Chapter 30
THIRTY
CADEN
I went to Emma’s room to pick her up before portaling into Slava. She wasn’t ready to leave just yet and promptly shoved me back out with the ever so charming words, “Don’t let the door hit your ego on the way out!”
Suppressing a grin at her obvious displeasure, I waited what felt like a lifetime for her to get ready.
When she finally emerged, I had to admit, she looked the part.
Not exactly battle-ready, but her posture shone with a self-confidence that was undeniably hot.
She looked like someone prepared to win—a lawyer about to crush a case.
Getting Emma clearance to Slava had been a diplomatic nightmare, but the fact that it finally came through gave me a glimmer of hope for our upcoming mission.
Two days after my spectacular failure to recruit Petru Stoyan, Emma and I portaled into the fortress once again.
As soon as she saw the imposing structure of Slava, her jaw dropped. It was hard to tell if she was shocked or in awe, but the effect was unmistakable.
“This is Slava?” she whispered, her eyes wide as we approached the entrance.
I nodded, acknowledging her astonishment.
“So what, all ten thousand magi of this Collective live in the same building?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
This time, instead of Petru meeting us in the courtyard, we were escorted directly into the throne room by his guards. There, seated on an actual fucking throne—yes, an ornate, elevated chair—was the Leader of Slava, his demeanor razor-edged.
“Didn’t I tell you to get the hell off my property? The staying off it, was implied.” Petru’s threat cut through the room, each word heavy with irritation as he faced us from his imposing throne.
Emma strode ahead; her steps firm despite the obvious nerves she must’ve felt. I let her pass before stopping in front of Petru, crossing my arms as I met his glare head-on. My voice was low, edged with a quiet menace that left no room for misunderstanding.
“I need you to listen to her. Show some respect while you’re at it, or there will be consequences.”
Petru tilted his head just a fraction, challenge etched into every line of his body. “Consequences? Should I be shaking in my boots right about now?”
I shrugged, my face the picture of practiced apathy. “Peeing your pants would be preferable. Or did you forget what happens when someone disrespects one of mine?”
His jaw ticked, the muscle twitching as doubt flickered to life in his mind.
I saw it—the hesitation, the memories clawing their way back to the surface.
The blood, the screams, the unrelenting consequences of crossing me back at Area 4.
He might have built himself up over the years, but some things weren’t so easily forgotten.
His attention shifted to Emma, skepticism lacing his expression. “Why her? She’s got some miraculous argument that’ll sway me into going to battle?”
“No,” Emma replied, her voice calm but firm, “I don’t. But Caden Colt told me you’re one of the bravest men he’s ever met. When someone like you chooses to sit out of a war which affects us all, I want to understand why.”
Something subtle passed over Petru’s face—a fleeting shadow of hesitation or memory. Then he snorted derisively. “You think you’re able to understand what’s at stake here?”
I let out a low growl in warning. That would be the last time Petru would talk down to someone from my Collective. Then again, who was I kidding? If he disrespected Emma, she’d probably annihilate him before I even had the chance to lift a finger.
But Emma didn’t flinch. “Maybe not, but I do understand how sometimes the stakes are more personal than political.”
A flicker of emotion crossed Petru’s face, and for a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable.
Then, as if snapping back to his usual composure, he retreated behind that violent mask of his.
“And what would you know of personal stakes? You’re all but what, twenty-five?
” he guessed, glancing over her with cool dismissal.
Emma’s posture shifted; her curiosity piqued. “Twenty-four, actually. And age is important why?”
“It is not,” Petru replied curtly.
“Clearly it is,” Emma countered, “if it’s making you reluctant to discuss whatever’s weighing so heavily on you, you’d change a lifetime of ways for it.”
Petru’s stare drifted toward the far wall, as if he were weighing how much to reveal. “Perhaps. But I’m still not eager to discuss it with the likes of you.”
“Maybe I don’t need you to,” Emma said softly, folding her arms in a deliberate motion.
She tilted her head a notch, her brilliant eyes searching his features with an intensity that made the room seem smaller. “Who is she?”
Petru stilled, startled, the shift in his face undeniable—surprise, and maybe even discomfort. “Excuse me?”
Emma smiled knowingly. “Oh, come on. A man of your stature? With alpha-genes oozing out of him? When men like you are threatened, they retaliate. But when their women are threatened, they fold like cheap clothing fresh out the dryer.”
