Chapter 18
Poe
The kitchen is too small for the both of us.
Maya stands at the cupboard, her back to me as she reaches for a mug.
Her shoulders tense when she finds the shelf empty, a small frown creasing her brow.
I’ve been watching her for three minutes and seventeen seconds, cataloging her movements with the precision that’s kept me alive all these years.
The slight hitch in her breathing when she stretches.
The careful way she tests her weight on her right ankle—still favoring it after that sprint through the woods last week.
The purple strands of hair that fall across her face when she bends to check the lower shelves.
She doesn’t know I’m here. Or she’s pretending not to.
“We’re moving tonight,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence.
Maya startles, spinning to face me with the kind of fluid grace that speaks of survival instincts rather than training. Her eyes—those remarkable eyes that reveal everything while trying to conceal it all—narrow as they find me in the doorway.
“Moving where?” she asks, her tone carefully neutral. But I catch the micro-expression that flits across her features—the slight widening of her eyes, the momentary flare of her nostrils. Fear, quickly suppressed.
I step fully into the kitchen, deliberately keeping my movements slow and unthreatening.
“The process will be gradual. We can’t all leave at once—too conspicuous.
” I lean against the counter, maintaining the careful distance I’ve established between us since her decision three days ago. “You’ll go first. Tonight.”
Her posture shifts, spine straightening as defiance replaces caution. “And where exactly am I going?”
“You can’t know,” I say, watching her reaction closely. “Secrecy is the point.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“I’m not going anywhere without the rest of you,” Maya says, her voice sharp with sudden anger.
I turn back to face her, studying the stubborn set of her jaw, the determined glint in her eyes.
She’s changed since I first met her—grown harder, more confident, more willing to assert herself.
The frightened Omega who trembled in Logan’s presence has been replaced by someone who stands her ground, even against those she should fear.
It’s both admirable and deeply inconvenient.
“This isn’t a debate,” I say, keeping my voice level. “The rest of us will follow when it’s secure.”
“No.” The word is simple, definitive. Maya crosses her arms over her chest, her stance widening slightly—a fighter’s posture, unconsciously adopted. “I made the decision that we stay and fight. Together. I’m not running off to hide while the rest of you risk your lives.”
“This isn’t about hiding,” I counter, frustration edging into my tone despite my best efforts. “I’m trying to keep you safe here.”
“Because I’m weak? Because I need protection?” Her voice rises slightly, color flooding her cheeks. “Or because you think I’ll be in the way when the real fighting starts?”
“We don’t have time,” I say, moving closer to her, close enough that I can catch the subtle notes in her scent—cherries and champagne, now undercut with something sharper.
Determination, perhaps. Or fear she’s trying to mask.
“The king’s guards have been spotted in the village.
They’re working a grid pattern, moving outward from the city.
They’ll reach this area within days, maybe hours. ”
It’s not entirely true—the guards are in the region, but they’re still focusing on the main roads, not yet combing the countryside where we’re hidden. But the threat is real enough, and sometimes fear is a necessary motivator.
Maya’s eyes narrow, studying my face with an intensity that makes me wonder if she can see through the partial deception. “Then we all leave together,” she insists. “Tonight, if necessary.”
“Not possible,” I counter. “Moving five people without attracting attention requires planning, multiple vehicles, coordinated timing. Moving one person—that we can do immediately.”
“Then I’ll wait until we can all go.”
My patience, never abundant to begin with, begins to fray. “This isn’t a democracy, Maya. The decision has been made.”
“By whom?” she challenges, taking a step toward me. “Logan? The same Logan who gave me the power to decide our next move? The same Logan who promised to respect my choices going forward?”
I resist the urge to step back, to maintain the careful distance between us. Instead, I hold my ground, letting her invade my space. “By all of us,” I say, the lie smooth on my tongue. “For your protection.”
“Bullshit.” The profanity sounds strange in her voice, sharper for its rarity. “Logan doesn’t know about this plan, does he? This is you, acting on your own.”
