Page 56 of Holly Jolly Heat
"You're both." I moved to a higher branch, felt the ladder shift slightly. "And my alpha doesn't care about professional boundaries when it comes to keeping you safe."
"Safe from what? We're in Cedar Falls. The biggest threat here is Mrs. Henderson's aggressive holiday baking competition."
"Doesn't matter. My instinct doesn't evaluate threat levels. It just protects."
I heard her sigh below me. "Dex, you can't protect me from everything."
"Watch me."
"That's not—" She stopped. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
I reached for the highest branch I could manage, stretching to clip the light strand. The ladder shifted under me, just slightly, but enough that my weight distribution was wrong.
Time slowed down.
I felt the ladder tipping, calculated the fall trajectory, identified the best landing strategy to minimize injury. Twelve feet wasn't that high. I could take it. Roll on impact, protect my head, probably just bruised ribs?—
"DEX!"
Michelle's shriek of terror cut through my tactical assessment.
I hit the ground hard, managing to roll but still feeling the impact jar through my shoulder and ribs. Not terrible. Could have been worse.
But before I could even assess the damage properly, Michelle was there.
She dropped to her knees beside me, hands hovering like she wanted to touch but didn't know where, her scent flooding with distress so sharp it made my alpha whine.
"Oh god, oh god, are you okay? Dex, answer me. Are you hurt? Should I call 911? Don't move, you shouldn't move?—"
"Michelle." I sat up carefully, testing my range of motion. Shoulder would be sore, ribs bruised but not broken. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine, you fell twelve feet!"
"I've fallen farther."
"That's not reassuring!" Her hands were shaking as they ran over my shoulders, my arms, checking for injuries with the desperate need to confirm I was okay. "You could have broken your neck. You could have?—"
She stopped, her breath catching, and I realized she was crying.
Michelle was crying. Because I'd fallen. Because she'd been scared for me.
"Hey," I said softly, catching her hands in mine. "I'm okay. See? Nothing broken. Just a bruised ego for falling off a ladder like an amateur."
"This isn't funny," she choked out. "You scared me. I thought, when you fell, I thought?—"
"You thought I was hurt."
"Yes!" She glared at me through tears. "And you're just sitting there like it's nothing, like you didn't just fall from a ladder, like you're not?—"
"Like I'm not what?"
"Like you're not important to me!" The words burst out of her, raw and unfiltered. "You're important, okay? All of you are important. And watching you fall and not being able to catch you was?—"
She broke off, burying her face in her hands.
My heart clenched. This was what she'd been fighting, this caring, this connection, this pack instinct that said my pain was her pain, my safety was her concern.
