CHAPTER 229: _ TAKING YOU HOME

Amias presses a hand to his forehead, repeating the same mantra to remind himself of why duty should come before pleasure.

I know. I promised Mother. I’m now responsible for Lira’s happiness. I sealed my future. I cannot falter. I will endure. I know I will. I will survive this.

He glances at Heidi who is still curled against Grayson, still shaking and exhausted. She is small and alive and entirely unaware of the chaos she has unleashed around her. His chest aches with Vark snarling. Four brothers. One girl. Duty, loyalty, and prophecy are pulling every strand of him in opposite directions.

Amias pushes himself up, muscles screaming from tension and adrenaline. He forces his gaze away from Heidi, away from Grayson’s protective arms, away from the warmth that calls to him like a forbidden flame. He needs to think, plan, and survive the next hour without losing himself to desire or abandoning his promises.

Because this... this is just the beginning.

.

The barrack’s air is too cold, too bright, and too sharp. It buzzes with fluorescent lights and the quiet hum of officers typing, as if they’re bored out of their skulls. In Heidi’s cell, time crawls like it’s deliberately mocking her with every second stretching thin enough to snap.

Then the clock pushes itself past the one-hour mark. Uhm... one hour and some minutes since Darien and Morgan disappeared through the station doors, and the silence finally ends.

Heavy footsteps slam through the hallway with two figures appearing right after. It’s Darien and Morgan. Both look like they’ve just finished twelve rounds with bureaucratic hell.

Darien’s jaw works like he’s grinding down gravel. Morgan’s hair is disheveled, tie crooked, shirt rumpled, aura screaming lawyers are demons even though he is not dealing with lawyers but with enforcers who act like they were trained by lawyers raised in pits.

Amias is already on his feet the second he sees them, pulse sharp, the tendons in his neck tight. Grayson stands beside him, jittery, hands clasped, cracking his knuckles like he’s trying to squeeze stress out through bone.

Amias doesn’t even wait for them to fully reach him.

"What’s the update?"

Morgan exhales like he just fought the sun. "It took everything. And by everything, I mean every string we’ve ever pulled, every favor anyone owes us, and a few threats that toe the line of legality... but..."

Darien steps in.

"We got her bail."

Grayson whoops so loudly that half the officers flinch. His relief is wild and messy and genuine. Amias doesn’t make a sound, but the breath he lets out is long and quiet, sinking deep into him, loosening a knot that’s been crushing his ribs. His hands shook once — a little before they stilled.

She’s getting out. She’s actually getting out.

Darien rubs the back of his neck, exhausted. "They’ll process the paperwork in a few minutes. Once they release her, we’re taking her home. Immediate prep for court starts now."

The sentence causes Amias’s brows to snap up. They are taking her home?

By home, Darien couldn’t possibly mean the mansion, could he?

"No. Wait." He interjects in the kind of voice that makes even Morgan’s eyes lift. "You’re taking her home? To the house?"

Morgan looks confused. "Yes. Where else?"

"With her like this?" Amias gestures toward the far hallway where the cells sit. "Do you really think that’s a good idea? With what you just declared earlier?"

Darien folds his arms. "We can’t put her in some random apartment. Not today or after what happened. The only place she can be protected properly is with us."

Amias shakes his head immediately. "That’s not true. That’s where an even bigger problem is for her."

Amias can’t believe his brothers. Why are they acting like there aren’t Lunas in that estate who would strangle her neck without physically touching her and an Alpha who is literally the leader of the faction against her?

Grayson makes a tiny noise — the oh-crap-he’s-right-but-I-don’t-want-to-admit-it kind.

Darien’s jaw ticks. He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Amias. Listen. Heidi’s mental state isn’t stable right now. She’s exhausted, scared, and overwhelmed. You want to drop her in a leased apartment alone? You think that’ll stabilize her?"

"That’s not what I’m saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I’m saying the pack house isn’t safe. Not with the politics boiling. Not with the Council already sharpening its teeth. Not with our mothers ready to tear her throat out the second she sets foot inside."

Morgan raises a hand. "We’re aware. And we’re prepared."

Amias scoffs softly. "You say that like you understand the level of dedication this is going to take."

Darien’s eyes narrow. "We do."

"That isn’t rhetorical." Amias steps closer, glaring deep into his brother’s eyes. "Are you prepared to have eyes on her every hour? To make sure she isn’t ambushed, cornered, manipulated, or set up again? Are you prepared to sleep in shifts? To deal with the blowback from every single wolf in that estate and maybe the entire pack that thinks she’s dangerous now? Are you ready for that level of dedication?"

Darien and Morgan exchange a look — a real one. It’s heavy and silent. One of those full conversations without words. It’s funny seeing those two agree on something.

"We’re ready," Morgan affirms.

Amias studies their faces. They’re exhausted, yes. But steady. Determined. Their loyalty to Heidi isn’t wavering.

He breathes out slowly. "Fine. Then we do it your way."

Darien nods once. Right on cue, an officer marches over with keys jangling at his belt.

"Alright," the officer mutters. "We’ll unlock her cell. Stand by."

The officer steps ahead of them, boots thudding like he’s auditioning for a parade. He walks to the barred door and slots in the key with this bored little twist of his wrist, like he’s unlocking a storage closet instead of releasing a girl who accidentally turned herself into the pack’s newest political earthquake.

Metal clicks. The sound ricochets down the hallway, slicing through the tension. Heidi lifts her head slightly from Grayson’s chest, eyes swollen from crying, lashes clumped, cheek pressed against his shirt like she’s forgotten how to hold her own weight.

The door swings open.

Grayson is the first to move, of course. He’s always the first one when it comes to her — the human embodiment of a golden retriever with a savior complex. He crouches in front of her, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.

"Sunshine," he murmurs, lips pressed together. "We’re taking you home."