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“Tell her we’re coming back. Tell her we’ll secure this seat and then we’re coming home to her and our son.”

I repeated it.

Fresh tears slid down Maeve’s face.

“And tell her,” Artem added, “we’re going to take care of her and all our babies.”

Maeve’s eyes widened. “Babies. Plural.”

I considered my answer carefully. “Alphas tend to be ambitious.”

She laughed weakly.

“I’m ending the call,” I told Artem. “I may need to use my field knowledge.”

Maeve narrowed her eyes on me. “Why did you say that?”

I paused.

“Gregor,” Maeve said slowly.

“I have a field suture kit,” I said.

Her expression transformed instantly into horror. “You were going to sew me up with a field kit?”

“Only if necessary.”

“Artem!,” she yelled toward the phone, clutching Mac tighter. “Tell him he can’t sew me up. I need to look neat down there."

Ivan’s laughter exploded down the line.

Artem made a strangled sound. “Gregor.”

“Pakhan.”

“Do not sew my wife.”

Maeve glared at the phone. “I’m not your wife.”

A beat.

Then Artem, very slowly said, “Do not sew my not-yet-wife.”

I looked at the ceiling. “I’ll call you later, Pakhan.”

10

Artem

I looked at thephotograph until Ivan said my name twice and I realized we'd arrived, and I was still staring at a screen like a teenager with his first crush.

"Put it away," Ivan said. Not unkindly. "You're about to walk into a room full of men who can smell sentiment like sharks smell blood."

"He's got her finger," I said.

"I know. I saw. You've shown me four times."

"That's his whole hand around just her finger, Ivan."