Page 109 of Knotting the Firefighters
"And Calder—" I pause, organizing thoughts about Alpha I've known for only hours but already developed strong opinions about. "He understands her in ways we don't yet. Has history with her, knows her patterns, recognizes what she needs before she articulates it."
"Plus, he's willing to stand up to you," I add, directing a comment toward Aidric. "Which you desperately need someone who won't defer to your authority automatically, who'll call you out when you're being unreasonable, who'll challenge your decisions instead of rubber-stamping them."
Aidric opens his mouth—presumably to object—but I continue before he can interrupt.
"You need that, Aidric. You need someone who won't let you get away with hesitation disguised as contemplation, who'll push you to commit to decisions instead of second-guessing yourself into paralysis."
Harsh truth delivered with friendly packaging.
Hope he's mature enough to accept it.
Silas nods slowly, his medical mind processing implications.
"Pack dynamics work best with diversity. It’s different strengths compensating for individual weaknesses, various perspectives preventing groupthink, challenges that force growth rather than comfortable stagnation."
"Exactly." My hand resumes movement through Wendolyn's hair, a soothing motion that's become automatic. "So yes, this is complicated. Yes, Calder and Aidric have an unresolved history that makes cooperation difficult. Yes, Wendolyn just permanently bonded with Alpha she barely knew, and was joining our pack."
I grin—a genuine, enthusiastic expression that makes both of them look vaguely concerned.
"But complications create opportunities. Challenges force adaptation. And this particular combination of strong-willed individuals might actually forge something exceptional if we're brave enough to try."
The silence that follows carries consideration rather than dismissal, both of them processing rather than immediately rejecting.
"He really does love her," Silas observes quietly. "The way he spoke about her…that's not infatuation or biological attraction. That's genuine devotion."
Truth.
Undeniable truth that even Aidric can't dismiss.
"Yeah," I agree simply. "He does. Loves her enough to nearly sacrifice his own happiness for hers, to walk away from everything he wants because he thought it would give her a better chance at finding a pack that could properly cherish her."
I shake my head, appreciation mixing with amusement.
"Man was literally planning to leave the woman he loves so she could be happy with someone else. That's either incredibly noble or catastrophically stupid."
"Both," Aidric mutters, but there's less hostility in his tone now. "Definitely both."
"But also?" I continue, building toward the point I really want to emphasize. "It demonstrates exactly the kind of Alpha she needs. Someone who prioritizes her happiness over his own comfort, who's willing to make painful sacrifices if he believes it benefits her, who puts her agency and autonomy ahead of his possessive instincts."
That's what impressed me most.
Not the dramatic declarations or territorial posturing.
The willingness to step back, to let her choose, to support her happiness even when it excluded him.
My gaze drops to Wendolyn's sleeping face, peaceful and vulnerable in ways she'd never allow while conscious.
"She deserves that," I say quietly. "Deserves a pack that will put her well-being ahead of our convenience, that will adapt to her needs rather than demanding she conform to ours, that will celebrate her strength instead of trying to diminish it."
Both Aidric and Silas are watching me now—Silas with understanding, Aidric with something that might be dawning realization.
"So yeah," I conclude, meeting Aidric's eyes directly. "I not only respect an Alpha who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to claim it. I respect one who takes the lead if it means protecting the woman he adores."
Aidric holds my gaze for a long moment—storm-gray eyes assessing, calculating, possibly reconsidering positions he's maintained for hours.
Finally, he sighs—a deep, exhausted sound that suggests surrender rather than continued resistance.
"Fine," he says simply. "We'll try. Navigate this disaster and see if we can forge something functional from absolute chaos."
