Page 17 of Reckless Consequences

“She’ll make it,” I tell him, though neither of us knows if it’s true.

While checking Finn’s IV, my hands move without thinking—reaching for Ryker’s t-shirt crumpled on the floor. It still smells like him—cedar, steel, and something uniquely Ryker. I inhale his concentrated scent. I add it to the corner, fingers arranging it with unconscious precision next to Finn’s sweater and one of Cayenne’s scarves.

It’s not just a pile. It’s a pattern. My omega instincts are making something sacred out of comfort—clothes, blankets, anything steeped in pack scent—layered and arranged carefully. A nest, yes. But something more. A map of everyone I love.

The mattresses form the foundation, the sheets create movement, and each pack-scented item adds to the comfort. It’s beautiful in its primal simplicity—a piece representing everything we are together. I tuck Jinx’s burgundy henley into the arrangement, something inside me settling when it’s positioned just right.

“Sorry,” I mutter when I catch Jinx watching me, embarrassed at the vulnerability of my creation. My cheeks flush with equal parts heat symptoms and self-consciousness.

“Don’t apologize for biology,” he says, an unexpected gentleness beneath his gruff tone. “We adapt. We survive. We keep going.”

For a second, I remember why I fell for him—how he hides depth beneath chaos.

Finn convulses suddenly, his body arching off the bed. I move instantly, turning him onto his side as he struggles through the seizure. Jinx holds his legs, our movements synchronized through practice we never wanted.

The proximity to Jinx triggers another wave of heat. His scent makes my body react, fresh slick soaking through my underwear. My nipples harden against my shirt. I bite my lip, using the pain to focus through the biology screaming in my veins.

“Third one in two hours,” I report when Finn finally stills. I wipe sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. “They’re getting worse.”

“Ryker should have found her by now,” Jinx says, frustration bleeding through his control. My omega receptors respond to his alpha distress with calming pheromones, my body’s instinctive attempt to soothe. “The extraction point was only?—”

“She’s not at the extraction point,” I remind him, wiping sweat from Finn’s forehead with hands that won’t stop shaking. “Mona changed the plan. They separated.”

Jinx growls, the sound vibrating through the cabin. His pupils dilate, nostrils flaring. His whole body tenses.

“Jinx?” I ask, noticing the change. I reach for him instinctively, my fingers stopping before touching him. Contact now would be disastrous. “What is it?”

“She’s...” He tilts his head, focusing on something beyond the cabin walls. “Closer. The bond’s stronger.”

Hope surges through me, dangerous and bright. Since Jinx claimed Cayenne—the only one of us who managed to mark her before everything fell apart—their connection has become our lifeline.

I reach for my connection to her—not the strong bond that Jinx has, but something lighter. Through Jinx, I sense impressions of her—determination, protectiveness, defiance.

My connection to Ryker and Jinx pulses strong and true—alpha bonds forged through years of shared struggle. With Finn, the harmony is different—beta to omega, creating a counterpoint that balances and stabilizes. Each bond unique in its resonance.

“How close?” I ask, fighting another wave of heat symptoms. My internal temperature spikes again, skin flushing hot.

Jinx doesn’t answer, moving instead to the window with predatory grace. His body coils with tension, head tilting as he listens.

“Motorcycle,” he finally says. “Coming fast.”

I close my eyes and reach for the pack bonds. Ryker’s there—solid and grounding. Jinx buzzes just beneath the surface, his energy sharp, restless. Finn... Finn’s presence is thinner, slipping—but still fighting. And through Jinx, I feel it—Cayenne. That bright citrus bite, cutting through everything like she never left.

“She’s here,” I whisper, certainty cutting through the fever haze. My voice emerges husky, throat raw from suppressing the whimpers my body demands. “She’s with Ryker.”

Jinx moves to defensive positions automatically, weapon ready despite recognizing the approaching pack members.

I try to stand to greet them, but my legs give out as another heat wave hits. My skin feels like it’s on fire.

The motorcycle cuts off hard. Then—footsteps. Fast, heavy. The door slams open a heartbeat later.

And there she is.

Cayenne stands in the doorway, morning light on her hair. Blood streaks her clothes. A fresh bruise marks her cheek. She’s changed. Hurt. But here.

My omega senses pick up on her changes—her scent is different (citrus with something richer), her posture is stronger, and she moves with new confidence. She’s not the same beta who left us.

“Finn,” she gasps, already moving toward the bed. A small case clutched in her hands like salvation.

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