My eyebrows shot up. Interesting. Hadn’t thought of that.
Emma began to circle Petru like a predator sizing up its prey.
“She must be important if you’re altering your entire battle strategy for her.
You’re sitting out a war because you fear for her safety, when all you have here are battle-ready women.
So, what makes her so different, you would choose to stay out of it, rather than fight? ”
Petru’s stoic facade cracked enough to reveal a flicker of something raw and unspoken. His attention followed Emma’s movements, betraying a mix of admiration and something deeper, more personal.
Emma persisted, “Most women at Slava are warriors. They fight alongside you, shoulder to shoulder. So, what makes this woman so…” She trailed off. “So vulnerable?”
Petru’s jaw tightened. Her words were hitting their mark, she was unmistakably on the right track. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Petru’s reaction.
Emma tapped her chin thoughtfully, then leaned in, her gaze sharp with insight. “Is she pregnant?”
Petru’s fists clenched, his entire body going rigid as the truth of Emma’s words sank in. Her eyes softened, a hint of triumph lighting up her features. “I see. Makes sense.” She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile—unapologetically proud of her deduction.
Hell, even I was impressed by how quickly she’d figured him out.
Emma continued, gently yet probing. “I understand wanting to protect a pregnant woman you care about. I even understand not wanting to go to war over her. But I do have a question for you to ponder: when a magi baby is born, does the baby have control over their own translation?”
The Leader of Slava frowned, his reaction muddled by a flicker of confusion at the unexpected line of questioning.
“For example,” she clarified, “if an Amplifier is activated and directed at this Collective, can a baby choose not to translate in that moment?”
All color drained from Petru’s face, and I knew she had hit a nerve.
Emma leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “How far along is she?”
His posture wilted under the question. Shoulders sagging, he exhaled shakily and stared down at the floor.
“Five months,” he muttered.
Emma nodded, her face a mix of sympathy and resolve. “Which gives us four months to find and destroy the Amplifier—the same one that nearly took my life three and a half months ago.”
She took another step toward him. “The one that took the lives of seven kids that day. We have four months to make this world a safer place for the child. Will you help us do so? Will you stand with us?”
Petru’s eyes met mine, and with a curt nod, he agreed. Holy shit, in less than ten minutes, Emma had achieved what I had failed to do.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her yet, but I had to admit—that was fucking amazing.
Petru had graciously invited us to stay the night, personally escorting us to our quarters to freshen up after agreeing to fight alongside us—entirely thanks to Emma.
Knocking on her door, I waited until her voice called out an invitation before pushing it open, a wide grin spreading across my face.
The room was cozy, filled with the soft glow of lamps and the scent of something sweet and floral. Emma was seated on the edge of her bed, her countenance calm and thoughtful.
“Gods, Emma, that was fucking amazing!” I nearly shouted as I stepped into her room, barely containing the grin spreading across my face. “How the hell did you figure that out? You were like a human lie detector. I’m still in fucking awe.”
She shrugged casually, but I could see the confident glint in her expression. “I used some dude-logic. The guy’s obviously dripping with alpha-male bullshit. No way he was going to set his ego aside for another guy. It had to be a woman.”
“Well, you definitely impressed me. ‘Folding like cheap clothing,’” I said with a smirk, shaking my head at her memorable metaphor.
She blinked a few times, visibly taken aback.
“What?” I asked, puzzled by her reaction.
“Nothing,” she replied, her tone softening. “Just… I haven’t seen you smile before.”
My smile widened further. “You like it?”
“What?” she asked, genuinely confused.
“Do you like my smile?” I teased, giving her a playful wink. “Makes me rather irresistible, don’t you think?”
Her lips parted in disbelief. Clearly, she hadn’t seen me flirt before either.
“Don’t look so shocked. I’m quite charming once you get to know me.”
“Think I’ll pass,” she muttered, which only made me laugh.
I took a step closer, then dropped my voice to a deep murmur, “I think you could benefit from a bit of my Colt-charm.”
Emma's lips curved into a smirk, amusement flickering across her face. “I think ‘Colt’ goes from charming to deadly in the blink of an eye. So, let me hold off until I develop a death wish.”
I grinned. She wasn’t wrong. “Fair enough. If you ever feel suicidal, you let me know.”