Chapter 27
Etienne
The Welsh hills stretched endlessly in every direction, rolling green waves that broke against gray stone walls and disappeared into mist. The wind cut across the ridges, sharp and cold, carrying the smell of rain that was due to fall again.
It smelled a little like her.
I shook that thought away.
I'd been walking for hours.
My boots were caked in mud, my jacket soaked through from the earlier drizzle, and my lungs burned with the kind of clean, honest ache that came from pushing your body until it had no choice but to shut up and obey.
It still wasn't enough.
The cottage sat behind me somewhere, tucked into a fold of land where the wind couldn't reach it.
I'd chosen this place precisely because it was isolated.
No neighbors. No noise. Just me and the hills and the sheep that didn't give a damn about pack politics or claiming marks or the fact that I'd left my omega behind in London.
My omega.
Except she wasn't just mine, was she? She was Hastings' omega. The bond proved it. The mark on her neck proved it.
The bond had just appeared. Like a fait accompli. Like Hastings had decided for all of us and the universe had simply nodded and said, "Sure, why not?"
I kicked a rock off the path, watching it tumble down the hillside.
I wasn't angry at Presley anymore. I'd been angry at first, raw and stupid with it, but somewhere between the rugby match where I'd tried to break my own ribs and the silent drive to Wales, the anger had shifted.
It wasn't her fault. She'd been in heat. Out of her mind with need. She'd presented her neck because biology had told her to, because Hastings had made her feel safe enough to do it.
And Hastings... Merde!
Hastings was the one I wanted to punch.
But even that anger was cooling now, turning into something more complicated. Something that felt like understanding, even if I didn't want to admit it.
My phone rang.
I pulled it from my pocket, squinting at the screen.
Fritz.
I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. "Fritz."
"Is Presley with you?" His voice was tight, strained in a way that made my spine straighten.
"What the hell. No, why?"
"Hastings was still paying her." The words came out fast, clipped.
"Five thousand pounds a week. She found the deposits this morning and took it to mean she's temporary.
That we don't want her. She's gone, Et. Just..
. gone. Packed a bag and left. I thought I meant more to her than her just leaving without a word. "
My heart stopped.
"Gone?" I turned, already heading back toward the cottage. My boots slipped on the wet grass, but I didn't slow down. "I'm sure Hastings could find her in a flash if he wanted to. He has the bond."
"Maybe he doesn't want to." Fritz's voice cracked. "Maybe he thinks we're better off without her. Maybe he's decided the baby is all that matters and—"
"Stop." I picked up my pace, half-running now. "I'll make some enquiries. Call her friend in North Yorkshire. Her parents—"
"They're dead."
"Merde, yes. Right." My brain scrambled, trying to think. "Hastings must know where she is. He has a bond with her. He should be able to feel—"
"He's locked himself in his study. He won't talk to me. I can smell his distress from the hallway, but he won't open the door."
I exhaled hard, my breath fogging in the cold air. "Do you still hate it?" Fritz asked quietly. "The bond. The fact that he claimed her first."
I slowed to a walk, my chest heaving. "He claimed her, Fritz. Without a word to us. I woke up and the bond was just... there. Like he'd decided for the entire pack without consulting anyone."
"I know." There was a pause, the sound of Fritz moving, a door closing.
"But I look at it differently. Hastings vowed never to have an omega.
Remember? After Greta, he said he was done.
That we could have our pack, raise children, but there would never be an omega in our lives.
He was preparing us for a life without that kind of love.
And it would have broken one or all of us in the end. "
I rubbed my jaw, my stubble rough against my palm. "I know."
"Granted, I'm annoyed he didn't wait," Fritz continued.
"But Et... think about it. The man who said this was a 'business arrangement.
' The man who insisted we didn't want an omega, that she was just a means to an end.
He was so undone by her that he couldn't wait. Do you understand what that means?"
I stopped walking. The cottage was visible now, a dark shape against the gray sky.
"Because he wants her," Fritz said, his voice going soft.
"Truly. Not as a surrogate, but as ours.
He broke his own most sacred rule because he couldn't help himself.
For the first time in years, Henry Hastings didn't make a calculated decision.
He followed his heart. Or his knot. Either way, it means he's in this just as deep as we are. "
The words settled over me like a blanket.
"But why pay her?" I asked, my voice rough. "If he wants her, why keep treating her like an employee?"
"For you, maybe." Fritz exhaled. "Perhaps he decided you and this pack were more important than her. That if she left, if she took the money and walked away, at least the pack would be intact. At least we'd still have each other and the baby."
“He’d go through that pain for us?” My shoulders dropped. The anger that had been simmering in my chest for days began to fade, replaced by something that felt like understanding.
“I think he would.”
"He's still a prick for not waiting for us," I said.
Fritz laughed, the sound cracking through the phone. "Oh, absolutely. We’ll make him pay for it for years. But Presley... She's ours now. We need to find her and convince her of that."
"I agree."
"I'll fly to North Yorkshire today," Fritz said. "Check the caravan park, her friend Maeve, anywhere else she might—"
I reached the cottage and stopped.
A figure sat on the stone steps leading to the front door.
Small. Blonde. Wrapped in a jacket I recognized because I'd bought it for her.
Presley.
"She's here," I murmured.
"What?"
"She's here. In fucking Wales." I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. "She came to me."
"She came to you," Fritz repeated with wonder in his voice.
"I have to go."
"Et—"
I hung up.
Presley stood as I approached, her hands twisting together, her eyes red-rimmed like she'd been crying. Her scent hit me—vanilla and rain and something sour that meant she was scared.
