Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
CADEN
Emma spent every Thursday night getting drunk over the Nexus with Saoirse. Ritualistically, religiously, obnoxiously.
I’d grown to loathe it, since it meant hours of Emma not being here. With me. Or looking at me. Or breathing in my direction, honestly.
Silver lining? It did give me time to untangle some Crown work, a task that had become borderline mythical ever since I’d practically moved in with the woman of my dreams.
Apparently love came with the side effect of obliterating productivity.
Which is exactly what I was trying to remedy this Thursday night.
It was nearly midnight when my Nexus flared, an urgent pulse of deep blue drops cutting through the darkness of my room. The incoming connection request made me frown.
Direct calls from my Leader were rare enough to qualify as celestial events. The fact most of them had happened this year only made my instincts prickle harder.
Though, granted, the Great Exposure: political shitstorm. If there was ever a time for a First Offensive and his Leader to be on speaking terms, it was now.
I exhaled, accepted, and Charles’s face sharpened into view.
Red hair, aggressive freckles, and the unmistakable air of someone who still complained about unit budgets during world-ending events. “Charles,” I greeted, leaning back in my chair. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Colt.” No humor, all edge. “I was visited by the High Chief this morning.”
My blood didn’t freeze, it vitrified. “What? The fuck did he want?”
Charles blinked, one ginger brow lifting at the unexpected bite in my tone.
“Not much,” he said, though the pause beforehand betrayed him. “He wanted assurance. If global war breaks out between species… Crown stands with their own.”
I stared at him, jaw tensing until I felt the grind of it in my molars.
Bullshit.
The Chiefs did not waltz into Crown like it was a casual diplomatic brunch just to get a confirmation they could have secured with a ten-second Nexus connection.
“That all?” My voice came out flat. Skeptical. Zero decorum.
“Seemingly.” Charles folded his arms. “But the personal nature of the visit did surprise me.”
A humorless laugh scraped out of me. “It wasn’t a visit. It was reconnaissance.”
His forehead creased. “You think?”
“I know,” I corrected.
“Any particular reason the United Chiefs are suddenly so interested in Crown?”
I shrugged as I prepared to lie to my Leader. “Probably still holding a grudge over that whole ‘we refused to kneel to the consensus’ thing.”
Charles hummed. One of those vague, uninterested sounds that meant his brain had already half-checked out. “Maybe.”
He exhaled like the conversation physically pained him.
Charles cared about exactly two things: golf and poker.
How a man with the work ethic of someone perpetually on the brink of a nap had become Leader of Crown was still one of the world’s great mysteries.
The position predated my birth by several cycles, and somehow, our Council had never even considered replacing him.
“Fine,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “I trust you know what you’re doing.”
I offered a slow, lopsided grin that tasted more like teeth than humor. “Don’t worry, Charles. I’ve got everything under control.”
He gave me a curt nod.
Which meant I’m ending this call now.
Then the connection snapped.
But the air in my lungs had soured. We’d pushed the Chiefs back at the border. We’d won the damn skirmish.
I wasn’t arrogant enough to believe they’d leave it at that.
After dragging a hand through my hair, I jumped to my feet and began pacing the room.
If my Collective was on their radar while I was stuck on this side of the world…then Crown was exposed. Vulnerable. And I wasn’t there to protect it.
I had faith in Saoirse, but if the Chiefs were now targeting her…
The door creaked.
I stopped mid-stride as Emma stumbled in, drunk as a summer festival and twice as charming.
“Hi, baby,” she slurred, sing-songy and soft. She made a beeline for me; arms stretched like I was magnetic. The kiss she planted was brief, messy, tasting of peat smoke and bad decisions.
I didn’t let it stay brief.
My hand slid to the back of her neck, angling her mouth to mine, deepening it until she made a startled little noise and clutched the front of my shirt.
When I finally released her, she was blinking up at me, lips pink, breath thin, Scotch-warm.
Her smile went slow and fond. “I missed you too.”
Christ.
I hooked an arm under her legs and lifted her, ignoring her tiny squeak.
She fit against my chest like she was fucking designed for me.
I carried her to my bed—the only rightful place for her—and set her down gently.
She giggled, attempted to bounce once, then promptly yawned like a kitten and collapsed into my pillows.
I tucked the blanket up to her chin.
“How was everyone?” I asked, sounding as casual as I could manage.
“Good,” she mumbled, eyelids already drooping. “Saoirse couldn’t make it, but Rocco and Emile were their usual brand of unhinged.”
