tutor guy. What's his name? The one with the stupid glasses."

A small, incredulous laugh escaped your throat. "You mean Aaron? My study partner? We had a group project meeting."

The mention of the name made something flash dangerously in Dean’s eyes. He didn't just look annoyed; he looked possessive, a simmering jealousy clouding his features. Dean Di Laurentis was known all over campus as a playboy, a guy who took nothing too seriously, who loved sex, parties, playing hockey on the occasion, and enjoying the easy thrill of the chase. But right now, looking at you, there wasn't a single playful thing about him.

"I don't like him," Dean said flatly, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a heavy, unyielding weight. "I don't like him breathing your air. And I definitely don't like him keeping you away from me for three hours."

"Baby, I have to keep my grades up," you sighed, leaning forward so only he could hear you. "I have to study, and right now, you are a distraction."

"Then let me distract you," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second before snapping back up. "Come home. I’ll make it worth your while. You know I will."

The blatant, arrogant proposition made a warm flush creep up your neck, but you firmly clamped down on it. "I'm staying here until this paper is done."

Dean stared at you, his chest rising and falling in a heavy, frustrated breath. He was used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. But as he looked at your stubborn jawline and the absolute determination in your eyes, he realized he wasn't winning this argument.

With a low grunt, he slid back into his chair. "Fine."

"Fine?" you repeated, blinking. "So you're leaving?"

"Hell no," Dean muttered. He reached out, grabbed his massive duffel bag from the floor, and hauled it onto the table with a heavy thud. "If you're staying, I'm staying."

Three hours later, the library had grown entirely dark outside, the only illumination coming from the green lamps scattered across the tables.

True to his word, Dean hadn't left. But calling his presence "emotional support" was a massive stretch. He was, without a doubt, the neediest human being on the planet when he wasn't the center of attention.

For the first hour, he had tried to read a sports psychology textbook, flipping the pages so loudly and aggressively that you had to kick him under the table. After that, his attention span completely shattered. He resorted to tapping his fingers on the wood, spinning his car keys, and sighing loudly enough to draw glares from a group of freshmen nearby.

Right now, Dean was slumped low in his chair, his long legs stretched out under the table, his ankles locked securely around yours—a physical anchor ensuring you couldn't slip away. He had dragged his chair around to your side of the table, sitting so close that his shoulder was pressed firmly against yours.

The heavy, rhythmic click of your fingers against the keyboard was the only barrier keeping his relentless neediness at bay. You were deep in the zone, entirely focused on drafting the final conclusion of your paper, while Dean remained anchored to your side, his chin resting heavily on your shoulder as he let out another long, dramatic sigh.

"I’m dying," he mumbled against your neck, his voice a low, husky vibration that sent a treacherous little shiver down your spine. "Dean is fading away. Dean is sad. Dean needs attention."

A breathless laugh escaped your lips, though you kept your eyes glued to the screen. "Dean needs to let me finish this paragraph. I'm almost done."

"You’ve been saying that for twenty minutes," he complained, his large hand sliding up from your knee to map the curve of your thigh, his fingers squeezing possessively through the fabric of your jeans. "Dean is losing his mind. Look at Dean. Just for five seconds."

"I have to go to the bathroom," you announced, finally cutting him off as you pushed your chair back.

He groaned, his arm wrapping around your waist for a brief, stubborn second to keep you in place before he finally let go with a tragic roll of his blue eyes. "Fine. But if you’re not back in two minutes, I’m coming in after you. I don't care which bathroom it is."

"Give me five," you fired back with a sharp, playful smirk, sliding out of the alcove. You left your laptop open, throwing your hoodie over the back of the chair and leaving your phone face-up on the heavy wooden table right next to his hand.

The moment you turned the corner toward the restrooms, the quiet settled back over the alcove. Dean slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his blonde hair, his jaw tightening the second he was left alone with your textbooks.

Then, the wooden table vibrated.

Dean’s eyes snapped down instantly. Your phone screen lit up, a bright banner cutting through the dim light of the green lamp.

Aaron (Seminar): Hey, just checked over the data layout we talked about earlier. You're brilliant, seriously. Let me buy you a coffee tomorrow to say thanks?

Dean froze. The playful, whining boy from two seconds ago vanished, replaced instantly by something fierce and cold. His blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he stared at the screen, his chest rising and falling in a sharp, heavy breath. Brilliant. Coffee tomorrow.

Before he could even process the spike of pure adrenaline shooting through his veins, the phone buzzed a second time.

Aaron (Seminar): Or drinks, if you're free tonight instead? Just the two of us to celebrate finishing early.

A dark, dangerous laugh caught in Dean's throat. He didn't think; his calloused hand snatched your phone off the table, his knuckles turning white around the edges of the case. The possessive, territorial instinct that made him a nightmare on the ice flared up instantly, turning his blood to fire. Just the two of us.

He knew he shouldn't open it. He knew you'd be furious. But Dean Di Laurentis didn't play by anyone's rules when it came to what belonged to him. He unlocked the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard as a volatile mixture of anger and raw jealousy tightened his chest.

By the time you came back, adjusting the sleeves of your shirt, the atmosphere in the corner had completely shifted.

Dean was sitting perfectly upright now, his broad shoulders squared, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the alcove. Your phone was gripped tightly in his hand, resting face-down on the table.

"Dean?" you asked softly, stopping in your tracks as you noticed the rigid, unyielding line of his jaw. "What's wrong?"

"Aaron," he said flatly, the name tasting like poison on his tongue. He didn't shout—his voice was incredibly low, a quiet, dangerous purr that made your heart skip a beat. "Aaron thinks you're brilliant."

Your eyes dropped to your phone in his hand, and realization hit you. "Did you look at my messages?"

"He wants to buy you drinks tonight," Dean continued, completely ignoring your question as he stood up, his massive frame instantly towering over you and blocking out the rest of the library. He stepped around the table, closing the distance between you until his chest was practically brushing against yours. "Just the two of us, he said."

"He's just a classmate, Dean—"

"I don't give a damn what he is," he growled, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling in your hair to gently but firmly tilt your face up to his. His blue eyes were blazing, wild with a raw, pure jealousy. "You’re going to text him back and say you have plans with someone way more important." He leaned down a fraction of an inch, the tip of his nose brushing lazily against yours in a slow, deliberate distraction while his thumb stroked the soft skin of your cheek. "Someone who is going to take you home, lock the door, and make you completely forget what subject you were even studying."

The sheer, possessive weight of his gaze anchored you to the floor, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Having him crowd into your space this intensely made it absolutely impossible to form a coherent thought.

"Dean..." you whispered, your defenses completely melting under the intensity of his stare.

"No," he muttered, his thumb tracing your jawline with a fierce, trembling intensity that betrayed just how much the thought of anyone else touching you tore him apart. "Dean is done being patient. Dean is taking you home right now."

You couldn't hide your amusement any longer, a soft smile breaking across your face. "You are completely ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, I'm a ridiculous guy who happens to be completely obsessed with you," he smirked, his voice softening just a fraction, though his grip on you didn't loosen an inch. He slanted his lips over yours before you could even reply, capturing your mouth in a slow, deep kiss that completely stole your resolve. His lips were hot and demanding, parting yours with an intoxicating ease that made your hands instinctively grip his jacket for balance. His tongue slid into your mouth with a cocky confidence that made your knees go weak, tangling with yours, mapping the inside of your mouth like he owned it. He drank in your quiet gasp, swallowing your soft whimper and leaving you completely dazed in the middle of the library alcove.

the heat reaches your face and a fluttery feeling sits low in your stomach. he always knew how to throw the words back at you. but alas, the show must go on. you stroke his hair back once more, cupping his face with both hands to kiss his sweet face. jason melts into it immediately, but he shrugs like he were shy from this attention. when you pull away, a piece of him was disappointed.

“you hungry?” you ask him. “i was gonna make something to eat.”

he shakes his head, “don’t worry about it. i came home to take care of you. i’ll cook.”

you raise a brow as you reach for your water bottle, ready to play in his face. “take care of me? i’m a grown adult babe.”

he watches as you lift the bottle to your lips, his eyes trained hard on how they part and press against it. taking in how your throat swallows down the water and he gulps in anticipation as though he was drinking it too. his lips part as he leans in to kiss you again. though this time, you bring the bottle between you and put it to his lips.

“you look dehydrated,” you say like it’s the easiest thing in the world. tilting your head slightly and watching the gears turn in his head. “have you been using the bottle i bought you?”

he sighs and nods, “yes but i like using yours.”

sitting up enough to take the bottle and take a long sip. probably draining your ice cold water from how thirsty he was and didn’t even realize. he makes a sound of approval and hands it back to you when you do the unspeakable.

you take the bottle from him, lift your opposing hand and wipe it with your sleeve. jason is absolutely dumbstruck. his lips part in confusion as his brows furrow. he looks to you, then the bottle and then back to you again. he scoffs softly and then points at the bottle.

“the fuck was that?”

he’s blinking hard at you and waiting for a response. you just take a long sip and furrow your brows back.

“what do you mean jay? i’m drinking water?” feigning confusion.

“you just wiped me off of it i’m some freeloader, with germs and shit.”

you can’t control your laughter and shake your head at him. “i’m just wiping your spit off of it jason. it’s not a big deal.”

then he’s stammering, pointing between you and the bottle again. “but babe you just kissed me! how is that any different! wait, does my breath smell?” before he leans back and puts his hand in front of his mouth and breathes out to sniff his breath. “i didn’t smoke or anything and i brushed my teeth i swear.”

this only makes you laugh harder, pushing this chest and grasping tightly at he bottle in your hands. jason only seems to get even more confused. he sits up completely and watches you giggle to yourself, finding this entire thing amusing. jason however, does not. but he knows you, and he knows you have never cared about germs with him before. besides, you live in gotham, it’s hardly the cleanliest place to live.

with a loud scoff, he takes the water bottle from your hands and tongues at the mouth piece. he fully lets his tongue fall out of him mouth and licks it all around before pulling back and handing it to you. you grimace a little at the wet sheen on it.

“ew jay, what the hell.” holding the bottle like something toxic.

“take a sip.” he says with the most stern expression you’d ever seen on him.

oh, he was pissed.

you decide to play along longer and shake your head in defiance at him.

he blinks at you, “i’d let you spit in my mouth and you’re sitting here telling me you won’t drink from the same bottle as me?”

