Page 35 of Daisy
"Two doubles." August's jaw tightens. "It was all they had."
The arrangement makes tactical sense. Hawk and I can take shifts in the van parked right outside, keep watch. But something in my chest rebels at the idea of being separated from her, even by a few feet of metal and glass.
Get it together,I tell myself.She doesn't even know your name. And you're broke, running, with no plan except keeping her safe.
"We should be good for today and tonight," I hear myself saying. "Get some rest, find cash tomorrow, then move on before anyone thinks to look here."
"Agreed," Dante says quietly. "They'll have to figure out who took her first before they even think to look for us. One day should be safe enough."
Even exhausted and scared, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Dark hair falling in waves around her face, eyes wide and uncertain. She's wearing Dante's guard jacket over what looks like a torn nightgown, and she's shaking.
But it's her scent that destroys me. Honeysuckle and vanilla and pure omega, tinged with fear and exhaustion and something that calls to every protective instinct I've ever had.
She looks at all of us standing around the van and takes a step back, pressing herself against the metal.
"It's okay," August says gently, moving toward her slowly. "We're just going to get you somewhere safe to rest."
She nods, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. Too many alphas, too much scent, too overwhelming after everything she's been through.
That's when I make a decision that changes everything.
I step forward, just one step, and hold out my hand to her.
Not demanding. Not expecting. Just... offering.
"Let me help you down," I say quietly.
For a moment, she just stares at my outstretched palm. I can see her weighing options, calculating risks. Everything about her posture screams that she wants to run. That she's terrified.
Smart girl.
But then something shifts in her expression. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe she just recognizes that I'm not trying to take anything from her.
She reaches out. Places her small hand in mine.
The world fucking stops.
Skin contact floods my system with rightness so profound it makes my knees weak. Her scent wraps around me like coming home to a place I've never been. Every alpha instinct I have roars to life.
Protect, claim, keep safe, never let go.
But more than that. More than biology or instinct or whatever the hell scent matching is supposed to be.
She trusts me enough to touch me. After everything—the attack, the chaos, waking up surrounded by strange alphas—she's choosing to let me help her. Her palm is warm, soft, trembling slightly. But she doesn't pull away.
It feels like winning the fucking lottery.
Her fingers are warm and soft against my palm, but I can feel the tremor running through them. She's still scared. Still overwhelmed. But she's letting me be here for her.
"That's it," I murmur, steadying her as she steps down from the van. "I've got you."
She doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch. Just lets me support her weight as her feet touch solid ground.
For a heartbeat, we stand there connected. Her hand in mine, her scent surrounding me, her trust settling into my chest like a living thing.
Then August appears at her other side, and the moment breaks. But she doesn't let go of my hand immediately. Takes an extra second before releasing me, like she's reluctant to lose the contact.
Fuck.