My stomach gave a single, cold thud.
“Why couldn’t Saoirse make it?” I asked, too quickly. Too impatient.
One glassy blue eye cracked open and fixed on me with terrifying accuracy.
“Why do you want to know?”
Unbelievable. The woman was drunk enough to nap mid-sentence, but sharp enough to interrogate me from beneath the blankets like a suspicious house cat.
I forced a shrug, aiming for breezy. “Just curious. Seems odd.”
She studied me one beat longer—one dangerous beat—then sighed and let her lids close again.
“She and Rocco broke up,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Too awkward to drink with him. She’ll nex me tomorrow.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been strangling. “You’ll see her tomorrow then?”
One eye cracked open again, suspicion dragging its heels behind it. “Do I need to heal myself sober? Is something wrong?”
I smiled. Couldn't help it. The sharpest mind in any room, even blind-drunk. And she was mine.
“No, love,” I murmured, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “Nothing’s wrong. Just get some sleep.”
Her lips puckered into a thoughtful pout. “Would be a lot more fun if you joined me.”
A low laugh rumbled out of me. “Is that right?”
“Mhm,” she mumbled, sinking back into the pillow. “Infinitely.”
I shook my head, smirking as I toed off my boots, shrugged off my shirt, and let my pants drop. The mattress dipped as I slid in behind her, fitting against her back like instinct. Like inevitability.
With zero regard for composure or timing, she wiggled back and parked her gorgeous little ass right on my already semi-hard cock.
My eyes shut, forehead dropping to her shoulder.
Jesus Christ.
Whatever web of politics, wars, Chiefs, or fractured futures had been clawing at my brain two minutes ago? Gone. Vaporized. She walked in, and the entire world shrank to the shape of her.
I exhaled, hand sliding over her hip to hold her in place.
“Sleep, my love,” I murmured against the warm skin below her ear.
All I got back was a sudden snore.
My mouth twitched, and my arm tightened around her, drawing her closer, shielding the space around us not out of instinct, but need.
And for a moment, I let myself pretend the world outside didn’t exist at all.
I woke at 5:30 a.m. to Emma standing in front of a new whiteboard, dressed in nothing but one of my shirts.
Fuck.
That did a whole lot to me.
The fabric swallowed her tiny frame, the hem barely brushing the top of her thighs.
Her hair was a wild riot of waves, half pulled up by a pencil that was hanging on by sheer will.
Sunlight cut through the windows and caught the pale column of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, soft skin, unguarded.
I dragged myself up on an elbow, eyes glued to her, absolutely gone.
“Morning, Sir,” she said without turning, marker tucked between her teeth as she scribbled something furious and complicated across the board.
Her voice was still a little rough, sleep-soft, and holy hell if it didn’t slam straight into me.
“Mm,” was all I managed at first.
She paused, then glanced over her shoulder, one brow lifted like she knew exactly what state I was in.
“Planning on speaking today, or are you just going to stare at me like a depraved gargoyle until noon?”
I scoffed. “Gargoyle suggests I’m crouched and hideous. I’m neither.”
She turned fully to face me. The shirt rode up slightly when she crossed her arms. My brain short-circuited. “You sure? I hear they’re big on denial.”
I let my head fall back against the pillow with a low laugh. “Fuck you.”
She grinned, triumphant and infuriating.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, but it did absolutely nothing to hide the smile tugging at my mouth. “What are you doing up? You were unconscious six hours ago.”
“I woke up half an hour ago,” she countered, popping the marker cap with her teeth again. “My brain started screaming questions at me and demanded sacrifice.”
I blinked at her. “Sacrifice.”
She pointed the marker toward the board like a battle commander brandishing a sword. “Problem solving.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “And the sacrifice was sleep.”
“And sanity,” she agreed solemnly. “But then again, sanity’s overrated.”
I stood, unhurried, and lazy, and watched her gaze flick over me before she could stop them.
Bingo.
“And the shirt?” I asked, voice low.
Her mouth curved slightly. “Mine smelled like war crimes and whiskey. Yours smelled like you.”
My heartbeat kicked like a traitor.
“And you chose me over war crimes and whiskey,” I murmured, stepping closer.
She didn’t retreat.
She never did.
Not from me.
Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Seemed like the better option.”
I wrapped my arms around her waist, then tugged her back against me, both of us now facing the whiteboard like we were some ridiculous Think Tank Power Couple.
“Wanna clue me in what this is all about?” I murmured, chin grazing her hair.