“no, not until i wash your slobber off of it.”

that’s when he huffs out a kid throwing a tantrum and grabs the bottle from your hand, mumbling in his breath. you watch him with genuine confusion while he is the one to take another sip before grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.

he squeezes your cheeks until your lips part and spits the water directly into your mouth. you make a sound of surprise the sudden intrusion makes your eyes widen but you were definitely not opposed. you swallow it down immediately. he keeps his hold on your cheeks as he squints and a small smile begins to take form on his face.

“you liking this,” he states rather than asks.

the contagious smile takes home on your face as you stare back at him and nod. “it’s a prank.”

“ha,” he says flatly, “now can you lay back down please?”

sighing as you lay down for him, he immediately follows after you. weight resting directly over you like a weighted blanket that wouldn’t budge if you tried. when you squirm a little, he wraps his arms over yours so you’re bracketed between him and the mattress. then he really does give you some sloppy, wet kisses that leave a trail in its wake.

he’s mumbling lowly as he starts to tug on your shirt, pulling the fabric up and huffing like he’s still annoyed. kisses getting a little rougher as he starts to bite the flesh beneath it and knead it with his teeth. you can’t help but tilt back for him.

“slobber, huh? i’ll show you slobber.” murmuring against yours skin enough to tickle you. he pulls his head up to look at you while you’re still giggling, “okay jokes over. was gonna do all the work but—”

jason lifts you from beneath him and places you firm onto his lap. hand tight in your hip as you straddle him and he settles his back on the headboard. he clears his throat and something behind his light eyes darken enough to tell you you were really in for it now. the thick bulge beneath you was unmistakable now. you open your mouth in a gasp and say his name.

“there’s no way that turned you on.” making the horrible mistake of letting a giggle out again.

he breathes out of his nose and pinches your side to make you jolt. groaning like he’s not the cause of you moving around and tightening his hold on you so you’d stop moving.

“i spat in your mouth. of course i’m hard.” he sighs as his fingers slide across the waistband of your underwear and tug them just to let them snap. you jolt again but he doesn’t stop you from moving or say anything about the desperate sound you make at the friction.

instead, jason smiles a little harder, “go ahead then.”

guiding your hips back and forth until your breath caught in your throat and you grips his shoulders for dear life. you breathe out his name again but it’s barely a whisper. he tsks and bucks up into you, dragging his hard length against your clothed core. you were dangerously close and he’s just grinning like he’s already won. your hips with a mind of his own as you chase your own release, dragging your hands down his chest and pushing him further into the mattress. you’re already a mess, panting heavily and saying his name.

one of his hands come up to the back of your head and pulls you down towards him, whispering lowly in your ear.

“there you go ma, take what’s yours.”

movements getting sloppy and uneven while he’s keeping you folded against him. one strong palm kept your faces close and the other moved you in accordance what he knew got you there. he knew you were a gone before you let go, gasping and stilling just for him to continue moving against you.

you’re catching your breath when he finally stops and kisses the side of your face sloppily again. his hands rubbed up and down your back like he’s soothing you. but this time, he’s the one laughing while he whispers in your ear like a coo.

“gave the camera a good show, didn’t we?”

Reader POV

Thirty Minutes Later

“Oh, what the fuck, Y/N.” You waved awkwardly to the Alpha that was frowning as you walked into the interrogation room. Both of you now wore a pair of Helena PD sweatpants and t-shirt but his annoyed glare remained unchanged. “You moron. You could have walked away. You-”

“Nice to see you too, bud. Always love the compliments,” you said, Beau brushing past you, gently shutting the door behind you.

“Hello. Barclay.” Your jaw dropped, Barclay’s eyes raging as they settled on you. “Tim Barclay. Y/N Y/L/N. Now you two are a long way from home.”

“You told him?” he snarled. You shook your head, Beau smiling happily as he sat up on top of the table.

“No, no. She tried to come up with some half-cocked plan to get you out without us running your prints,” said Beau. Barclay scrunched his brow. “I know what you’re thinking. We didn’t take your prints. Oh but see we did. You had your hands all over that stretcher.”

“Fucker,” Tim grumbled. Beau lifted his chin, looking down his nose at him. “I ain’t saying a fucking word.”

“I ain’t the dumb hick cop you must think I am,” said Beau, sliding to his feet, turning to you with a smile. “Let’s see how much I know already for fun, hm? See Timmy here is a US Marshal, formerly out of the Boston office. He went on a sabbatical ten months ago.”

Beau stepped over to you, tilting his head. You swallowed under his intense gaze, his scent floating around you, making your head dizzy.

“Did you know Tim’s old supervisor took him under his wing when he first started? Poor kid didn’t have much in the way of family. That supervisor invited the young man around for family dinners with his own wife and kid daughter and all that. Turns out Tim was like a big brother to that little girl. Cute story, huh?”

Beau pulled out a phone and spun it around, showing a picture from Tim’s instagram. A throwback of when he’d spent his first Christmas with you and your parents. You closed your eyes, Beau clicking his tongue. 

“Throwback Thursday to that time the little brat gave me the nightmare fuel teddy bear #FrankenBear.” Beau hummed. “Oh and my favorite is the response from a profile with a striking resemblance to you. ‘First off I was eleven and handmade that shit. Second, I remember you bawling like a baby when you opened it, dumbass. #ungratefulbrothers #Imgettingyouacreepyassdollthisyear’.” 

You took a seat at the table, Beau sitting down across from you. He looked to Tim who was breathing deeply, hands in fists from where he was cuffed to the table.

“Why are you protecting your sister, Tim?” 

“She’s not my sister,” he said, peeling open his eyes. “...Legally speaking.”

“Why are you protecting Y/N?” he asked again. Barclay ignored Beau, frowning like he did when he was worried. He stared at you, his scent growing nervous. 

“Because of me,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to his lap. You sighed, Beau leaning back in his seat, glancing at you. 

“Tim worked a big case last fall. Illegal drug smuggling. Pharmaceuticals. It targeted Heat and Rut medications that were sold on the black market to traffickers for control purposes. He was part of the task force.” You found Beau’s face, his eyes cautious. “One man was killed during the raid…by Tim.”

“His brother wants an eye for an eye.” Tim closed his eyes, scrapped up knuckles showing the white of his bones. “I killed his brother so he wants Y/N dead. Only problem is he’s former special ops and he made off with an obnoxious amount of heat inducers. He’s been targeting women that look like Y/N. We’ve bounced around the country but he always follows us. Somehow he has inside information which is why we can’t trust anyone, even law enforcement.”

“We’ve been in Helena two months. Tim finally let me go out of my own tonight for the first time since this all started.” You put your arms on the table, resting your head in them, a wave of exhaustion rolling over you. “It’s my fault this happened.”

“Hey. No, it’s not. I should have been there,” said Tim. You peeled open an eye, his expression softening. He sighed, angling his body towards the sheriff. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, Arlen. Shit, arrest me for what I did to your officer back at the hospital. But let Y/N go rest somewhere and for the love of god, keep her safe.”

Beau let his gaze wander, your head raising under his heated stare. Your nose twitched, his scent turning musky, your own responding in kind. Tim looked between you, narrowing his eyes.

“Why the fuck are you two eye fucking?” You blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to your abdomen and the heated coil that began to simmer. 

“I uh…need the ladies room,” you said, rushing out of the room and heading down a hall. You shoved open a door and went to the sink, turning the faucet on to splash cold water in your face.

“Are you alright?” You turned, water droplets running down your cheeks. Beau stood in the open door, one large hand splayed against it, his scent coming off even stronger now. His eyes tracked down your body, lingering in way that made your insides clench. “You’re going into heat again, aren’t you.”

“Yup. That is a thing that’s happening,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I thought the heat stopper worked?”

“It smells…natural.” He wiped a hand over his face, holding it up. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not…scenting you or anything. It’s just…”

“My hormones are all screwed up. I’m sure you smelling like that…” Your cheeks were on fire, slick dampening between your thighs at the thought of being so near a strong, protective Alpha. You cleared your throat. “It just triggered a natural heat I’m sure.” He hummed, both of you ignoring the way you could clearly smell the growing arousal in the air. “You should probably take me to the hospital to be safe.”

He frowned, making a face. “Normally I’d agree with you but there sort of is a serial killer on the loose and given their proven access to heat inducers, we are likely dealing with someone with access to the hospital. I can’t guarantee your safety there.”

“Right,” you said, pointing a finger at him, nodding your head. “Good call a rooney.”

Oh god, someone please drop me off to that killer after all so I don’t die of embarrassment first.

He opened his mouth, pressing his pink lips closed after a moment. He debated something internally before he looked at the ceiling with a wince. “The last place you should be having a heat is a filthy police station with a bunch of criminals down the hall. I…do have a safe place you could have it. And a way to keep Barclay out of the system potentially. Not saying I buy his story but I can keep things on the down low while I look into things.”

“I’m all ears, sheriff.”

Two Hours Later

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” asked Dr. Olson. You hummed from the warm bed you were curled up in, not even bothering to open your eyes. 

God damn, Beau had a comfy bed. A nice, big, soft, full of musky Alpha scent woven into every trace of fabric, bed. He was working downstairs while you rode out a nice, drug-aided heat in his room. Dr. Olson and a nurse Beau knew personally were spending the night along with at least three officers. You’d tried to explain that you could suffer through in his office at the station once you realized how much work you were causing but Beau had an ulterior motive for bringing you home it seemed.

Namely, he had a seventeen year old daughter and the fact he was personally protecting her at home while a serial killer was running around his town?

Yeah, that was not helping this whole, “sexy sheriff made you go into heat” thing. 

“Dr. Olson, my dad wants to talk to you?” You slowly opened your eyes, the doctor leaving as you caught sight of the young woman with dark hair. The nurse excused herself to the guest room next door, leaving the two of you alone. She smiled at you, stepping in for a moment. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’ll sleep this off and be better by morning,” you said, the faintest whiff of her light, airy scent in the room. “I promise being an omega normally isn’t like this.”

“That’s what the nurse said.” She came in more, sitting at the end of the bed when you nodded. “When did you get your first full on heat?”

“Early twenties is normal. I’m thirty two and have been having them a decade. They aren’t so bad,” you said, sitting up and leaning back against the stacks of pillows behind you. She looked worried though. “Your first one will be your worst one since you have to go through it without medicine. After that though, it’s a breeze. This is so completely not normal.”

