Page 206 of Knotting the Firefighters

We're moving—that much penetrates the fog. Someone's carrying me, large hands secure beneath knees and shoulders, a steady gait that suggests considerable strength deployed casually.

Bear.

Has to be Bear based on the size and warmth, the maple-chestnut scent that surrounds me like a blanket.

"Walk slower up the stairs," Aidric's voice cuts through the pleasant haze. "Don't jostle her. She needs rest after tonight's excitement."

"I'm walking at a normal pace," Bear responds with amusement. "You're just being paranoid."

"Paranoid? I'm being considerate of our exhausted Omega who performed athletic choreography for hours, then celebrated with excessive champagne consumption."

"Our Omega handled herself perfectly fine. Better tolerance than you demonstrated, actually."

The bickering continues —a familiar pattern that's become background noise to daily existence, comfortable in its predictability.

I mumble something incomprehensible even to myself, protest or agreement indeterminate through layers of sleepiness.

"They're going to ruin the surprise," Calder groans from somewhere to my left. "Can't even maintain silence for five minutes while she's unconscious."

Surprise?

The word penetrates fog with enough force to drag me closer to full awareness.

"What surprise?"

My voice emerges slurred, words running together in ways that suggest I'm significantly more intoxicated than I'd realized.

Bear groans—theatrical suffering that makes his chest vibrate against my shoulder.

"Well, he ruined it. Thanks, Calder. Excellent operational security."

Calder's muttered response is creative profanity that makes Silas laugh.

"Just close your eyes," Bear instructs with gentle authority. "Please? We put considerable effort into this reveal, and I'd prefer optimal impact."

The request is reasonable enough that compliance seems easier than argument. My eyelids are heavy anyway, more than willing to remain closed despite curiosity gnawing at consciousness.

"Good girl," Bear murmurs with satisfaction that makes warmth pool in my stomach despite exhaustion.

We continue moving—stairs creaking beneath combined weight, hallway floorboards announcing our passage, door hinges squeaking with a sound that suggests infrequent use.

The temperature shifts subtly—from cool exterior air to warmer interior space, a change that makes me burrow deeper into Bear's hold, seeking continued comfort.

"Almost there," he promises quietly.

A few more steps, a slight adjustment to his grip, then stillness that suggests we've reached the destination.

"Okay," Bear's voice carries anticipation that's contagious even through my fatigue. "Open your eyes."

I blink slowly—vision adjusting to lighting that's softer than expected, warmer than standard overhead fixtures, creating an atmosphere that feels deliberately crafted rather than accidentally achieved.

The room that comes into focus steals what little breath exhaustion hasn't already claimed.

Fairy lights.

Hundreds of fairy lights strung across the ceiling and walls, creating a canopy of gentle illumination that transforms ordinary space into something approaching magical. They're warm-toned rather than harsh white, casting everything in a golden glow that feels both intimate and expansive.

The room itself is substantial—larger than a standard bedroom, with high ceilings and exposed beams that speak to original ranch construction rather than modern renovation. Windows line one wall, currently covered with curtains that promise natural light and mountain views during daylight hours.