Because the truth I can’t shake—the truth I haven’t admitted even in the quietest corners of my mind—is that I don’t actually know what Makari feels for me.
There is a possibility. A very small chance that hedoescare.What if he does?
The SUV rumbles as we pull onto the estate’s long drive, dappled sunlight spilling gorgeously over the gravel. My heart skips a beat in anticipation. Vadim’s eyes narrow in the rearview mirror, as if he can sense the change in the air.
“You finish here,” he says more than asks, “and then I’ll bring you back to the shop for your car. Dima has your daughter.”
I nod absently, more worried about Makari’s right-hand man than my daughter, who likely has him pulling his hair out or wrapped around her finger by now. As we pull up to the house, the section that the business operates out of is like a fortress—a dark, hulking shadow waits within the alcove. His eyes are locked on the SUV, and it’s as if he knows everything that’s happened from the moment I left until right now.
If Makari does care, if he hears that I’ve been talking to another man, then the man I kissed in that cabin might burn the whole damn town down.
And I don’t know whether that terrifies me or thrills me.
Chapter 14
Makari
The meeting is supposed to be simple; a routine morning at the edge of the southern property line, overlooking the preserve Ursa Arcane funds each year. A place where quiet streams wind through mossy rocks, where our patrols switch from armed men to rangers in forest-green jackets. Paperwork about wildlife corridors and land trusts lies spread across the long wooden table in the open-air pavilion.
It should be simple.
But nothing has been simple since Roxanne.
She stands across the table from me, head bent over a stack of conservation reports, her braid falling over one shoulder. The early sunlight makes a halo out of the smallest, stubborn flyaway hairs she never quite tames. I try to focus on the numbers, the maps, the trustee signatures.
But I’m not looking at the paper.
I’m looking at her.
And I’m thinking about the way she avoided my eyes all morning. The way her smile for the land manager was too polite. The way she tensed every time I stood too close.
She’s hiding something.
She’s been hiding something for a while.
I’m patient, usually. But patience with her feels impossible. “Your signature goes on the dotted line,” she says, tapping the final page without looking up at me.
Her voice is calm and professional. Detached.
That detachment irritates me more than it should.
I sign the paper, set the pen down too hard, and then lean against the table. “So,” I say casually, “how’s the ex?”
Her head snaps up. “What?”
I shrug as if the question means nothing. As if it hadn’t sat inside my chest the last two days like a blade angled inward.
“The father of your daughter,” I say. “The one who couldn’t bother to stick around. That ex.”
Her throat works. She looks back down at the papers, fingers tightening. “He’s not—we’re not talking about this.”
I ignore that. “Is that the man your sister taunted you about?” I ask. “The one at the masquerade? That night she told you to stop waiting around for boys too weak to be men? Or have there been others since me?”
Roxy’s eyes flash. “Mak.”
“What?” I feign confusion, ignoring her use of my first name in front of my men. Most left to watch the woods and chat with the land manager, who is all too happy to meet with Ursa Arcane. “I’m only trying to understand. A man abandons his own child, leaves you to handle everything alone and makes you chase work that’s too damn dangerous.” A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me. “He sounds like trash.”
Her jaw tightens, eyes flashing in a way that makes me want to kiss the defiance out of her. “Can we get back to work, please? I need to finish packing tonight.”
