Page 2 of Rescued by Four Alphas (Claimed by the Four Alphas #2)

" N o, that's not fucking acceptable," I slam my fist on the desk, making the glass of water jump. "I want a full perimeter sweep every thirty minutes, not every hour."

"Sir, we don't have the manpower for that level of surveillance," Matthews, my head of security, stands his ground. "We're already stretched thin with the current rotation."

"Then hire more people." I loosen my tie, suddenly feeling choked by the silk. "Money isn't an issue."

Matthews exchanges a look with Parker, his second-in-command. "With respect, Mr. Blackthorn, throwing more bodies at the problem won't solve our legal constraints."

"Explain." I drop into my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"We've identified three separate agencies monitoring your property," Parker steps forward with his tablet. "The FBI, Homeland Security, and what appears to be a private outfit with government connections."

"Hammond's people?"

"That's unlikely," Matthews shakes his head. "Hammond remains in custody, but he has allies in various departments. The surveillance seems mostly observational."

"Mostly?" I raise an eyebrow.

"There was an incident this afternoon," Parker swipes through his tablet. "A photographer on the perimeter. Our team spotted him, but he disappeared before they could intercept."

My blood runs cold. "Where exactly?"

"At the east side of the property, across from the main entrance."

Fuck! Fuck!!

"Did he get photos?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Almost certainly," Matthews confirms. "But here's our problem: we can't legally detain these people unless they trespass on your property. The injunction filed by the ACLU prevents us from interfering with 'legitimate journalistic activities' in public spaces."

"Taking photos of my pregnant mate is not legitimate journalism," I snarl.

"The courts disagree," Parker says. "After the Crimson Plague and Hammond's arrest, the public interest defense is strong. Dr. Baldwin is considered a person of significant public interest."

I want to throw something. Instead, I take a deep breath. "What about the drones?"

"The no-fly zone over the estate remains in effect," Matthews nods. "We've intercepted three unauthorized drones this week alone."

"And the counter-surveillance?"

"In place, but limited by the same legal constraints," Parker brings up a map on his tablet and places it on my desk. "We've established a clean zone here, here, and here." He points to three areas of the property. "These locations are swept hourly and completely secure."

I study the map, noting that the bedroom wing, my home office, and Dahlia's lab are all within clean zones. "What about the rest?"

"We jam signals where we can, but they adapt quickly," Matthews admits. "The technology race is... challenging."

"Not good enough." I stand and walk to the window, looking out over the city skyline. "I want better solutions. Now."

"Sir, we're doing everything legally possible," Matthews sounds exasperated. "Unless you want us to start breaking laws..."

I turn to face them. "What I want is for my pregnant mate and our unborn children to feel safe in their own home. Is that too much to ask?"

Neither man answers. They know it's not a question that requires a response.

A knock at the door interrupts us.

"Come in," I call.

Oliver enters, his usual impeccable self in a tailored gray suit. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Blackthorn, but the PR team needs your input on the latest media inquiries."

I wave Matthews and Parker toward the door. "Increase surveillance as much as legally possible. And find me those loopholes we discussed."

They nod and exit, passing Oliver, who approaches with a stack of papers.

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"The usual mix of legitimate questions and wild conspiracy theories," Oliver hands me the first page. "The WSL Magazine wants an interview about the Crimson Plague cure and Blackthorn Biotech's role in distribution."

"Give a polite decline and refer them to our press release, and…"

"The NYT is doing a feature on Dr. Baldwin's research. They've requested access to her lab and a sit-down interview."

"That's a hard no." I don't even need to think about that one. "What else?"

Oliver flips to the next page. "Several scientific journals want Dr. Baldwin to publish her research on the Crimson Plague cure. The medical community is particularly interested in the implications for human autoimmune disorders."

That one gives me a pause. "Let Dahlia decide on the scientific publications. Those are legitimate."

"And finally," Oliver hesitates, "there's increased speculation about your... unconventional living arrangement."

"Meaning?"

"Several tabloids are running stories about Dr. Baldwin's relationship with multiple men, all living in the same house." Oliver looks uncomfortable. "They're using phrases like 'sex cult' and 'alpha harem.'"

White-hot rage flashes through me. "I want the names of every publication running those stories."