"Princesse," I breathed.
And then she ran to me.
I caught her halfway, my arms wrapping around her as she crashed into my chest. She was trembling, her hands fisting in my jacket, her face pressed against my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Etienne. I didn't know where else to go and I just—I needed—"
"Shh." I held her tighter, burying my face in her hair. She smelled like London and Hastings and fear, but underneath it all, she smelled like mine. "You're here. That's all that matters."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her blue eyes swimming with tears. "You're not angry?"
"Not at you. Never at you."
"I thought. Maeve said—" Her voice broke. "That you didn't really want me."
I cupped her face, my thumbs wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. "We want you, Princesse. All of us. Even Hastings, though he's an idiot who doesn't know how to show it."
"Then why did he keep paying me?"
"Because he's scared." I pressed my forehead to hers. "Come inside. Let me make you coffee. And then we'll talk."
The cottage was small. One room that served as kitchen, dining area, and living space, with a bedroom tucked into the back and a bathroom that barely fit a shower. It was nothing like the Kensington townhouse with its marble and chandeliers.
But it was warm. And right now, that was enough.
I made coffee the way she liked it with too much cream, no sugar, and handed her the mug. She curled up on the worn sofa, tucking her feet under her, looking small and lost and so damn beautiful it hurt.
I sat beside her, close enough that our knees touched.
"How did you know where I was?" I asked.
She took a sip of coffee, her hands wrapped around the mug like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. "I asked the driver. He told me about all the properties the pack owns. There's the townhouse in London, obviously. The penthouse in New York. The villa in France. And this cottage."
"And you chose Wales."
"I almost went to France," she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But then I remembered you're more outdoorsy than the other two. You'd need space to breathe. Room to think. The cottage made sense."
"You already know me well, Princesse."
Her smile faded. "I need to know something, Etienne. The money. Five thousand pounds every week. Why?"
I set down my mug and turned to face her fully. "Hastings didn't pay you because he thinks you're temporary."
"Then why—"
I’d thought about it after the conversation with Fritz. "He paid you because he's waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to claim him." I reached for her hand, lacing our fingers together. "For you to tell him you're staying. That you're not leaving us. That this is real."
She stared at me, confusion written all over her face.
"Henry Hastings has spent his entire life in control," I continued. "He's the man with the plan, the successful businesses, the logical solution to every problem. But you? You terrified him. You still terrify him. Because he can't control this. He can't logic his way into making you love him."
"I do love him," she whispered.
"Does he know that?"
She looked down at our joined hands. "I've never told him."
"He's English, Princesse. He has that stiff upper lip thing going on.
He'd rather die than admit he needs you.
So instead, he keeps depositing money, giving you an escape route, because he can't quite believe he found his scent match.
He can't believe you'll choose to stay without a financial safety net. "
"That's stupid."
"It's Hastings. Money is his thing."
She laughed, the sound watery but real. "What about you? How do you feel about it? About him claiming me first?"
I thought about it. I had since the morning I saw the mark on her neck.
"Do you want me?" I asked.
"Of course I do."
"That's all I want, Princesse. I want you to want me. Not because of biology or scent matching or any of that. Just because you do." I squeezed her hand. "And one day, when you're ready, I want you the same way Hastings has you. I want that bond. That connection."
"Like now."
I blinked. "What?"
"If I gave you my neck right now, would you claim me?" Her free hand went to her throat, fingers brushing over Hastings' mark. "Make me yours? Because I love you, Etienne." She pressed her other hand to her chest, right over her heart. "I feel you here. And I've missed you so much it hurts."
My breath caught. "I'd claim you right now, Princesse."
"Without your pack?"
I swallowed hard. The temptation was overwhelming. To sink my teeth into her neck, to feel that bond snap into place, to know she was mine in the same way she was Hastings'.
But I'd hated that Hastings had done it alone. Hated that he'd stolen that moment from us.
I couldn't do the same thing to Fritz.
"What if we go back to London tomorrow?" I said carefully. "And Fritz and I claim you together."
Her eyes lit up. "Together?"
"Oui. The way it should have been done in the first place."
"And Hastings?"
I smiled, slow and wicked. "We'll let him watch."
The evening stretched into night. We talked about everything and nothing. About her childhood, about my time playing rugby, about the baby growing inside her that we both marveled at.
Her body started to ache around nine. She shifted on the sofa, her hand going to her lower back, wincing.
"Princesse?"
"I'm fine. Just sore. I think the journey–"
"Come here." I pulled her feet into my lap and started massaging, my thumbs working into the arch of her foot.
She groaned, her head falling back against the cushions. "Oh my God."
"Good?"
"So good."
I worked my way up to her ankles, her calves, watching the tension drain from her body. By the time I finished, her eyes were half-closed, her breathing slow and even.
"Bed," I said, standing and scooping her up in my arms before she could protest.
"I can walk."
"I know. But I want to carry you."
I took her to the bathroom, helped her brush her teeth and quickly washed her before taking her to the bedroom, laying her down on the bed. She curled onto her side, watching me as I took off my clothes and climbed in behind her.
I pulled her against my chest, my arm wrapping around her waist, my hand settling over the place where our baby was growing.
"Etienne?"
"Oui, Princesse?"
"Thank you. For not being angry. For understanding."
I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Thank you for coming to me."
She was asleep within minutes, her breathing deep and even, her body finally relaxed.
And as I lay there in the dark, feeling her heartbeat against my palm, one thing for certain.
Tomorrow, we would go back to London.
Tomorrow, Fritz and I would claim her together.
But a sound outside stopped my thoughts.