Chapter 3 #2
Gregor sighed. "It’s catchy. I heard it in the hotel in Prague."
Artem was still staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. "You remember the music in the hotel from nine months ago?"
Gregor didn’t answer, but the humming stopped.
I shook my head, still laughing. "This is the best day of my life."
Artem rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Focus, Ivan. We’re this close. We don’t want to crash the car now."
That was never going to happen. We were so close I could feel her. I could already smell her.
The air in the car was electric, charged with anticipation and made my skin prickle. Nine months of silence. Nine months of missing. And now she was so close I wanted to taste her. To hold her. And she was also pregnant with our child.
Our child. Our omega. Our future.
I pressed harder on the accelerator. The car surged forward, the engine a deep, satisfying growl.
"Slow down," Artem said, but there was no real reproach in his voice. He was leaning forward now, his eyes on the road ahead as if he could see her if he just looked hard enough.
Gregor’s voice cut through the hum of the engine. "We’ll be there in six hours at this rate."
"Five if I push it," I said.
Artem didn’t argue. He just nodded, his hand tightening on the door handle as I took a corner a little too fast.
The rain eased as we left London behind, the sky lightening to a dull, watery gray.
The fields stretched out on either side of the road, flat and green under the overcast sky.
I wanted to roll down the windows and breathe in the damp, earthy air.
But didn’t. The windows stayed up. The air stayed in.
The only sounds were the hum of the engine, the rhythmic swoosh of the wipers, and the occasional, reluctant note from Gregor’s throat.
Mary’s words echoed in my head.
She’s very lucky.
I hoped she knew that. I hoped she felt that, even now, even after running. Because we were coming. And when we found her everything would change.
We stopped for fuel outside of Nottingham. Artem insisted. He said we needed to "maintain operational efficiency," which was his way of saying he didn’t trust me not to drive the car into a ditch or run out of fuel from sheer excitement.
Gregor took the opportunity to check the weapons in the trunk, which was standard procedure, though I doubted we’d need them. Not for her. Never for her.
Mary’s face flashed in my mind, her grin when she’d teased me about marrying her. She was safe. She was fine. And she was right. Our omega was lucky. Because when we found her, we weren’t letting her go. Not again.
Artem was on his phone when we got back in the car, his voice low as he barked orders at someone on the other end.
I pulled back onto the motorway, the car eating up the miles. The sign for Leicester flashed past. Then the landscape changed, the flat fields giving way to rolling hills, the air growing cooler as we drove into Yorkshire.
Gregor’s phone buzzed. He answered it with a grunt, listened for a second, and said, "Your father wants to talk to you, Artem. He wants to know why you’re not answering your phone."
Artem’s fingers tightened on his phone. "Because I've blocked him?"
“He blocked you,” Gregor grunted.
“You didn’t have to tell him. Give me your phone.” Artem took Gregor’s phone. “She’s fine… and safe. I don’t care. I’ll talk to you in a few days.” He disconnected.
“Do we have an address for her yet?” I asked.
Artem checked his phone. “Not yet. I’ve got a person looking through the street camera footage looking for her.”
The signs for Newcastle passed by, and we were getting so close now.
Artem’s voice was quiet when we went through the border into Scotland. "Ivan."
"Yes."
"When we get there. Nobody touches her. Nobody speaks to her. Nobody breathes in her direction until I’ve spoken to her first."
"Understood." I’ll let him have the first moment because god has he suffered.
"Gregor."
"Boss."
"If she runs because she will try to run, because that is what she does–”
“She’s pregnant. I doubt she can run very far,” Gregor quipped.
“Just do it gently."
"Define gently." Gregor pushed.
"Don’t let her hit the ground. Don’t let anything else hit her. And for the love of God, don’t let her see the guns before I’ve had a chance to explain why we’ve brought guns to Edinburgh," I said.
The last hour was a blur.
The hills grew steeper, the air colder. The sign for Edinburgh appeared, and my pulse kicked up another notch.
Artem was a statue beside me, his face set in lines of concentration.
Gregor was a shadow in the back, his eyes sharp, his hand resting on the door handle as if he was already preparing to move.
And then, there it was. The city. Edinburgh, sprawled out before us, a tangle of stone and spires and history. The rain had stopped, but the streets glistened under the gray sky, the pavement slick with water.
I took a deep breath. "We’re here."
Artem didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His scent had already changed. The shared scent was thicker and heavier than it had been for months.
We were here and ready.
Gregor’s voice was a rumble from the back. "Left at the next light. The post office is two blocks down."
“We need an address for where she lives. Call your contact.” I turned the wheel, the tires hissing against the wet road. The car slowed as we approached Lothian Road and I parked the car on a side street.
Somehow God thought we must have done something good. Probably saving Mary from her father. But a woman left a doorway and waddled her way down the street and past the car. A small terrier bounced alongside her.
“There she is,” Gregor whispered as if his voice ceased to exist. “There’s our omega.”
“Fuck!” Artem groaned. “She looks beautiful.”
“Find out who lives at the cafe.”
“She might’ve been having a coffee.”
I turned my phone to him. “It closed at five o’clock.”