Page 198 of Roulette Rodeo
But Duke is barking. Briar is here. My pack is... God, I hope they're okay. They have to be okay. I got them out, didn't I? The memories are fuzzy, fragmented, but I remember dragging, pulling, the terrible weight of unconscious alphas.
Light.
It pierces the darkness like a blade, harsh and beautiful. A beam of white cutting through the black, and Duke's barking is suddenly clear as day, no longer muffled by debris and distance.
"Thank fucking heavens, RED!"
Briar's face appears in the square of light above, and even from this distance—what, twenty feet? More?—I can see her eyes filling with tears. Her hair is different from the last time I saw her. Silver-white now instead of the black she maintained at the casino, wild curls that catch the flashlight beams like a halo. She's wearing something completely inappropriate for a rescue scene—what looks like a sequined dress under a firefighter's jacket—but she's never looked more beautiful.
I try to speak, try to say her name, but nothing comes out except another weak cough. The best I can manage is to raise my hand slightly, just enough to form a shaky thumbs up.
I'm alive. I'm here. You found me.
"We need an ambulance here NOW!" Briar shouts, her voice cracking with emotion. "And a ladder! The rescue basket! Everything!"
The firefighter who was arguing with her—I can see him now, a broad-shouldered alpha with soot-stained gear—leans over the opening. "There's signs of life! Hurry the fuck up! We've got an omega down there, approximately twenty-foot drop, unknown injuries!"
More faces appear at the opening, headlamps creating a constellation of lights that hurt to look at. But I can't look away from Briar, from the proof that she's real, she's here, she's alive and free and somehow part of my rescue.
"Stay awake, Cherry Bomb!" she calls down, and I can hear tears in her voice now. "Don't you dare close your eyes! The ladder's coming!"
But my body has other ideas. Now that I know I'm found, know I'm going to be pulled from this darkness, the adrenaline that kept me conscious starts to fade. Everything hurts—my head worst of all, but also my ribs, my hands burned from pulling hot rope, my throat raw from smoke.
"Red! RED!" Briar's voice is getting farther away even though I know she hasn't moved.
My eyes close despite my best efforts.
But I'm smiling as consciousness fades, because I know what comes next. After they patch me up, after the hospital and the questions and the recovery, there's something I need to do.
Someone who needs to learn that attacking my pack—drugging them, trying to burn them alive, using renovation contractors as cover—carries consequences. Someone who thought distance and time and small-town Montana would protect him from retribution.
The last thought before darkness claims me completely is crystal clear, sharp as winter ice:
Marnay.
RECOVERY AND REVELATIONS
~RED~
"You're gonna give her a concussion with all this crying."
Malrik's dry observation does nothing to stem the flood of tears currently soaking through my hospital gown as Poppy clings to me like I might disappear if she lets go. Her mascara—waterproof, she'd claimed—is creating abstract art on both our shoulders, and her theatrical sobs are probably disturbing patients three floors down.
I pat her head gently, mindful of the IV line in my hand and the various monitors attached to me. "There, there. You know I wasn't going to die."
"What would I have done without my bestie?!" Poppy wails, pulling back just enough to look at me with raccoon eyes that would be comical if she wasn't so genuinely distraught. "Who's going to flaunt with me when a new fashion release comes out? Who's going to appreciate my vintage finds? Who's going to understand that sometimes a girl needs three different shades of red lipstick because they all have different moods?"
"I'm sure you'd manage," Malrik says, crossing his arms as he leans against the window. "Maybe find another omega who appreciates your particular brand of chaos?—"
Poppy's foot shoots out with impressive accuracy, catching his chair leg and sending him tumbling to the floor with an undignified yelp. The crash is loud enough that a nurse pokes her head in, takes one look at Malrik sprawled on the linoleum, and apparently decides she doesn't want to know.
I can't help but smirk as he glares up at Poppy from the floor. "Real mature."
"Real accurate," she counters, flipping her silver-white hair over her shoulder with dramatic flair.
The nurse clears her throat from the doorway—a different one this time, older with that no-nonsense energy that comes from decades of dealing with difficult patients and even more difficult visitors.
"Sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours ended ten minutes ago. Only pack members can stay overnight."
