Page 129 of Claimed By the Psychos

"Thank you," she says simply.

I nod, not trusting my voice. She disappears into the helicopter, and I know I'll probably never see her again. That's okay. She doesn't need reminders of this place following her into whatever life she builds next.

"She'll be fine," Carlisle says gently, coming out of nowhere. He rests a hand on my shoulder, but it doesn't make me flinch. I'm getting used to that. "The foundation will see to it that all the survivors today get the support and counseling they need."

"Foundation?" I ask, tilting my head.

"The others didn't mention it?" he asks, sounding a bit sheepish, which is so unusual for him it has my full and immediate attention.

"Yeah, Mr. Callous Killer runs a foundation to help the omegas we rescue," Archer says, giving him a clap on the back that earns a murderous glare. "He's a real softie."

"Fuck off, you overgrown Lab puppy," Carlisle mutters under his breath, but there's no real heat behind it.

I laugh, standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Your secret is safe with me."

He actually turns a faint shade of red, and all the murderous edge vanishes.

As the last helicopter lifts off, carrying the last of the freed omegas to safety, Bane turns to Felix with an expression I can't quite read.

"So," he says, with the kind of gravitas that suggests this moment matters, "you did it. Got your revenge, saved the omegas, burned down your past—metaphorically speaking. What now?"

Felix takes a deep breath, and I can see him wrestling with something. When he speaks, his voice is dry as desert sand. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to learn how to live with four pain-in-the-ass alphas who don't understand personal space, have no concept of privacy, and apparently think forced rut is a team-building exercise."

I snicker, but he's not done.

"It'll be by far the most demanding skill I've ever had to learn," he continues, but there's warmth in his eyes that takes the sting out of the words. "But I suppose I'm up for the challenge."

Then his expression grows serious, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart ache. "Are you sure you want me, though? I'mnot an alpha, despite years of pretending. Not a beta either. And I'm not... I'm not a normal omega. I never will be. There are things I've never wanted, things I'm never going to want. Being marked by you, going through regular heats… Fuck, I don't even know if I can handle being touched by an alpha at all. You should know what you're getting into."

The silence that follows feels heavy, important. Then Archer steps forward, still a little unsteady from the drugs but his voice completely certain.

"We meant what we said before," he says simply. "It doesn't matter what you are."

"Alpha, beta, omega, none of the above," Carlisle adds with a shrug. "The classification system is outdated anyway. And I've never been one to shy away from gray areas."

"We just want you," Elias says, and there's no clinical detachment now, no doctor keeping everyone at arm's length, just honesty. "Both of you. Safe and part of the pack."

"However that looks," Bane finishes. "Whatever boundaries you need, whatever pace you want to set. We've got time to figure it out."

I can see Felix struggling with this. Seven years of trusting no one but me—and even that trust has limits, walls he's built that even I haven't been able to breach. But something's different now. Evan's dead, the Den is finished, and that future we've been too afraid to imagine is suddenly possible.

"Then let's go home," he says finally.

The word sounds like a prayer on his lips.

My heart feels like it's going to spontaneously combust.

"Wait!" I pull out the matchbook I've been carrying since we arrived, along with a small bottle of vodka I liberated from Evan's office when we were combing the place. "We have one more thing to do first."

Felix actually laughs, a real laugh that makes my chest warm. "Of course you did, little thief."

I bite the cap off the vodka bottle, spitting it aside. "Anyone got a cloth?"

Carlisle, gallant as always, produces a pristine pocket square from his suit jacket. "For you, hellcat."

"Of course you brought a pocket square to a fucking war zone," Archer mutters. "Holy shit, is itmonogrammed?"

"A gentleman is always prepared," Carlisle replies primly, though his eyes are dancing with amusement.