“Do Alphas really trigger heats? Cause like, I know my dad gave you Blaze on the street and then you got better and then you went into heat again after hanging out with him…”

“Um,” you said, scratching your head. You didn’t really want to be talking to this girl about how her very handsome father had absolutely triggered her into having a heat. “I mean, yes, they can if you don’t stick to your regular cycle. True mates can do that too. My hormones are very all over the place right now and I haven’t had one in a while so your dad probably played a small part in it but that’s all completely normal and-”

“He thinks you’re hot.” You blinked, the girl shrugging. “He can’t keep his eyes off you, not to mention he’s doing that musky thing with his scent which last time I smelled that I was ten and walked in on my parents which was scarring enough but yeah, he’s like, into you. Just thought you should know.”

“I’m sure your dad isn’t into me,” you said with a smile, while she hummed. “You’ll learn this but when an omega goes into heat in public, it makes the Alphas…eager. Our heats can trigger their ruts so I’m sure all you think you’re picking up is an Alpha and Omega scenting each other.”

“The doctor told him the only reason you would have gone into heat again so soon after the stopper was because you scented ‘desire’ from an Alpha. And then his face got beat red and then he took a scent blocker but I’m sure you’re right. He’s-”

“Emily, right?” you asked. She hummed, her face knowing she’d overstepped. “Emily…to put this really bluntly, when an Alpha smells an omega in heat, it makes them want to have sex. All you smelled was him getting turned on when I had some very strong heat scents going on. I’m sure he’s a very nice man but that’s all it was. Okay?”

“Sure, cause it’s totally normal for him to bring some random omega home but what do I know. My dad’s just horny, hm?” She got up and you sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this but I know him. He likes you.”

“Alright,” you resigned, slipping down in the bed, a wave of drowsiness washing over you. “You can tell me how much he likes me after I sleep this off.”

“See? Told you I was right,” she hummed before heading out of the room.

“Kids,” you mumbled, shaking your head. Sure, Beau was attractive and smelled nice…and okay, he was letting you stay in his home…and hadn’t charged Tim with anything yet as far as you knew. But he was just doing his job. He was being nice. He didn’t think of you as anything more than a poor victim. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone in a long time so sure, the hot protective guy paying special attention to you? It was a little crush was all. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you burrowed your nose in his sheets, wishing he was beside you in that bed. 

Beau POV

The October night air was cool, cutting through my flannel shirt, a sharpness to it that sent a chill down my spine. My gaze darted around the property, an unsettling feeling of being watched cascading over the house. I knew I had my officers around the entrances. Logically, this place was secure. Hunter wouldn’t dare try something here.

True, Emily and I didn’t exactly live in the suburbs. The rustic style house was bigger than the two of us needed but after all the shit she went through with that nutjob family at the camp, I wasn’t above buying the first place that put a smile on her face. We had a few acres that backed up to the woods and surrounded the property. A short minute walk through them on either side lead to the neighbors. 

Unease weighed down as I looked around again. The sun was long gone and I couldn’t make out trees I knew were there from the smear of darkness that enveloped our lit up hideaway.

Goddamnit. I came out here to get some clear air, not fucking paranoid.

I stepped off the porch and to the front path of pavers, veering off it to wander out into the grass about thirty or so feet away. The air was crisp, maybe coming off the mountains tonight. I closed my eyes, hoping the breeze would help the pounding in my head.

A serial killer was running around my town and making fools of my officers. I had information overload on Marshal Tim Barclay. I’d need to talk to him alone soon. On paper, on the premise of facts, I’d be stupid not to suspect he was Hunter. Statistically, you were much more likely to be killed by someone you know and it wouldn’t be some insane stretch to think for some reason, he was manipulating Y/N all along. 

If it were him, that’d be so fucking convenient for me. A nice little bow on the end of a long, emotionally draining, case. But my gut kept throwing up warning flags, flashing neon signs that Barclay truly was nothing more than a guy protective of his kid sister. 

Kid. More like a thirty two year old woman with a body that had me adjusting my underwear more than an acceptable amount tonight. The whole damn house smelled like her. Her goddamn scent was…

“Stop,” I growled when I felt my dick twitch in my jeans. I rubbed my temples, walking out further from the house. Y/N was simply an incredibly attractive, incredibly in heat, omega that was triggering the fact I hadn’t been laid in nearly three years. That was all whatever this…feeling was. 

My hand went to my stomach when a curl of wrongness settled there sending another message upstairs.

You aren’t just horny, moron. You can’t get her scent out of your head. Now why would that be? Remember health class? Biology? That thing we didn’t pay attention in? Bet you wished you had right now cause the answer is buried way in the back drawer of your subconscious under all that useful knowledge of the stats of your fantasy football team. 

The air clearly wasn’t helping and bringing Y/N here was a stupid idea. But I just…couldn’t leave her at the station, couldn’t stay away from her. I couldn’t have Tim booked into the system, a nauseous wave overcoming me each time I thought I’d be better off to formally charge him as Hunter.

He wasn’t crazy. He was scared for Y/N like any good brother would be in this situation. And her? Y/N was a victim that had an Alpha nearly a dozen years older in a tail spin because his job was to catch who hurt her and all he could think about was the vanilla scent that followed her wherever she went.

Forget about Y/N and go back to work. I stormed back inside, my head probably more confused than when I left. I glanced one to the right where the closed doors of the den were. It was quiet inside the room. Good. I’d deal with him later.

“Em, bed time,” I said when went down the hall and found her in the open kitchen making popcorn. She pretended not to hear me, bypassing me as she got out a glass from the cabinet. I stood by the island, crossing my arms, growing impatient as she filled it with cold water from the tap. “Emily. You have to be at the airport at six in the morning. It’s nearly ten. Go. To. Bed.”

“It’s 9:15, old timer,” she scoffed, spinning around with a frown. “I’m already packed and I promise I will be up at 5:30. I’ll sleep on the plane.”

“Emily, I-” She held up a hand, my eyebrows raising.

“There’s a cop on the front porch. There’s a cop on the back porch. There’s a cop by the garage door. Not to mention there’s a doctor and nurse upstairs in your bedroom with that sleeping woman. Then there’s that hot, angry looking guy in the den-”

“I told you not to go in there,” I growled. She held up her hands, her scent growing more tense right along with mine. Why wouldn’t she just go up to her room and sleep and give me one less thing to worry about tonight? “Emily. There is a lot of shit going on-”

“I didn’t go in the stupid den,” she snapped, a bit too much venom behind her words. I breathed deeply, Emily getting her popcorn out of the microwave, pouring it in an empty bowl nearby. “I saw out the window some guy in cuffs got brought into the house and you said don’t go in the den so yeah, I figured that one out. I’m getting sick and tired of everyone treating me like a child. I’m a senior. Seventeen. In a year I’ll be at college living on my own. All you and mom and your friends and even that omega upstairs who I don’t even know…all you do is treat me like an helpless child. Yeah, I got kidnapped last year. Over a year ago. Stop babying me.”

She took her bowl and glass of water, storming off to the living room, the sounds of The Bachelor playing in the distance. I leaned back against the counter, closing my eyes as a dozen conversations from therapy came rolling back. Maybe I’d been too overprotective in the past. Maybe I did need to loosen the reins more. It was a process we’d been working on for over a year and she knew that. But something was going on in town and I needed her clear of this place, no matter how it made her feel.

It was already hard enough to concentrate with Y/N in the house. My gaze wandered away from the family room and to the stairs leading to a dim hallway where she was tucked away. My body buzzed happily for a moment, like it was relishing in the fact she was in our bed right now. 

Y/N being gorgeous as sin wasn’t helping. Her bravery for trying to defend Tim when less than thirty minutes earlier she was in a life or death situation wasn’t great either. It was obvious she cared deeply for him. On top of it all, she escaped a fucking serial killer while drugged to hell. Strong. Intelligent. Beautiful. A kind soul that smelled like walking into a warm bakery on a cold autumn day.

I scratched over the small patch of skin on my neck where my bonding gland was buried deep within, a wave of fuzziness rolling through my body. Wait, that wasn’t lust because of her heat. That was…what the hell was that?

“How the hell did you hold out for so long?” I mumbled to myself. I lasted maybe three minutes from the time I touched Y/N’s neck drenched in the heat inducer to being floored on the ground. From all accounts so far, she’d made it ten from the time she was attacked at the park and made it to the sidewalk in front of the bar.

“You didn’t read that sex ed book you got me, did you.” I glanced up, yanking my hand away when Emily stood there again, her arms crossed. “Heat inducers trigger a heat when an Omega’s cycle isn’t normal. But, if an Omega has a normal cycle like most of them do, the inducer causes a flash point.”

“Like you get flash points right now cause you’re still presenting,” I said quietly, Emily pursing her lips. “So what are me and the doctors missing? A flashpoint is just a mini-heat that lasts for a few minutes.”

“Right. So you gave Y/N the Blaze to stop the flashpoint and she started to get better.”

“But she was not in the middle of a flashpoint. I was there. That was…something worse than a heat.” I said, remembering how hot her scent was, how potent it was. Her shrill, guttural scream as she passed out would be the star of many a nightmares to come.

Emily walked around to the island, taking a seat on a stool. “It temporarily got better and then you sent her into heat again at the station. Now the only reason that could happen would be the really big obvious thing that no one is thinking of because it hasn’t been a thing in over a century when medicine became a thing.” Emily tilted her head, my eyebrows raising. She rolled her eyes. “Dad. That heat inducer was laced with something else. Something they don’t test for because it’s not a thing that happens anymore…Did you seriously not pay attention in history class either?”

“First off, I didn’t take all AP classes like you and second, Em, you’re confusing the hello out of me. What are you even talking about?” She leaned over the island, letting out a groan.

“Way, way, way back in the day, unmated Alpha’s in a Rut that went on too long used to go around biting omegas they wanted in their bonding gland. You know like if they were crossing the ocean or marching across a country or some shit and some poor dude went into rut and he couldn’t bust a nut in an omega.”

“Emily,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “Jesus fucking christ…”

“Sorry,” she said, making a face like I was the one making it awkward. “Anyway, they’d be so hopped up on Alpha hormones, they wouldn’t even wait to have sex, they’d just bite to claim the first omega that suited their fancy. But they’d go a little stir crazy cause they had to wait so long and they called it-”

“Primal,” I breathed out, shaking my head, opening my eyes again. “That’s…Em, that’s not been a thing for hundreds of years. Primal Alphas don’t exist anymore. We have medicines for Ruts now and even then, you have to be in Rut for close to a year I thought I remember to go Primal. Literally no one in this day and age would be able to have that happen.”

