Chapter 41
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Xavier
I know the signs of a girl not just frustrated, but on an erotic edge.
The Alpha she’s out with looks weak, his position in life only bolstered by his money and standing. In fact, as I watch the dapper blond man, something twists tight in my chest.
I’ll admit it.
As I sit in the shadows, finishing the thick, syrupy coffee, I’ve been spying.
Watching but not crossing lines.
Not physical ones.
Not like Killian.
But I can’t help but think how Mahmoud’s Coffee is an odd place for a date in the Season.
Then again, the blond comes from across the seas, where the Council reach is lax. Though, I’m sure they still stick to classes like they do in Sabine.
That isn’t the problem.
No. It’s being able to choose. Being able to be with someone you want rather than someone you’re told to be with. It’s about movement between classes.
It’s us wanting an end to oppression.
That’s the problem.
I sigh, sip my coffee. Iris moves in her seat, restless, her brother at the table next to her with her sister, Marigold. Iris crosses her legs, pushing her thighs together under the skirt as she tries not to look around.
She senses me.
A thrill tumbles down my bones. I sit back, letting the shadowy corner devour me.
If I close my eyes, breathe her in, I can smell her. Brat. Cupcake. She’s both. She likes to press buttons, dance differently. And she’s made of so many hues.
She’s also young enough that the claiming we made can be dismissed by the Monarch. Or we can reject it. I wonder if that’s part of Killian’s plan all along—use her and then dump her.
I want to think he’s not that cruel, but the years have hardened him. It’s obvious he cares about Iris, but whether or not he’ll admit that to himself? That’s the hard part.
I take a swallow of coffee and send a DM to her through the stolen mini. I time it to when the Alpha gets up with the brother to go and settle the bill.
Blond doesn’t suit you.
Iris reaches for the mini, and her head whips about like she can conjure me from the air.
Iris
Mr. Scarsby. What’s a girl to do when the only option on the table is blond?
I smile.
You’re a complex beauty. I think you need more than one choice.
Iris
Is it a choice?
Between me and Killian?
Iris
What if I’m greedy?
We have big and varied appetites, cupcake. Have you saved a dance for me for tomorrow?
Iris
All of them, if you wish.
Now that…that would be something. It’s just silly, flirty talk.
As I observe her, I notice her fingers hovering over the screen. The smile fades from her face like something more serious has suddenly captured her thoughts.
I wait.
When she finally starts typing, it takes her a few extra seconds to send the message.
Iris
I need to ask you something.
Shit. That doesn’t sound good. My thoughts immediately go to Killian’s visit to her yesterday. Did he go too far? Hurt her?
Anger starts to vibrate through me, but another message appears.
Iris
What if I’m pregnant?
I freeze. Blink.
The message is so unexpected, I’m unsure if I read it right.
But then I realize this must’ve been plaguing her for some time. And of course it has. We did both rut during her heat.
I lost count of how many times I knotted.
But at least I can ease her worries now.
It’s impossible, cupcake. Killian and I have been snipped.
Her brows knit together in confusion as she stares at the screen.
Iris
What does that mean?
Right. As an Omega from the Upper Side, she wouldn’t know about mainland practices.
It’s a medical procedure Alphas can get done to prevent pregnancy.
Still a bit experimental and forbidden in Sabine, Killian and I got it done before moving here, after Tamara fucked us over. We never wanted to repeat what had happened with her and Emmie again.
Don’t worry. There’s no way you can be pregnant.
But what if she wants a baby? She is a natural with Emmie. Maybe she wants to be a mother. Omegas usually do.
I quickly write out another message.
It can be reversed. If that’s what we want.
Another tense pause from her. And then?—
Iris
No way. I’m not the mothering type.
When I look over at her, her body is more relaxed in the chair, her relief clear.
Interesting. An Omega who doesn’t want kids. Iris keeps on surprising me.
Her brother returns to pick something up and glares at her. Iris says something and Marigold rises, looping her arm through his, and leads him back the way he came.
The sisters do diabolical work as a team, in the sliver of world they know.
A message flashes on my mini.
Iris
I’ll block all the dances now. Maybe one for Mr. B, too.
Mr. B. doesn’t need a dance.
But I suspect he’ll steal one under everyone’s noses. Killian can move through societal levels with ease.
Iris
I rather give them all to you both. All of them. In front of everyone. I want that.
Direct. Utterly Iris.
It hurts a on my chest throbs, right where Iris marked me back and sealed the bond, and it makes me smile.
If only…
The blond and her siblings, come back, and I take that distraction to leave money on my table and go.
I’ve put off my next appointment too long.
“You oaf,” the man says, coming out of nowhere as I nearly knock him over.
