Page 75 of Rescued By My Reluctant Alphas
“Actual emergency, not just Dane worrying about hypothetical problems.”
She headed back upstairs, and the three of us looked at each other.
“We’re really doing this,” Silas said. “Building a pack. Learning to function as a unit. Figuring out how four disasters make a family.”
“Apparently,” I agreed. “Still not sure how we got here.”
“We showed up,” Dane said simply. “That’s all it took. Showing up for her consistently until she trusted us enough to let us stay.”
“And now we keep showing up,” I added. “Through nightmares and heat cycles and complicated pack dynamics and whatever else comes next.”
“Through everything,” Silas confirmed. “That’s what pack means.”
I felt the truth of it settle into my chest alongside the bonds. We were pack. We were family. We were learning to be something better than we’d been alone.
And maybe, just maybe, we were going to be okay.
Chapter 20
Silas
The emergency call came through at two in the afternoon, shattering the fragile peace we’d been building for the past thirty-six hours.
“All units, structural collapse at the old timber mill on Route 7. Multiple casualties reported. Fire, medical, and rescue response required immediately.”
I was at Dane’s kitchen table when my radio went off, trying to figure out how to be part of a pack when my default mode was keeping people at arm’s length through humor and performance. Trying to reconcile my scent-sensitivity, which was already overwhelming me with everyone’s complicated emotions, with the new pack bonds that made those emotions even more intense.
Trying to pretend I wasn’t terrified this whole thing would fall apart the moment reality intruded.
The radio call made everything sharp and clear. This I understood. Emergency response. People who needed help. The job that defined me.
“I have to go,” I said, already standing.
Sable was on her feet immediately, her coordinator instincts overriding whatever complicated pack dynamic we’d been trying to navigate. “I’m coming with you. Margaret’s been handling things, but a structural collapse with multiple casualties requires senior coordination.”
“You’re supposed to be recovering,” Dane said, but he was already moving toward his gear. County sheriff meant he responded to major incidents too.
“I’m recovered enough.” Sable’s voice carried absolute certainty. “People are hurt. We’re needed. That’s what matters.”
Beau appeared from upstairs where he’d been trying to sleep off his own exhaustion. “Fire response?”
“Structural collapse at the timber mill,” I confirmed. “Sounds like it’s going to be bad.”
We moved as a unit without discussing it. Sable grabbing her coordinator gear from where she’d stashed it by the door. Dane checking his tactical equipment with the efficiency of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Beau already on his phone coordinating with the fire station. Me running through medical supply inventory in my head, calculating what I’d need for multiple trauma cases.
The drive back to town was tense. Through my scent-sensitivity and the new pack bonds, I could feel everyone’s emotional state like it was my own. Sable’s professional focus mixed with lingering exhaustion. Dane’s tactical assessment mode overlaying his protective instincts toward Sable. Beau’s determination fighting against the guilt that never quite left him.
And underneath all of it, the awareness that this was our first emergency response as a bonded pack. That people would seethe claiming bites. That we’d have to function professionally while wearing visible proof of what we’d done during the storm.
“We don’t hide it,” Sable said suddenly, like she’d been reading my thoughts. Maybe she had been. The bonds worked both ways. “The bites, the pack formation, none of it. We do our jobs and if people have questions, they can ask them after the emergency is handled.”
“Agreed,” Dane said. “Professional first. Personal second.”
The timber mill was chaos when we arrived. The old structure had partially collapsed, trapping workers inside and creating a maze of unstable beams and debris. Fire crews were already on scene, as was an ambulance, but it was immediately clear that this was going to require more resources than initially dispatched.
Sable took one look at the scene and shifted into coordinator mode. “Beau, I need structural assessment. Where can we safely work and where do we need to stay clear. Dane, crowd control and security perimeter. Keep civilians back and manage family members. Silas, triage. I need to know how many wounded, severity levels, and resource requirements.”
“Copy that,” we said in unison, and I saw Margaret, who was already on scene, do a double-take at the coordination.