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong but what else makes an omega go into a strong heat that keeps coming on except for being bit by a Primal Alpha? Nothing. The omega goes into heat over and over until they mate with the Primal Alpha and get claimed. It’s either that or die of the heat. At least back in the day. Nowadays like you said, we have medicine.” 

I stared at her, that creeping sensation washing over me again. If Em was right, somehow I had a Primal Alpha with a torture and murder kink running around. And he’d picked Y/N as his next target.

My eyes darted over to the stairs again, dread filling my gut. Would Hunter come back for her? Could I keep her safe from a monster like that? I glanced back at Emily, memories of clutching her tightly while she still had rope burn on her wrists telling me I’d fuck this up and let Y/N down too. 

Emily sighed, looking up at me with gentle eyes as if she could read my thoughts. “I’m sorry for being a pain tonight. I just get nervous when you start banishing me to other states that you’re being too protective cause that just makes me feel like I need you to protect me and we both know from therapy that’s not good for either of us.”

“No, it’s not,” I said gently, tugging on the end of her braid. “I’m your dad, Em. I’ll always protect you and this situation with Hunter is dangerous. I’m not sending you away because I think you aren’t capable. In fact it’s the opposite. I know you’re strong enough to go off on your own. But I’ll worry if you’re here in town, Em and the more worried I am about you, the less focus I can give to protecting that omega upstairs and stopping Hunter from hurting more people. I know my limit and I need your help.”

“Then I go to Seattle and if it’s still not safe for me to come home, I’ll go stay with Grandma and Grandpa in Texas.” I smiled, tugging again. 

“You could stay with your mother…”

“Don’t push it,” she said, pursing her lips. “I told the doctor my idea about the Primal stuff when everyone first got here.”

“What’d he say?” I asked, Emily shrugging.

“He said that it was nearly impossible for a Primal Alpha to be out there without someone knowing about it.” I frowned. Sure, it was far fetched. But Emily was a smart kid, smarter than me about this stuff. He shouldn’t have discounted- “Then he drew blood and made a face like oh shit and then gave Y/N a shot in her bonding gland and then he tested her again and his face looked better.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?” I asked as the stairs creaked. Both our heads turned as Dr. Olson came downstairs, giving us a nod.

“Because that’s not something I could verify on the spot. I sent the instant read results off to a friend of mine at the university to do further analysis. Your daughter’s unfortunately right, Sheriff Arlen. The heat inducer was mixed with salvia from an Alpha in rut. An Alpha that is Primal” he said. 

I wiped a hand over my face as he held up a hand. “I took a precaution with Y/N and gave her a flushing agent to her bonding gland in the event Emily was right. She’ll be just fine with no adverse side effects.”

“That’s great doc but I have a psycho on the loose in my town. Please send any information you and your friend have come up with over to the county morgue’s office and let them know what you’ve discovered. A fucking Primal Alpha serial killer…”

“Will do,” he said, returning upstairs. Emily was quiet, watching me pace around the kitchen. Shit, I was making her anxious. I padded across the wood floor, forcing myself to relax, give her a soft smile.

“Thank you my little smartie pants.” I kissed the top of her head, pulling her into a hug. “You helped Y/N and with my case. I owe you one.”

“Does this mean you’ll start listening to me from now on?”

“It means I’ll listen but you need to give a little too,” I said, leaning back. She rolled her eyes but it lacked any animosity. “Being a grown up means making decisions but also knowing when to listen and do as told. Please be safe tomorrow and don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Deal. If you tell me if you like that omega upstairs.” I breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Dad. You guys are giving off major vibes.”

“And there’s the teenager side again,” I said, Emily smirking. “She’s…attractive.” 

Emily grinned like the cheshire cat, my own eyes narrowing. “Emily. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You like her,” she said with a triumph hum. “That’s good considering she likes you too. All y’all grown ups forget that pups can smell things y’all can’t like how your scents are doing that mixing thing when y’all are in love.” 

“Mhm,” I said, spinning her around. “Go finish your trashy reality show then off to bed.”

She waved me off and left to the family room, leaving me to settle back in at the table with my laptop. An hour later, Y/N’s scent had lessened, her heat probably having passed which was good. I had a better idea how I wanted to question Barclay about all the bombshells I’d discovered and was just jotting down one last though when I heard Emily start a new episode. I shook my head as Jenny called to check in.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“Only the shitty kind.” I leaned back in my chair, biting the inside of my cheek. “Beau, it’s been over four hours. Hunter’s in the wind. We got to re-group.”

“Keep up patrols but we can pull a third back. I want Hunter to feel squeezed still. Put everyone in the station on this but designate a team to work other cases tonight. I want them to keep working this. Hunter fucked up somewhere and we’re going to find it tonight. You and Pop head back to the station too, get you guys to start tracking down this Primal Alpha thing, see if there’s a connection there,” I said. 

“You coming in? We could head to yours, brainstorm there.”

“Good call. I’ll make some coffee. You guys bring some grub. It’s gonna be an all nighter. Oh and Hoyt? You going to press charges against Barclay or what? I need an answer.”

“No,” she grumbled. “But I do want to kick him in the nuts.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I chuckled, rising from my seat. “You sure you don’t want to charge him?”

“I’d take you up on that but the guy was just protecting his sister. Unless he turns out to not be innocent, then I’ll beat his ass so good he never makes it to trial.”

“Hoyt, what did I tell you about admitting your bloodlust to me?” I sighed.

“Whatever. You ever find out why he went off grid instead of using the Marshal service to keep her safe?”

“I have an idea. I’m about to go question him, see if I’m right. Text me when you guys get here.”

I hung up, grabbing my notepad and pen from the table before heading over to the shut doors of the den. After a brief pause, I turned the handle, Barclay exactly where I’d left him earlier in the night. I quickly surveyed the room, smirking when I saw a stray paperclip on the ground under the desk. Nothing else was out of place, not even where the chair indented the rug. 

“So, how long ago did you get out of those cuffs?” I asked, closing the door behind me. He shrugged his shoulders forward, letting the cuffs fall to the ground behind him as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d guess about three minutes after you got dropped off in here?”

“I take it blondie isn’t pressing charges?” he asked. He stood from my office chair, a sharp edge to his scent.  

“To be determined. Now make yourself comfortable,” I said, reaching into my back pocket, tossing a zip tie at him. He caught it, narrowing his eyes. I rested a hand on my hip, not on my gun but near enough for him to get the message. 

Barclay fixed the loop and put his wrists through it, pulling it taught with his teeth. Tim sat back down, all while giving off major, “fuck off” vibes in his scent. I came closer now in the small room, clenching my jaw. “Now we both know you could get out of those if you tried. This is about you understanding your place. Disobey me again and I’ll let blondie hog tie you and beat you like a pinata if that’s what she wants. Understand?”

He rolled his eyes, an air of indifference around him. Not smug. No, he was confident. A confidence he could back up. Which meant he was either going to be a great asset if he was innocent or incredibly dangerous if he was Hunter.

Tim’s jaw clenched, eyes examining me as if I were the one that had attacked his sister or something. “I told you everything I know and Y/N is somewhere in this house. If you were going to charge me, Barlen, you would have left me at the station. So let me go and take my sister with me. We know how to keep a low profile. You can run around and catch your killer without us.”

“It’s Arlen,” I grit out. He smirked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Bitch ass Arlen? No, I think I got it right the first time.” 

“Listen you, Alpha fuck.” The den door swung open quickly, Emily standing there with my radio from my belt. “What the hell-”

“Sorry but they needed you and were freaking out about something,” she said, shoving the radio in my hands. I didn’t miss the way Barclay stared at her, Emily giving it right back as someone droned through the speaker about a massive bar fight at Stormy’s.

“The fucker is trying to pull cops out of the area by causing a diversion,” said Barclay, offering a quick glance at me. “They probably spiked drinks with rut enhancer and the whole place is going nuts.”

I tried to ignore him but he was almost certainly correct. Stormy’s reputation preceded itself. Omegas knew to not go near it. Alphas knew you could easily buy drugs out the back. No cameras and no one ever talked to cops. Hunter’d been in town long enough to know that and know the place was a massive thorn in the side of law enforcement. 

If nothing else, it told us Hunter was still in the original area which was good. I turned around, pressing the call button on my radio. “This is Arlen. Call the fire chief, tell her to send some of her bigger guys down with Rutcan. The aerosol kind and no, I don’t care how expensive it is. Tell her to bill me.” 

I sighed, clipping the radio on my belt. Emily scurried off when I nodded, Barclay biting the inside of his cheek to stop a smile.

“You’re gonna forget that girl you just saw even exists, understand?” I snapped. “I swear to god-”

“The only thing I want is my sister safe. If she’s here with your kid, I’m going to assume you have this place locked down.” He leaned back into the chair, breathing deeply. “I told you everything and I’m sure you looked into me. I get being pissed over what I did to your officer but I do not hurt kids. I’m more of a help to you right now and we both know it. If you won’t let Y/N and me leave town, then at least let me work this with you.”

I took a deep breath. Alright, time to get to the truth.

“Your story doesn’t hold up, Barcly.” He looked confused, a flash of anger on his face hiding concern. Ah, so he was that type of guy. Anger was his front. I could work with that. “That drug dealer brother you said was after you?”

“Yeah…” he trailed off. I sat against my desk, crossing my arms all while Tim frowned up at me.

“He died about three days after you and Y/N left Boston. Drug turf war stuff.” Barclay shook his head, holding up a finger from his bound hands.

“You must have the wrong guy. I have intel from the Marshal service-”

“Barclay.” He snapped his mouth shut, both of us pausing a beat. He didn’t try to hide the gears turning in his head, a dozen scenarios and then some flashing through his mind in a split second.

“You have the wrong guy. Probably the same name. Mix ups have happened before,” he said, landing exactly on the idea I figured he would. But it wasn’t enough yet. I needed more before I could trust him.

“If there was truly a threat, why didn’t you follow your standard protocol and put Y/N into witness protection? Why do this off the books bullshit and put Y/N in danger?”