I mime a bow. He stepped in front of me, the spillage of papers not my fault.
Still, I offer to help, crouching down to gather them, aware of the circle forming about us.
The people gathering aren’t from the Lower Side. They’re from the middle of the city, tourists from small towns, and the Upper Side. There are cute stores and faux rough and tumble bars in this area, as well as an array of ethnic cuisine along this street and part of the river.
The guy shoves me, and because I don’t expect it, I almost fall, more from the shock of the shove than him moving me. But snatches the papers back, but not before I see the official Council seal and the name ‘Vanellen’ on them.
Where have I seen that name before?
Oh, yeah. He’s one of the candidates running to fill the empty Council spot.
We’re not near the Council buildings, but it’s not a question I can ask, even if I could talk. Besides, people live around here, the Upper Side is for the rich, not the middle class. There are enough nice apartments here to make the area safe, and to have it as a mixing pot.
I hold up my hands in surrender, and he rears back like I’m going to hit him. A murmur runs through the crowd.
Fuck that.
I get up and sign an apology to him, but by then someone else is there, a woman. Council, no doubt, and she helps him gather the papers.
I go to pick up the wrapped cigar box I dropped, and she tries to shove me away.
“Haven’t your kind done enough?”
The situation is odd, but I sign I’m getting my box. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way.
“He’s slow,” the guy says to her, picking up the last piece of paper. “Ignore him.”
I type on my phone and press the little used text-to-voice button.
“Mute, that’s all. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I have a meeting I’m trying to get to.”
And with that, I turn and walk, heading to my car. As I drive, anger builds, slow and steady. It’s easy enough to keep under control, but the fact that it’s slipping through unnerves me.
That emotion’s something I’ve worked on, kept down. And this…just a bureaucrat being a bureaucrat.
Honestly, is it any wonder we want change?
But the altercation was nothing more than an accident. Neither of us was paying appropriate attention. The idiot seemed more upset because of the documents he had with him. Probably work he hadn’t finished.
Thinking about the Council naturally makes me glide into thoughts of Iris.
I don’t think it should be her helping us and the Nightshades get into the Council.
Sweet, fierce Iris. The girl with all the potential. But some of that potential comes with dire risks to her and her family.
Sophine only needs to say one thing and the Gardeners are on the out.
Shit.
The risks don’t end with a possible confrontation with Sophine.
There’s us claiming her.
That should be done and dusted but it isn’t.
The reality of that comes down to the Monarch. If we want the bond to be true, to be recognized as legitimate, it has to be approved by her.
Otherwise, we’ll have to reject the marks.
I put a hand to my scarred throat.
Bad things await when plans go off the rails. When the wrong toes are stepped on.
When the brutal have the power.
I shove that away. There’s nothing there but a beast made of assumptions, old rules, prejudice, and history. And that’s more dangerous than one of flesh and bone.
Iris is sweet, and everything about her is divine. From her scent, taste, heat of her skin, to the softness of her.
I pull up to the long, winding driveway, and the gates to the property open.
After parking at the front of the huge stone house, I walk to the yard, and there, under a wide tree on a chaise draped in velvet, is Penrith in a pale green linen dress. She puts down the book she’s reading and sits up, reaching for her glass of pale purple bubbles.
“I’d tell you to sit, but…” She nods at a tiny chair. “I didn’t think about company when I had it set up this morning. I like to sometimes sit out here, enjoy the weather… But you’re not here to talk about my quirks or fresco deco.”
Your quirks are yours, I sign. I got the shipment.
I take the wrapped cigars from the car and return, handing the box to her.
“Thank you.” She holds the package to her face and breathes in. “I’ll have more cushions brought out so you can sit.”
I eye Penrith. There’s another agenda in her eyes, but I wait, hesitating a moment before sitting down on the ground. The carpet placed out here overkill for me, but I’m not a rich fuck so maybe this is what they do.
She picks the drink up and takes a swallow The drink’s excellent. Perfect for tomorrow night, she signs. You have everything else ready?
Being sent here later.
Again, she signs, Good and your staff?
Won’t steal everything.
“That’s a lie. Everyone steals, whether it a heart, a trinket, or a breath.”
Pen is a hopeless romantic it seems. But I keep it to the point.
They’re trustworthy.
She smiles and nods. “And Iris?”
What about her?
“Her brother’s hellbent on mating her.”
Maybe it’s for the best. Or maybe, I think, it’s not about the best, It’s what’s good for her, safe for her.
Penrith gives me a look that reads more of disappointment than anything else.
“If you think it’s for the best,” she says as I get up to leave, “then maybe you and Black don’t deserve her after all.”