I thought about Maeve crying into my chest. The scar. The way she'd covered it. "She's not ready. And I won't use her as a pawn."
Mary's laugh was sharp and ugly. "But I can be a pawn?"
"I'm sorry. But after, I'll set you up for life. Anywhere."
"And if I go into heat? What happens then? Will you and your pack—"
"No. But you'll be cared for."
"You make it sound so simple."
I stood. "Think about it. I need an answer by tomorrow."
The house rose ahead of me, lit gold against the night. Walls, guards, cameras, escape routes, safe rooms, enough ammunition on the grounds to inconvenience a small country.
None of it helped.
Maeve was upstairs with our son, sleeping under my roof, while I arranged a lie that would cut through every wound she'd shown me.
There were many ways to lose an empire. Men like Yuri thought the worst was weakness. They were wrong. The worst was becoming the same man your omega had already survived.
I walked through the front doors and headed for the stairs.
"Artem."
I froze.
Maeve stood at the top of the staircase, wearing one of my shirts, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked rested. Beautiful. She also looked absolutely furious.
"Maeve. You should be in—"
"Who's in the cottage?"
My blood stopped. "Nobody. I went for a walk."
She crossed her arms and took one step down. Green eyes were blazing. "I overheard Ivan and Gregor. You're getting married. Why?"
"It's not what you think."
"What am I supposed to think?" Another step. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled, deliberate. Her face changed. "There's an omega on you. I can smell her."
13
Maeve
The scent was blackberryand rain and it was all over my alpha.
Faint, yes. But to an omega whose nerves had been stripped by childbirth, and moving into a mafia fortress three days postpartum, it might as well have been a foghorn.
I stood at the top of the staircase in Artem's shirt, barefoot on marble that was probably worth more than my old flat, and tried very hard not to become the sort of woman who threw antiques during arguments.
The vase on the landing was close enough.
It looked like it could’ve been Ming dynasty. Or at least old enough to have witnessed several revolutions. I wasn't going to touch it. I was just aware of it, in the way a person wants to touch but knows they shouldn't.
Artem took another step up. His hands were raised, palms out. "Maeve. Let me explain."
"Explain what?" I wanted to shout but kept my voice much quieter. "That you're getting married? That you've got another omega stashed in the gardener's shed while I'm upstairs feeding your—"