He looked past me out the dark front window, his face losing some color as the gears in his head turned him down a different path, down the ones he didn’t think existed a moment ago. I knew from his file Timothy Barclay was a highly skilled and highly trained. He graduated valedictorian of his high school in Boston. Somehow managed to get a four year degree in Business Management, minor in Criminal Justice, all while being in the army and joining special forces the second he was eligible at 19. He spent four years running around the world before he got into the Marshals, impossibly difficult at his age but his military career definitely helped. By 24, he graduated training and joined the US Marshals Boston field office where he’d remained up until early last January.

It’d taken some digging and bribing an old friend that was now a Captain back in Houston but he got hold of Tim’s personnel file. The man lived and breathed the US Marshals. He had taken more certifications, more courses, had more awards, than my entire station combined. I was very well aware of the fact this man was a better investigator, a better fighter, better shooter, better liar, than I’d ever be.

But some things, you just couldn’t fake.

“Talk to me, Tim. I can’t read your mind,” I said, trying to coax him back from whatever dark rabbit hole he’d gone down in his head. He blinked a few times, watching the stillness of night outside.

“I uh, got a threat on our front door. Like old school, letters cut out of a magazine, threat. Y/N and I share a place back in Boston,” he said, closing his eyes, searching his memories for an answer he didn’t want. “There was a power outage that night and our backup on our security system didn’t work that night which never sat right with me. Neither of us were home. I had a late call at work and Y/N had a girls night with a friend, stayed at her place. I saw the note when I got home in the morning.”

“Then what happened?” I asked, Tim shaking his head.

“I went to my supervisor like anyone would. Teddy, Y/N’s father. I said I wanted Y/N in protective custody, wit sec, something where she’d be protected round the clock. I didn’t care where. This drug family, they had enough connections with traffickers that if they got hold of Y/N…I just couldn’t let that happen to her.”

“So you went to Teddy,” I said. 

“He said it wouldn’t be safe to do the normal protocol, that the dealers had an in at the Marshal service and would find us. I didn’t understand how that was true but they knew where we lived after all. I figured Teddy was high up in our office, in command. He would have known if there was an insider threat and I had no reason to question him.” Tim took a beat, opening his eyes, breathing quietly. “Teddy told me he’d put me on sabbatical and to grab Y/N and get out of town that night. He said he was to be my only contact and I was to trust no one. He’d tell us when to move around, where to go next but that was it. Every time Y/N asked when we could go home Teddy would say the drug dealer put a hit out on the two of us and we couldn’t come back until he’d built his case against him.”

“Teddy failed to mention this drug dealer being dead.”

“Why would he lie to us?” Barclay looked up at me finally, a mixture of anger and fear. A sliver of vulnerability that he’d fucked up. I sighed, walking over in front of him, stopping at his feet. “I don’t understand.”

“Barclay, I have a serial killer on my hands. They’ve been active in Helena for six months. Before that, looks like the same killer profile as in Boulder.” He shook his head, a look of panic crossing his face. “Before that, Atlanta.”

The dread on his face was a clear enough answer for me. This man had no idea about Hunter or what Teddy was up to. 

“Let me guess. Cleveland before that?” he whispered. I nodded.

“Boston before that,” I said. Tim closed his eyes, flashing them open with another shake of his head. 

“Wait, you said six months. That doesn’t make sense. Y/N and I didn’t show up here until closer to three months ago. There’s no way this guy is following us.”

“Oh, you’re right,” I said, squatting down. “You’re following him. Now tell me again, do you pick your next city or is that Teddy too?”

“That’s not…” Tim made a face, standing and brushing past me. He went to the window, his scent coming off in big panicked waves, something he would have learned to control years ago in all his trainings. No I recognized it all too clearly. It was the same way my office had smelled when Emily was abducted last year. 

“No. No, you’re wrong, Barlen. If Teddy was tracking a serial killer, there’s no way in hell he’d not report it. He’d rather die than see his daughter get a paper cut a-and you’re telling me he’s sending her after a serial killer the past year? It makes no sense. It makes no fucking sense.”

I nodded, quietly walking over to him, cutting his zip tie off. He rubbed his wrists, his face hard again but the worry burned into his eyes. He knew what I did. Teddy was involved with Hunter, with a serial killer. There was no good justification in the world. Except for the fact Teddy probably wanted Hunter to kill Y/N or the both of them for some reason. 

But Tim wasn’t ready to say that out loud and I wasn’t about to push him. 

“No, it doesn’t. A lot doesn’t make sense. All I do know is Y/N was Hunter’s next target and she got away. We have to assume he will come after her again. Either way, you’re both involved and the one thing I have zero doubts about is you value her life above your own. I read your file and I need someone like you to help me catch this son of a bitch.”

Tim steadied himself, nodding to himself. “Hunter comes near her, I’ll make him regret being born.” 

“Good,” I said, his face showing a flash of surprise. “My daughter was abducted last year and left for dead. The things I wanted to do to the man that took her…law and order has it’s place in the world. But some monsters just need to be put down.”

“Maybe you’re not awful after all, Barlen,” he said, tilting his chin up with a barely there smirk. He held out his hand, sharing a firm handshake with him. “Let’s get this guy and figure out what the fuck is going on with Teddy.”

“That’s all I get? No threats to stay away from your sister? Maybe you’re the one that’s into me,” I teased, letting a smile cross my face. Tim chuckled, stepping past me.

“First off, you couldn’t handle me, Barlen.” He looked over his shoulder, a dark smirk on his face. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re handsome and my sister’s type but the whole divorced, dad to a teenager, in his fifties means I don’t even have to threaten you. Once her heat’s passed, she ain’t even going to look at you.”

“I’m forty three, fuckhead.” He just smiled, egging me on. Fine. He wanted to play that game, I was down. “You know how pups can smell things we can’t?” I said, throwing an arm over his shoulders, walking him out of the den and towards the kitchen. “Emily says mine and Y/N’s scents are mixing and we all know that means there’s more than just attraction going on.” I flashed him a wink for good measure, his eye twitching. “Your sister smells so damn good, Barclay. Shit, she could be my true mate.”

“I need to speak with your child with poor scenting abilities. Now,” he grumbled. 

“Barclay. You manage to get her the hell out of that living room and in bed, I won’t let Hoyt kick you in the balls when she gets here in fifteen cause man, she really wants to.”

“Deal,” he said, storming into the living room as I stood over the kitchen table. “Kid, tell me what the hell you smell between your dad and my sister and I won’t toss your butt in bed in the next twelve seconds.”

“Oh boy you really don’t want the answer to that based on your whole vibe. By the way, do you like Jenny?” I heard from the next room, chuckling when Tim scoffed like a teenager. “Cause your scent did that you like someone thing and you sound like you got maybe some enemies to lovers thing going on.”

“You know what you little-”

Glass shattered nearby, the distinctive sound of a shot ringing out, somewhere towards the back of the house. I hit the ground, watching wide eyed as Tim yanked Emily to the floor, covering her body with his all in the same fluid motion.

“Emily!” I went to move for her but slammed down and back behind the kitchen island when shots rang out from the front as well. “Emily! Answer me!”

___________

“Don’t forget a choker and a nose ring,” Ava said. She’d just found your old combat boots in your meager collection of shoes. “She channeled her awkward teen angst into the grunge phase.”

“Hey, it was a seamless transition,” you argued. You went over to Beau to help him take out the rest of your CDs and stack them on the coffee table. You were already plotting on how to fit them with his vinyl collection in the TV stand cabinet.

While Ava went back into the kitchen to help Emily unpack your bakeware, Beau paused as he looked at you, rubbing his chin as he contemplated whether he should say what he wanted to.

You clocked that deliberation on his face. You raised an expectant brow.

“What, you thinking about my fishnets too?” you teased.

His lips tugged at a smirk. “You telling me you still have those? Because—”

“As a matter of fact, I do. If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll model ‘em for you,” you said, wiping the cardboard dust off your hands before you leaned up and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Hmm, consider me on my best behavior then,” Beau said as he held you back. He wanted to revel in the fact that his living room was packed to the brim with boxes of all sizes, filled with the pieces of your life that you were willing to fit with his. But…

“Hey, I know you agreed to move in for safety reasons, but I hope it’s what you want, too,” he said.

Your amusement faded. You softened, took his face between your hands, and leaned up for a kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair a few times. Each new kiss lingered more, and meant more, until you pulled away enough that he could see the truth in your eyes.

“I’m doing this because you’re my mate, and I want to be with you,” you said, and your smile grew. “You may not be able to cook worth a damn, but you do give good wakeup calls.”

He burst into deep chuckles as he ducked his head. Your gentle hands stopped him from hiding, but you did feel his smile against your lips, and his strong hands kneading your ass.

Ava was about to ask you where you wanted your giant-ass Kitchen Aid mixer, but she paused in the living room doorway, arms crossed with fond amusement as she watched you and the sheriff being all disgustingly domestic.

She was happy to see you smile again after the funeral for Lucy and her family two weeks ago. Already you seemed more like yourself here, even if in her heart, part of her twinged with a kind of loss.

She knew it didn’t really mean she was losing you. It just meant that things were changing again, for you and for her.

Later that evening, you all had made a sizeable dent in the unpacking process. Beau was already considering moving into a bigger apartment after his lease was up—maybe even a house, if the two of you could afford it. But for now, this was a good start.

He finished up tying off the trash from packing material and empty Chinese takeout boxes, getting ready to bring it down the hall to the trash chute. You and Ava were at the front door, hugging one another goodbye.

“Thanks for all your help,” you said, blinking past a sting in your eyes. “Not just today, but always.”

“Always,” she said, smiling. “That’s a good word.”

You laughed as you pulled back. “Be careful going home.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty late. How about I follow you home? Officer’s escort,” Beau said.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m sure you're tired,” she said, but you cut her off with a wave of your hand.

“No, that’s a good idea. Beau, please follow her. Make sure she gets there safe,” you said, giving her a meaningful look. Now wasn’t the time to be polite rather than cautious. You wouldn’t put it past the Daltons to hurt someone close to you, even if they weren’t planning to testify against the brothers in the upcoming trial.

Ava finally conceded, and you got Beau to promise you that he’d be safe too before he followed her out. That left you with Emily after she finished taking a shower. It was nice of her to spend her last week in Helena helping you and Beau with the move, before she went to New York to settle into her new dorm room and start her classes at NYU.

The two of you made popcorn, got comfortable on the living room sofa, and put on one of the romcoms you couldn’t get Beau to watch with you—at least, not without him “accidentally” falling asleep.

“Ooh, running low,” you said after peeking into the popcorn bowl. “Want me to pop another bag?”