She’s more perceptive than I gave her credit for. I recalibrate, adjusting my approach. “Logan is occupied at the moment. I’m responsible for security in his absence. That includes your safety.”
“My safety is my responsibility,” Maya counters, her voice rising. “Not yours, not Logan’s, not anyone’s but my own.”
“That’s not how pack dynamics work,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
“You can’t just ship me off to some hideaway while you all play revolution.”
The accusation stings, more than it should. I take a step closer, deliberately using my height advantage to loom over her. “I want to keep you alive,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “Because contrary to what you might believe, your death would devastate more than just Logan.”
Something shifts in her expression—surprise, confusion, a flicker of something else I can’t quite name. She hadn’t expected that admission. Neither had I, if I’m being honest.
But the moment passes quickly, her resolve hardening once more. “I’m not going,” she says, each word distinct and final. “Not tonight, not alone. If you want me to leave, you’ll have to drag me out.”
“If that’s what it takes,” I say, the threat implicit in my tone.
Maya laughs, the sound startlingly genuine despite the tension between us. “You really think you could force me to go anywhere I don’t want to go? After everything I’ve survived?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “I do.”
Her smile turns sharp, almost predatory. “Try it,” she challenges, her voice dropping to match mine. “See what happens.”
I study her for a long moment, reassessing. The woman before me bears little resemblance to the one I met over a year ago. There’s a steel in her now, a dangerous edge I hadn’t fully appreciated until this moment.
“You think you could best me in a physical confrontation?” I ask, genuinely curious rather than mocking. “I’ve been trained in combat since childhood. I’ve killed more people than you’ve met in your lifetime.”
“I don’t think I could beat you in a fair fight,” Maya concedes, her gaze steady on mine. “But I also don’t think you want to hurt me. I, on the other hand, have no such reservations about hurting you.”
The declaration should be laughable—this slip of a woman threatening me, one of the most lethal operatives in Melilla. But there’s something in her eyes, something cold and determined, that gives me pause.
She means it. She would fight me—fight all of us—to stay. To be part of whatever comes next, regardless of the danger.
I reassess my options, calculating risks and probabilities with the speed of long practice.
I could overpower her easily—she’s right about that.
But forcing her to the summer palace against her will would damage the fragile trust we’ve been building.
It would reinforce every negative belief she holds about Alphas and their disregard for Omega autonomy.
And if I’m being entirely honest with myself, a part of me respects her refusal to be sidelined. Admires it, even.
“We need you safe,” I say finally, softening my approach. “The entire rebellion could hinge on it. Logan will be useless if something happens to you.”
She clearly doesn’t appreciate hearing that, judging from the look on her face.
We stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to concede. I’m not used to being challenged like this—not by anyone outside the pack, and certainly not by an Omega. It’s... unsettling. And strangely exhilarating.
“You’re being unreasonable,” I say, but the heat has gone out of my words.
“Probably,” she agrees, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. “But I’m still not going.”
I take a step closer, close enough now that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body, can catch the subtle shift in her scent as her pulse quickens. “And how do you plan to stop me if I decide to take you anyway?” I ask, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
I expect her to back down, to flinch away from the implicit threat. Instead, she leans in, her face tilting up to mine with a boldness that catches me off guard.
“I’d make you regret it,” she says, her breath warm against my chin.
The air between us changes, charged suddenly with something that isn’t quite anger but burns just as hot. I’m acutely aware of her proximity, of the slight part of her lips, of the challenge in her eyes that hasn’t wavered despite our closeness.
I should step back. Should reestablish the professional distance I’ve maintained since her decision to stay and fight. Should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead, I reach for her.
My hand closes around her upper arm, intending to move her aside, to end this confrontation before it escalates further. But the moment my skin touches hers, something electric passes between us. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers, her pupils dilating slightly as her gaze locks with mine.
“Let go,” she says, but there’s no force behind the words. No real desire for me to comply.
I don’t. Instead, I tighten my grip slightly, testing. “Make me.”
It’s a challenge, a dare, a reckless invitation I have no business extending. But the words hang between us, impossible to take back.