Page 27 of Knotting the Firefighters

"She ran into a burning building to rescue…kittens?"

"Apparently that's the kind of day we're having." I move past him toward medical, Chief Murphy still cradled against my chest, the retriever following with devoted persistence."Someone wants to deal with the livestock while I handle the unconscious hero?"

Hands reach for kittens, for a dog leash that doesn't exist, for equipment and supplies, and all the practical concerns that make up pack life. I tune it out, focused entirely on the woman in my arms, on the steady rise and fall of her breathing, on the way her scent has permeated my clothing, my skin, probably my DNA at this point.

The medical bay is cool, sterile, and completely inadequate for the turmoil currently occupying my chest.

I lay her carefully on the examination table, finally releasing physical contact while maintaining proximity that borders on hovering.

"Out," Silas orders, not looking up from his assessment. "I need room to work."

"I'm not?—"

"Out, Captain." His tone brooks no argument, professional authority overriding pack hierarchy. "Unless you want to explain to Rodriguez why his potential new chief has subpar medical care because you were too busy having an Alpha crisis to let me do my job."

The words are effective, precisely because they're accurate.

I step back, hands clenching at my sides, every instinct screaming protest at increasing the distance between myself and?—

And her.

Chief Murphy.

Wendolyn.

Mine.

I make it to the doorway before stopping, unable to force myself further. The retriever sits beside me, both of us keeping vigil, both refusing to leave despite orders and logic and every practical reason to give medical professionals space to work.

"She's going to be okay," Silas says quietly, glancing up from his examination, but I see the look in his eyes, the one he gives me when we, as a pack, suddenly need some sort of intervention. "But Aidric?”

I see the way his nostrils flare, and I can only assume this means one thing.

Her scent. He catches onto it now…but the real question is if it’s driving him mad like it’s attempting to do to me?

Whatever just happened out there? Your feelings? We need to talk about it before it becomes a problem."

"It's already a problem," I admit with a grumble, fingers digging into the doorframe hard enough to leave impressions. "It became a problem the moment I caught her scent."

Understanding flashes across his face—sympathy, concern, professional interest in the medical mystery of unexpected Alpha reactions.

"She's not Hayes' girl," he offers carefully. "If that helps."

It doesn't.

Because whether or not she belongs to Calder Hayes or not, she's available for claiming, whether or not pack dynamics can accommodate an Omega with hero complexes, vintage dresses, and a scent that makes me want to commit acts of violence against anyone who's ever threatened her?—

None of it matters.

She's Chief Murphy.

Rodriguez wants her for the position I've spent years working toward.

My pack has maintained perfect balance without Omega complications, and introducing her into our dynamics would require adjustments I'm not sure any of us are ready to make.

And Calder Hayes is apparently going to be a factor, whether I want him to be or not.

I watch her through the doorway, red hair spilling across white sheets, and the retriever pressed against my leg like we're sharing vigil duty.