Emily shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

Her glance at you lingered with a half-formed question, with something she’d been thinking about, but hadn’t gotten the courage to tell you.

You noticed that very familiar look, and it almost made you smile. Like father like daughter.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“Nothing,” she said, even though that was definitely not her nothing face. Eventually, what she really wanted to say spilled out. “I just…wanted to ask how you were doing. I mean, I don’t think I ever actually said I was sorry about your friend, Lucy.”

Your breath caught between your parted lips. You slowly nodded.

“Thank you,” you said.

“What was she like?” Emily asked.

You paused the movie so you could think. You wondered if you’d actually known the real woman underneath the scars of her circumstances.

“She was…” You hesitated. “Lucy was the first person I met when I woke up in that hellhole. I was shellshocked, terrified. She was calm. She didn’t try to comfort me or lie to me to try and make it seem like this was some kind of sick family or anything. We weren’t sister wives. We were servants.”

Slaves, was what you wanted to say, but you were also careful about what you shared with an eighteen-year-old. Already you wondered if you were saying too much, exposing her to things she didn’t need to know.

Emily was listening intently though, her brown eyes slightly wide, her brows knitted with sympathy.

“She told me the truth about where we were, how to try and survive,” you continued, swallowing past the bile of those memories.

Don’t talk back. Don’t look them in the eye. They’ll see the fight in you, and they’ll figure out how to break it.

“But at the same time, she could be…funny, and sweet,” you said, smiling a little. “She grew up in a conservative Baptist family. She told me when she was around ten, her mom took her to the mall. Lucy got bored waiting for her mom while she smell tested the entire clearance section at Yankee Candle, so she wandered into the next store over. Her mom caught her in the panty section in Victoria Secret.”

Emily started to smile. “What did she do?”

“Oh, Luce was like a deer in headlights. She freaked out and just stuffed her hand in her pocket so her mom wouldn’t see what she was looking at, and she got dragged out of the store,” you laughed, just remembering the way Lucy impersonated her mom’s native Tennessee drawl, lecturing her in the car for twenty minutes. “But when she got home, she realized what was still in her pocket. A red, lacey thong.”

Emily laughed in disbelief. “She accidentally stole panties?”

“She was a panty stealer,” you giggled. “I didn’t blame her. A scrap of fabric for almost $15 each?”

“Or more,” Emily said knowingly. “The nicer ones go up to like, $20.”

You nodded in agreement, though you smiled, wondering if Beau knew his daughter was shopping at Vicky’s. You decided you wouldn’t be the one to break his heart on that one.

“Anyway, my point is that Lucy…she never lost that soft part of her heart,” you said, even as sorrow lodged in your throat, and colored your voice. Your eyes burned with tears you would slowly wipe away.

You could only hope that now, she was finally, truly free.

Her funeral gave you a new conviction. You were going to do whatever you could to make sure that the people who killed her had their lives taken from them too.

Moving in with Beau made it that much easier for him to take you to work in the morning, but picking you up in the afternoon was sometimes difficult for him, depending on what he was dealing with at work.

Come Monday, you rehashed a similar discussion as he parked in front of the Dewell & Hoyt office.

“I don’t want to keep you waiting, so if I get held up, Cassie agreed to cover for me on taking you home,” he said.

You sighed. “I do have a car, babe. I can just drive myself, and you won’t have to worry about taking me home. I’ll even text you when I get to work.”

Beau shook his head. “Sorry, but it’s either this or Witness Protection, and obviously I don’t trust Shaffer or the fucking Feds to get that part right.”

“You don’t even trust one of your officers to follow me anymore?” you asked.

Again, Beau was obstinate.

“I’ll worry less knowing for certain that you’re safe,” he said. He reached for your hand, squeezing gently, but his expression was firm. “I promised you that, and this is the only way I feel is right. Until this is over, it’s best if you don’t go anywhere alone.”

You wanted to push back a little on that, but again, you remembered Lucy, and that horrible image they wanted you to see. The stubborn protest died in you. This wasn’t about taking away your independence; it was about saving your life. And it was about making it to the witness stand next spring.

So, you nodded in agreement. 

After he kissed you goodbye and watched you walk into the office safely, Beau released a deep breath, if not the tension from his shoulders. He and Cassie had installed the new security software and better surveillance cameras in and outside the building, so that gave him another modicum of peace.

But his phone was already buzzing with the tug of his responsibilities and his badge. So he pulled out of the parking lot and went to meet them as he answered the call.

“Morning, Poppa Smurf. What do ya got?”

Meanwhile, you came into work to find that Denise had brought in a homemade quiche for breakfast. Oh, how you loved that her love language was food.

Cassie was already doing the legwork on a case of a divorcee’s missing jewelry—a vintage set of gold earrings, necklace, and rings worth nearly $10,000. She suspected her ex-husband, of course. She thought she saw one of the rings on his new girlfriend.

You and Denise spent the day calling pawn shops and jewelry stores while Cassie did her due diligence digging deeper on the husband himself.

Around noon, Denise suggested pausing for lunch.

“Ooh, how about we order from that Jewish deli down the street?” she suggested. “I can place the order online, but would you mind picking it up so I can man the phone?”

You were ready to agree on the reflex of being a helpful assistant, but you hesitated from your seat at your desk. Beau’s warning reared up to the forefront of your mind. Don’t go anywhere alone.

“Oh, it’s not far. It’s just right down the street and around the corner to the left,” Denise said.

“Right, it’s just, um…” you trailed, biting the inside of your lip. Before you started to make the slightly embarrassing explanation on why you couldn’t do such a simple favor, Denise raised a placating hand and shook her head at herself.

“Wait, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I almost forgot the whole reason why Beau’s been dropping you off and picking you up,” she said.

You tried in vain to smile it away. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll just call them back and ask for delivery,” she said. “I’d rather not leave you here alone either.”

You nodded, glancing down at your folded hands. “Thanks.”

Denise eyed you for a moment. Then, she beckoned you over to her desk.

“Come ‘ere a sec,” she said.

You got up from your seat and obliged curiously. She showed you a small key that she kept in a box of paperclips on her desk, and she unlocked the middle drawer. Inside was a loaded .22 caliber gun.

“I know we’ve got a new fancy security system now, but I’ve learned that sometimes, nothing beats the classics,” she said. And she laid a hand on your arm. “If you ever feel unsafe, you know where this key is. Do you know how to shoot?”

You nodded reluctantly. “Beau started teaching me last month.”

“Good,” she said. “Keep practicing.”

Your knee bounced as you swiveled with boredom in your desk chair. Beau was almost an hour late picking you up from work. He texted you with his apologies, saying he was running late from a robbery turned literal highway chase. The perps caused an accident with three other cars.  

“Is he on the way?” Cassie asked, when she came back from locking up the back of the office. Denise had already left to make it in time for a yoga class. 

You shook your head. “I’m not sure. I think he’s still tied up down there.”

“Okay, how about I take you home then,” she said. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“Are you sure? I can wait,” you said. You felt bad about making her go out of her way, even though you knew she and Beau had already agreed on this system last week. 

“Don’t even worry about it. Come on,” she said with a smile.

It allowed you to soften. Even in these small things, it was hard for you not to feel like you were the charity case people saw when you were a kid. Now, you tried to remind yourself that people like Cassie and Denise weren’t just helping you because Beau was your mate. They were doing it because they cared about you, as your friends.

The thought somehow led you back to a bit of guilt when you looked over at Cassie as she drove through afternoon traffic.

“Hey, um, at the risk of making this awkward, I do feel like I have to thank you for something else,” you said.

Cassie eyed you. “What’s that?”

“About Jenny,” you said. “I know she’s your best friend, but you’ve been a good friend to me and Beau too. I know the whole…situation here put you in a difficult spot.”

She smiled wryly. “Thanks, but honestly, I’ve been rooting for you two. As much as I love Jenny, I could see that was going to end messy sooner or later. And not just because they work together.”

You nodded a little, but if you were honest, the thought still poked at your jealous streak. It probably had more to do with your own insecurities at this point, because neither Beau nor Jenny had given you reason to distrust them so far. You just couldn’t help it.

“I appreciate that,” you said. And, after a moment of hesitation, “How is she? Jenny, I mean.”

Cassie tempered the knowing edge of her lips. “She’s fine. But you can ask what you really want to ask though.”

You shook your head in begrudging amusement. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the literal private investigator could read you so easily.

“Do you think she still loves him?” you asked.

Cassie hummed in contemplation. She and Jenny hadn’t talked about this in a while, but Cassie knew her well enough to hazard a guess. She would give you the truth, too.

“Part of her still might,” Cassie said. “But she wouldn’t try to pursue him now. Before you came into the picture, her problem with Beau was the walls he put up, even with the people he supposedly trusted the most. I have a feeling that he’s let you behind them.”

You considered that with a nod. “Yeah, he has.”

“Did he tell you what happened last summer, with Emily?” she asked.

Again, you nodded. “He still blames himself. But he’s been drinking less, and sleeping more, so I think there’s progress there. …He even agreed to start seeing a therapist.”

Hopefully for his older wounds too, you thought.

Cassie’s brows rose in surprise.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “But that whole blaming himself thing? That’s why he’s doing so much to protect you now, you know.” 

That, you also knew. 

Beau had done a lot for you. That was the understatement of the year. Every day, he was thinking about your safety and wellbeing more than his own.

So, you were thinking that he deserved something good in return.

He could feel his joints creaking when he got out of the car. His neck and shoulders bore the brunt of it, though even his right elbow and wrist—a combination of research at his computer, eye strain from paperwork, and full-body fatigue from a twelve-hour shift: seven to seven.

Beau's caseload hadn’t gotten any lighter. And any spare moment he had over the past few weeks, he’d put toward safeguarding his apartment and the office over at Dewell & Hoyt. He even had a meeting with his building’s manager to upgrade the hallway surveillance cameras, as well as a new security system for the front and back doors. Even if the cost came out of his own pocket, he wasn’t taking no for an answer on this one.

He was satisfied, though, when punching in the new code to his apartment door successfully unlocked it. It had taken him a couple of tries on the installation, but he wouldn’t be pressed to admit that Cassie gave him a helping hand with the instructions.

However, he now found himself walking into what seemed like an empty apartment, even after he called your name and dumped his wallet and keys on a stand by the front door. The place was dim, just one lamp in the living room to light his way to the bedroom. A warmer light and the smell of burning candles drew him in.