"Sir, you know I can't recommend legal action here," Oliver says carefully. "It would only validate their claims and increase public interest."

I take a deep breath, forcing my anger down. He's right, and I know it. "What does PR recommend?"

"We give them a controlled narrative," Oliver suggests. "Not the full truth, obviously, but enough to satisfy public curiosity without feeding the frenzy."

"Such as?"

"A carefully staged interview with you and Dr. Baldwin. Present yourselves as a conventional couple, explain that the other men are security personnel and research associates who live on the property due to ongoing safety concerns following the Hammond incident."

"You want us to lie."

"I want you to provide a plausible explanation that protects your privacy while defusing speculation," Oliver corrects.

"The truth, that Dr. Baldwin is an Omega bonded to four Alphas and pregnant with quadruplets that somehow share DNA from all four fathers, would create a media circus that would never end. "

He's not wrong. The world knows about shifters now, but the complexities of Alpha-Omega dynamics remain poorly understood by the public. Our situation would become a global sensation, and Dahlia would never know peace again.

"Let me think about it," I say finally. "I need to discuss this with Dahlia and the others."

"Of course." Oliver nods. "But we should move quickly. The longer we remain silent, the more outlandish the theories become."

My phone buzzes with a text. I glance down to see Dahlia's name.

I saw someone taking photos outside the house. Should I be worried?

My heart rate spikes. "Oliver, get PR working on a statement. A solution that respects Dahlia's privacy while confirming her good health and ongoing research. And no details about our relationship or her pregnancy."

"Right away." Oliver makes a note. "And the photographer?"

"Tell security to find him. I want to know who he works for."

"Yes, sir." Oliver pauses at the door. "There's one more thing. The Secretary of Health and Human Services called again. They're pushing for Dr. Baldwin to join their Shifter Health Advisory Committee."

"What did you tell them?"

"The same as before, Dr. Baldwin is focused on her research and unavailable for government appointments at this time."

"Good." I pick up my phone to respond to Dahlia. "Keep them at bay. The last thing we need is Dahlia pulled into political games."

Oliver nods and leaves. I type a quick response to Dahlia:

I'm aware of the photographer, babe. Security is handling it. Nothing to worry about. How are you feeling?

Her response comes quickly

I'm fine. Just a bit jumpy. Emily noticed black vans in the neighborhood.

I frown. Black vans weren't mentioned in the security briefing.

Did you see them yourself?

No. Just what Emily told me.

I make a mental note to have security check the traffic camera footage.

I'll look into it. Get some rest. I'll be home soon for our date.

I'm looking forward to it. Wear the blue tie.

The blue tie is her favorite; she says it matches my eyes.

As you wish, my love.

I set the phone down and walk to the window again, looking out over the city I once thought I owned. How naive that seems now. All the money and power in the world can't protect what matters most.

My intercom buzzes.

"Mr. Blackthorn, your 2 o'clock is here," my assistant announces.

"Send them in."

I adjust my tie in the car's rearview mirror. The blue one, as Dahlia requested. My phone lights up with a text from Leo. All clear at the restaurant. Security is in place.

Good. At least something is going according to plan today.

The drive to pick up Dahlia takes less than twenty minutes. As I pull up to our estate, I notice the security team has doubled its visible presence. Matthews must have taken my concerns seriously.

I find Dahlia in our bedroom, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. The midnight blue dress she's wearing hugs her curves perfectly, showing just a hint of her baby bump.

"You look stunning," I say from the doorway.

She turns, and her face lights up. "You wore the blue tie."

"You asked me to."

"Come here." She beckons me forward.

I cross the room, and she reaches up to straighten my already-straight tie. Her fingers brush against my neck, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.

"Perfect," she murmurs, then rises on her tiptoes to press a kiss on my lips.

I want to deepen the kiss, to carry her to our bed and forget all about dinner reservations, but I restrain myself. "Are you ready to go?"

"Absolutely. I'm starving."

"The babies are hungry?" I place my hand on her small bump.

"The babies are always hungry." She laughs. "I ate an entire box of crackers while getting ready."

I escort her to the car, hyperaware of our surroundings. There are no suspicious vans, no lurking photographers. So far, so good.

"So, how did you manage to get a reservation at Lumière?"

I shoot her a sideways glance. "I bought the building."

"You did not!" She smacks my arm playfully.