He took off his jacket, once again calling your name more questioningly. Your scent was close…

He walked into the bedroom, but he had to stop short at the doorway. He caught sight of you in the bathroom, finishing off your lipstick. When you stepped out, his gaze drew from your cheeky smile, down to a sexy dress you hadn’t worn in front of him before, finishing him off with the tallest pair of heels he’d ever seen on you.

“Uh…” he swallowed, his throat bobbing as he struggled for coherency. A slow grin pulled at his lips. “Did I forget my own birthday?”

You bit your lip against a bubble of laughter.

“No,” you said. Your voice was smooth, your steps purposeful as you made your way toward him.

“Your birthday?” he guessed. His hands molded to your waist and slid around to the small of your back as you stepped into his orbit. “Anniversary?”

Your hands slipped up his arms and ran over every tense muscle up to his neck. He breathed in deep, already succumbing to your touch.

“None of the above, Sheriff, but I know you’ve been working hard,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. “I’m thinking we can take a break, go to this nice restaurant in downtown. I got us a reservation for 8:30.”

You traced along his jawline with your nail, scratching through his beard on the way to his chin. You tapped there twice.

“You can have your one glass of whiskey. I can have my glass of wine, some good food, and then after, I’d like to come home and have my Alpha bend me over the kitchen table and knot me like a gentleman,” you said.

If that wasn’t enough, the way your eyes slid up to his with promise, that sly turn of your lips—it all had him hardening in his jeans. His grip flexed around your hips.

“You know what, darlin’,” Beau said. His voice deepened with the slightly rougher edge of his Alpha. “I’m thinking we can just skip to that part, and book enough time to do it twice.”

You blushed a little and laughed lightly, encouraging his grin.

“You think you can accomplish all that on an empty stomach?” you teased. His head tilted in mock contemplation.

“Hmm, you’ve got a point there,” he said. “Plus, you’ve gone through all the trouble of putting on this pretty dress.”

“And making the reservation,” you pointed out.

He acknowledged that with another hum and a nod as he felt the slightly rugged state of his beard. 

“I’m gonna need a shower and a shave real quick,” he realized. 

You rubbed the back of your hand against his raspy cheek, and you smiled. 

“You can skip the shave,” you said, just before you leaned up to steal a kiss. 

You succeeded in knocking the very thought out of his head.

Beau pulled his Jeep up to Lucca’s with ten minutes to spare. While climbing out carefully in your heels, you noticed that this was the same plaza as Beau’s favorite diner. 

“Oh, wow. Talk about competition,” you said, pointing out Tonya’s right across the parking lot. “That’s where I got the pie! Ooh, we should go there for lunch sometime.”

Beau smiled at your excitement. He wrapped an arm around you, letting his hand fall into its usual place along the small of your back as you two went up to the more upscale restaurant. 

“Well, while I agree with you that Donno over there makes the best sandwiches in Montana, I don’t think I’ve ever told you about him and the owner’s shady come up, have I?” he said, more quietly near your ear. 

You frowned. “No. How shady are we talking?”

“Drug cartel kinda shady,” he said. “Formerly, but still. Tonya didn’t exactly make her money in pies and real estate. And her faithful lackey is, uh, more of a jack of all trades. Thankfully he seems to be focusing on his newfound culinary gifts.”

“Oh…I guess that means we can’t go there for lunch,” you said, half joking. You’d really liked that strawberry rhubarb. 

Beau quirked his head. “Well, maybe we just make sure I’m with you.”

He meant to open the door of the restaurant for you, but you grabbed his free hand and got him to wait a moment.

“You’re not just my bodyguard, you know. That’s what tonight is about,” you said.

Beau smiled, but he didn’t soften.

“I appreciate that, but until this is over, that’s exactly what I am,” he said. Though he tried to temper your frown with a squeeze of your hand. “Come on. I’m starving.”

You tried to let it go for now, but you were worried for him too. The Daltons clearly had reach if they were able to pay someone off for the location of Lucy’s safe house—either within the county clerk’s office or an official in the Witness Protection program itself. It wasn’t much of a stretch to try and strike at Beau, his team, or even Ava, if it meant stopping you from testifying.

The last thing you wanted to do tonight was talk about them, let alone the trial, but the thought was difficult to shake loose, even through drinks and appetizers.

Eventually though, Beau’s usual (ridiculous) sense of humor distracted you enough that you began to relax and enjoy this. A different thought struck you then.

Six months.

It had been six months since that night in the casino—since your souls touched, and you and Beau discovered what you would become to one another.

True mates. Fated. Whatever anyone wanted to call it, it was the day you met the man who would become your home.

As it turned out, tonight was an anniversary after all.

Despite being happily full, you felt lighter after dinner, a zip of anticipation running through you. Dessert was soon to come.

It was almost 10:00 p.m. by the time you and Beau got back to the car, but he frowned, realizing he was missing something important after fishing out his keys from his pocket.

“Shit, think I left my wallet inside,” he said.

“Toss me the keys. My feet are starting to kill me in these,” you said, leaning more heavily on the back of his car so you could take some weight off one ankle, then the other. Now you knew why you rarely wore this pair.

Beau smirked and gave you the car keys before he started jogging back to the restaurant. You pressed the unlock button while you circled around to the passenger side door. Your fingers closed around the handle, but just as you pulled it open, another firm hand shoved it closed.

You looked up with a gasp. Another man’s reflection was in the window, covered by some kind of mask.

Before you could turn and scream, his hand was covering your mouth in a bruising grip. You thrashed, fighting back with elbows and grappling and kicking at his shins, but the man knocked your head hard against the window. You nearly stumbled and fell, but he caught you, dragged you back up while you were disoriented. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and wrenched your head back—a ragged scream finally able to escape you. 

He stood a head taller than you and had the strength of an Alpha, but not the scent of one. It wasn’t a detail you could hold onto though, not when his hand moved to your throat in a chokehold. he buried his nose against the back of your neck to scent you, making you shiver, and whimper. 

“Remember me, Omega?” he asked. 

Your eyes widened. If you could breathe, you would’ve gasped; you recognized his voice.  

Felix. The man who tricked you and took you from the start. The one that managed to slip away when the police arrested Clay Dalton.

“Wish I had more time with you, like Lucy,” he said. “Gotta make this quick.”

He pressed you against the side of the car while he withdrew a knife. You only knew what it was when he moved his hand to frame your jaw. You felt the press of the blade against your neck, breaking the skin where it prepared to carve its way across. 

Your scream forced its way against his hand on your mouth—until there was nothing.

The oppressive weight of a body was gone. You stumbled against the side of the car and sunk to the hard asphalt below, scraping your palm and part of your arm on the way down. You scrambled to sit up as you heaved for air, only to realize that a shorter, stockier Alpha had Felix in a grappling sleeper hold. 

Your eyes widened, but you recognized him too.

Donno, from the diner. He was pummeling Felix’s face into the pavement.

Beau hadn’t known what he was seeing at first when he stepped out of the restaurant, but he soon realized it was happening near his car, and he felt your fear like a hot brand in his gut. He caught the acrid scent of it on the air, and his breath stilled in his lungs.

He ran toward the scene, quickly recognizing Donno in the fray with another Alpha dressed head to toe in black, wearing gloves and a mask.

You were on the ground, disheveled, bleeding, and terrified. Beau went to you first.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” he asked, bracing you by the shoulder and helping you stand. He quickly checked the wound on your neck to stem the bleeding, but thankfully it wasn’t too deep.

You nodded shakily, but you pointed to the Alpha that Donno was beating into the ground.

“That’s Felix!” you rasped. “He’s the one who escaped, who—”

You couldn’t get out the rest, but Beau’s eyes went wide with understanding. Within a trained second, he forced himself to move, guiding you to get into the passenger seat of his car and telling you to lock the door behind you.

Then, Beau could turn his attention to the way Donno had Felix on the ground. He was groaning and bloody as he clung to the waking world.

“Want me to finish it?” Donno asked.

Beau shot him a look, but it took more effort than he let on to shake his head.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said, crouching over Felix and grabbing him by his collar as fury rolled hot under his skin. “So you’re the Daltons’ fucking lap dog, huh? We’ve been looking for you. I’ve been looking for you.”

Felix gave a weak smirk, but he had strength enough to spit blood in Beau’s face.

He didn’t bother wiping it off. He just snapped a brutal punch that finished breaking Felix’s nose. Beau’s anger mounted to a boil, and he let go of another blow, then one more for good measure—until Felix was fully knocked unconscious. Beau let his body drop to the ground with disgust, rolling him over to cuff him.

Afterward, Beau wiped his face with his sleeve and his bloody fist on his pants. He grabbed his phone to called this into the station for pick-up. He would have to call Shaffer too.

But first, Beau looked back at Donno, who offered you his helping hand when you decided to get out of the car. You thanked him with a small smile.

His gaze cut away awkwardly, more comfortable in meeting the sheriff with a nod of begrudging respect.

“Thank you,” Beau said, as he wrapped his arms around you. You clung to him right back, your tears quietly staining his shirt.

Again, Donno just nodded. Even pie makers with a special set of skills appreciated a little acknowledgement, but not necessarily the attention from the people that came out of the restaurant to see what was going on.

“Can I go now?” he asked.

Beau hesitated, but he agreed. “I know where to find you for a statement.”

Donno shrugged.

“Yeah. She’s lucky. I was staying late doing inventory. Noticed the prowler,” he said, glancing toward Felix’s prone body. “He’s a fucking mouth-breather.”

And with that, Donno just walked back toward the closed diner and let himself back in. You and Beau shared a perturbed look. Your eyes soon filled with tears again.

Beau gently cupped your face as his gaze roamed down the rest of you to survey the damage. You watched a black ring form around his irises as he took in every mark along your skin that would likely become a bruise, including the bleeding wound at your neck. A deep growl rumbled deep in his throat, but he fought it down, brushing the tears from your cheeks. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked. 

You shook your head, still trembling. Beau knew he’d have to address the crowd of onlookers, but for now, you were all he cared about, along with keeping an eye on Felix.

“All right,” Beau nodded. He held you close. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You rest your cheek against his chest. The sound of sirens grew in the distance. Tonight would be over soon enough, but your heart was far from being calm.

After the paramedics patched you up, Beau took you home in silence. He’d been prickly the entire rest of the night, even snapping at the first officer who approached you for your statement. Jenny had given him a warning look for that one, but you knew his Alpha was too close to the surface. 

Your Omega was soothed by his protective nature, but with your more rational mind, you watched him as closely as he did you—if for different reasons.

You two later got ready for bed in silence. You intentionally changed in the bathroom alone, so you could take an inventory of yourself. Aside from your bruised skull, you had a butterfly bandage along the left side of your neck, and bruising around there too. More fingerprint bruises were forming along your jaw, and even your cheekbones from where you were grabbed.

You touched your neck delicately, wincing a little at the pain. You sighed. 

Beau startled you a little with his knock on the door. 

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“Just need to brush my teeth,” he said.

“Okay, one sec.”

You quickly changed out of your dress and put on your pajamas before you let him come in. He didn’t look like he had any intention of finding his toothbrush. Not when he saw the way you were touching your neck, covering the bruising from his gaze.

“Can I see?” he asked, gesturing at you.

With another sigh, you let your hand fall. As you suspected, the mottled sight only upset him. He shook his head, and you both saw and felt the anger climbing back into his heart. You sensed it through the bond, pulsing the color of rust and blood.

“I’m okay, babe,” you said, taking his hands in yours.

“You shouldn’t go forward with testifying,” he said gruffly. “We’ve got another few months until the trial—”

“Then they win,” you replied. “The only way this ends is if they pay. For this. For Lucy. For the others who survived, and the ones who didn’t.”

Beau didn’t like it. He didn’t want to admit you were right either…but you were. He couldn’t make this decision for you, no matter how much he wanted to. 

You brought his hands to your lips in a silent thank you.

On March 24, 2027, at 9:00 a.m., you were sworn in to give your testimony in front of the jury, the judge, and several others sitting in the wooden pews to watch. Beau was in the second row, watching intently. On his left was Ava. On the right was Emily, Cassie, Denise, Moe Poppernak, and even Jenny. She would be giving corroborative testimony later.

The courtroom was intimidating, but not as huge as it looked on TV. The look on Shaffer’s face told you that you were doing well so far after explaining, to the best of your knowledge, how you were kidnapped. But he was about to guide you into deeper waters.

“I know this may be difficult, but can you recount what your experience was at this ranch house owned by the Dalton family—the one you and other survivors called ‘the Farm’?”

“It wasn’t just us who called it that,” you said, glancing over at Clay Dalton. “Clay and his men called it that too.”

“Right. Because as Theresa testified, Clay was called the Shepherd, correct?” Shaffer asked.

You nodded. “That’s right. He was the main ringleader in the farmhouse out back, but Jack called the shots in the house,” you said. And with a deep to steel yourself, you reiterated what the jury had already heard from Theresa, Angie, and Carlos.

“If you made it to the Farm, you were either kept or sold. If you were kept at the main house, you were at the service of the Dalton brothers and the other people who worked for them. They would break you in various ways, then usually, one of them would claim you once your first heat came around, for the control, and their own enjoyment… They would cycle through women when they got bored, or…worse.” 

“Worse?” the ADA prodded.

“Sometimes beatings would go too far,” you said. “Lucy told me that the girl who had my bed before me was named Lisa.”

Velasco, the Daltons’ defense attorney, piped up from their side of the courtroom.

“Objection. That’s hearsay, your Honor.”

“Lucy Hernandez would be testifying herself, your Honor, if the defendants hadn’t paid their cousin Felix to kill her and her entire family, just like the attempt on this young woman’s life six months ago,” Shaffer retorted, gesturing at you. “He’s already pled guilty to that affect, and will be testifying tomorrow.”

The reminder not only made you shift uncomfortably, but it rippled throughout the entire courtroom in a stir, including local press who were sitting in the pews, either furiously taking notes or making sure their recording devices were capturing it all.

Judge Callahan called for order, bringing her gavel down. Once the chatter and rumblings died out, she gestured at the ADA.

“Objection is overruled. Continue, Mr. Shaffer.”

“Thank you, your Honor.” He began again with you. “So, you were at the Farm for about two months. Were you claimed against your will as well?”

The question still made an unpleasant shiver run down your spine. Up until now, you had been avoiding looking at one particular Dalton. You knew that if you did, you’d likely see him smirking back at you.

“I was meant to be given to Jack,” you said. “But no. Thankfully, the police rescued me before that could happen.”

You refocused on Beau. He nodded back at you, giving you the support you needed. Because you knew it would only get more difficult from here.

“Were you, as you said, ‘broken’ by these men?” Shaffer asked. 

You paused on answering the question. Not because you didn’t know the answer, but because you finally drew the courage to look over at the Defense. You did stare right into Jack Dalton’s smug smirk, but you managed to hold his gaze directly. Unflinching. 

“They tried,” you said.

Over the next half hour, Beau was probably the one who suffered most while you explained the details of your abuse. You were violated and degraded in various ways over the course of two months, physically, emotionally, and to some extent, sexually. Most of it, Beau was hearing for the first time in your words, and in detail—not in vague implications left to the imagination. 

You couldn’t allow yourself to look over at him to gauge his reaction. You didn’t need to. You felt it through the bond, heartbreaking and furious. You could imagine his teeth-grinding struggle to keep hold of his self-control. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, and you had a feeling that creaking sound was his clenched fists gripping the back of the wooden pew in front of him.

The Daltons had a team of lawyers from Velasco’s firm. They passed the baton to Amanda Grayson to cross-examine you. It was a smart tactic to have a woman question a woman; it was somehow less aggressive than a man questioning you on behalf of his male clients.

She stepped forward in her gray pantsuit and Luis Vuitton heels, folding her hands in front of her.

“I’m very sorry for what you went through,” she said, another calculated, hollow offering. 

You just nodded in response. 

“You were at the ranch house for about two months, but you testified that you were mostly kept in the house, not the barn house where you claim the worst of all this went on. In fact, you never saw the barn house. As a result, you never saw Jack or Ezra in the barn house. And you said that the windows were boarded shut, so you couldn’t see the street out front or in the back. You didn’t even know you were still in Montana.” 

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” you asked wryly. 

It made a few of the jurors smile. 

Ms. Grayson noticed, with perceptive side-eye and an incline of her head. 

“I’m coming to it,” she said. “Since you say you were so isolated, did you see, with your own eyes, that other Omegas were sold into prostitution? Or is that another thing your friend Lucy told you.”

“I know they were there,” you said firmly. “I also know that they were starved and beaten into submission before they were sold. I know that, because I would hear the ones that begged for it to stop.”

You worked through the emotion clogging your throat, regret and sorrow and memory. It all flashed through your mind in interconnected pieces, some of it in enough detail to overwhelm you. You paused, breathing deeply.

“Those nights that I was allowed to sleep, it was almost impossible to try. If I close my eyes now, I can still hear them.”

With angrier tears threatening to blur the room, your gaze shifted from the jury, to the Dalton brothers. Each one of them would know your face for the rest of their miserable lives. 

“They're animals, Ms. Grayson. Every one of them,” you said. “They’re the ones who deserve to be treated like it.”

You would’ve been so satisfied to see the look in their eyes when the sentencing came, but Ezra and Jack, the last holdouts, became wise enough to make a deal with the ADA outside of court. That deal amounted to twenty-five to life without parole, instead of consecutive life sentences. If the death penalty was still in effect in Montana, they would’ve been prime candidates. 

Regardless, it was finally over.

By June, you, Beau, and Emily were celebrating her first year down at NYU—and her summer vacation back home—with a road trip out of town. Beau drove you up to Mount Helena, where a lake house rental was waiting for you. 

You could sense how happy he was on that drive. Sometimes he would check on Emily through the rearview mirror, watch her hum along to the radio. And then he would look at you, with that soft smile and crinkled crow’s feet around his eyes. 

You smiled back and slipped your hand into his as you stared out at the miles and miles of vast Montana no man’s land, where only grass and trees and other wild things grew, and lived, and died under the sun. This was the kind of land that would never truly belong to anyone, no matter what kind of fence was hammered into the earth, or what body bled there. 

It made you feel small, but it also soothed you to see it. There were still pure things in the world, and you were still here too. You hadn’t just survived the past year. You were living in it. 

Saying goodbye to Emily last fall also meant that you and Beau had to find your rhythm together without her as a buffer. You’d had boyfriends before, but living with your mate was basically marriage without the piece of paper that proved it (yet). 

You two inevitably argued about the little things, like who cleaned the bathroom last, and “who” ate the last of your ice cream. Not to mention, whose turn was it to cook dinner, and why, for God’s sake, do you keep squeezing the toothpaste from the middle rather than the bottom of the tube, sweetheart?

Well, you could admit to being guilty on the last one, but your ice cream was sacred. Beau had come to realize that one the hard way, when payback came in the form of his leftover pie. 

Mild skirmishes aside, though, you were sometimes afraid to admit that you were actually, undeniably, painfully happy.

Like today. 

The lake house itself was creaky and weathered and perfect. Emily went to claim her room straight away, like she was still a kid. But you and Beau took your time getting up the stairs to the master bedroom. It allowed both of you to take in its character, every whining floorboard and every tacky picture of a horse hung up on the wall. 

As soon as you got into the bedroom, you rolled your suitcase to a stop and opened up all the curtains and windows.   

Fresh mountain air filled your lungs. A soft, yet vibrant sunset dipped between ponderosa pine trees and melted into the lake in shades of rose gold and violet. But that wasn't the only thing giving you a measure of peace, especially as your mate’s arms wrapped around you from behind. 

He kissed behind your ear and brushed his lips along your claim mark, making you smile and shiver in pleasure. A purr escaped you. Beau’s grin widened against your skin. 

You reached back and grazed your fingers against the sensitive flesh still healing along his neck, marking your claim on him. Some Alphas wouldn’t allow it, thinking it too submissive. Beau saw it as just plain fair. You didn’t know that he had his grandmother’s ring in his pocket, freshly polished, waiting months for closure on an old chapter, and the right time for a new one. This was probably it, he thought.

“How do you feel?” he asked, a smooth rumble against your skin. 

You glanced back at him over your shoulder as you squeezed his arms in affection. You considered his question with a deep breath of contemplation, and you rested your head against his. It didn’t take long for you to find an answer worth giving, because it was another undeniable truth.  

“Free,” you said. 

And you were.

AN: 🥹🧡 Do you feel free, friends? I know Beau has been far from our screens for a few years now, but I still have a soft spot for his character and for this story. I truly hope you've enjoyed it, and would love to know what you think!

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