Chapter 12
Artem
The Surrey estate was a fortress. Motion sensors, armed patrols, a reinforced perimeter that could hold off a small army. None of it mattered.
Standing in the master bedroom doorway watching Maeve sleep with Mac on her chest, I was absolutely defenseless.
The room had been prepared for her. Pale walls, heavy curtains, a fireplace carved from white stone, a bed large enough for several scandals.
Fresh flowers on the dresser because the housekeeper assumed women liked flowers.
A discreet security panel behind the door because Gregor assumed women liked not being murdered.
It was a room we had prepared for years for our omega.
Without Maeve in it, the room had been expensive and pointless. With her asleep at its center, it became something else entirely.
Mac lay in a white sleepsuit, one fist curled beneath his chin like he was preparing a closing argument in his dreams. Soft snuffling sounds, each one so small I caught myself counting them.
Maeve's hand rested over his back even in sleep.
Protective. Instinctive. As if she'd been doing it for years instead of days.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to shift the weight. Moonlight caught the curve of her neck. She sighed, turning slightly. Mac snuffled and burrowed deeper.
I reached out and traced her jaw with the back of my knuckles before I could stop myself.
Her eyes opened. For one second the sleepy fog held, and she looked at me without the usual defenses. Then she leaned into my hand.
"You're staring."
"Observing. Making sure you're real."
She laughed, rough with sleep, and moved Mac so she could turn toward me. "I'm real. Though I'm fairly certain this bed is a hallucination. You could fit ten people in here."
"That would be excessive. It was built for four."
Her eyes locked on mine. "This family owns armored vehicles and a chandelier bigger than any in Harrods. I'm not convinced you recognize excessiveness."
"I only want you," I said.
The banter died. She looked up at me, moonlight catching the sudden rawness in her eyes. Her fingers wrapped around my wrist. She didn't push me away. She pulled my hand down and pressed my palm flat against her collarbone. Her pulse beat under my fingers.
"Artem."
I leaned down and kissed the base of her throat. She shuddered. Her fingers tangled in my hair. I worked up to her jaw, pulling her against me, her scent flaring sweet.
My thumb brushed something hard. A raised ridge of tissue.
Her hand flew up to cover it. Her eyes dropped. The walls slammed back into place so fast I could almost hear them.
"Don't." I caught her wrist and pulled it away. "Don't hide it from me. It helps me get angry over it."
"It's ugly."
I pressed my lips to the scar and felt her shiver. “Who was he?”
"Just an alpha," she whispered. The words came out in fragments, pulled from somewhere deep. "He forced it. The bond. He wanted an omega, not—" She stopped. Swallowed. "When I didn't submit the way he wanted, he made sure I knew what I was worth."
The rage that settled into my bones was cold and absolute. I would find him. It didn't matter if it took ten years.
"Nothing," she said. "He made me feel like nothing. Like a thing."
"You are the center of this pack." I wrapped my arms around her. "You are the mother of our son. No one will force you again. I swear it."
A tear slid down her cheek. I kissed her temple.
"You can stop running, Maeve. You're here."
"I'm trying to believe it."
"Good."
She sniffed, then glared at me through wet lashes. "That was not a complete emotional response."
"What?"
"That. Just good. I bare my soul and you say good like I've just delivered quarterly earnings."
Despite the rage still burning in my blood, my chest loosened. "I’m trying."
"Try with more syllables."
"I’m honored that you’re trying to believe me."
She considered this, tears still caught on her lashes. "Better. Very Russian, but better."
And then reality hit me. Soon, I had to have a wedding. All because of a lie I'd told twelve men who would use it against me the second it cracked. I'd planned to explain everything to Maeve, to ask her to stand beside me while I played politics with another omega's name.
Looking at the scar on her neck, at the way she'd flinched from her own skin—
I couldn't hurt her again. And she wasn't ready to be paraded in front of the council. I glanced out of the window.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I would rather lose the Bratva than make her feel used again.
“Mmm.”
A knock at the door. "Artem. The doctor is here,” Gregor said.
I pressed a kiss to Maeve's forehead. "Let him check you and Mac. I have something to handle. I'll be back."
The cottage sat at the far edge of the grounds behind a thick copse of oaks.
It had housed a groundskeeper once. Now it housed what powerful families called a guest until the locks said otherwise.
The path was narrow and damp, lined with ferns and old roots pushing through gravel.
The main house vanished after the first bend, its lights reduced to a pale glow through branches.
Wet earth, oak leaves, the metallic tang of the guards stationed in the shadows.
Surrey didn't bare its teeth like Moscow.
It smiled with gardens and warm windows while men with guns stood behind hedges.
Maeve would notice that eventually. She noticed everything eventually.
Blade was on the front porch with a cigarette. He nodded as I approached.
Inside, Killian sat at the small dining table cleaning a sidearm. Opposite him, wrapped in a blanket and staring into a mug like it might contain answers, sat Mary McCarthy.
She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and terrified. This was not the girl with the smart mouth who'd asked Blade if all Russians were born planning invasions.
"Mary."
She flinched. "Am I going home?"
"Not exactly."
She pushed her shoulders back. McCarthy through and through. "What does that mean?"
I sat across from her. "My father is dead. There's a fight for succession. To secure my seat, I told the council I'd secured the McCarthy alliance." I paused. "I told them I was marrying you."
The mug hit the table. Tea sloshed over the rim. "No. You have… you have an omega. Everyone talks. They say you found your fated—"
"It would be fake. A pretend ceremony. A piece of paper we’ll forge. And very real pictures. In exchange, I'll guarantee your freedom. New identity, new passport, enough money to go wherever you want. Your father will never find you."
Her hands were shaking. But she was a McCarthy, and the gears were turning behind her eyes. Weighing. Calculating.
"Why not her?" she whispered. "Your omega. Why not just marry her?"
I thought about Maeve crying into my chest. The scar. The way she'd covered it. "She's not ready. And I won't use her as a pawn."
Mary's laugh was sharp and ugly. "But I can be a pawn?"
"I'm sorry. But after, I'll set you up for life. Anywhere."
"And if I go into heat? What happens then? Will you and your pack—"
"No. But you'll be cared for."
"You make it sound so simple."
I stood. "Think about it. I need an answer by tomorrow."
The house rose ahead of me, lit gold against the night. Walls, guards, cameras, escape routes, safe rooms, enough ammunition on the grounds to inconvenience a small country.
None of it helped.
Maeve was upstairs with our son, sleeping under my roof, while I arranged a lie that would cut through every wound she'd shown me.
There were many ways to lose an empire. Men like Yuri thought the worst was weakness. They were wrong. The worst was becoming the same man your omega had already survived.
I walked through the front doors and headed for the stairs.
"Artem."
I froze.
Maeve stood at the top of the staircase, wearing one of my shirts, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked rested. Beautiful. She also looked absolutely furious.
"Maeve. You should be in—"
"Who's in the cottage?"
My blood stopped. "Nobody. I went for a walk."
She crossed her arms and took one step down. Green eyes were blazing. "I overheard Ivan and Gregor. You're getting married. Why?"
"It's not what you think."
"What am I supposed to think?" Another step. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled, deliberate. Her face changed. "There's an omega on you. I can smell her."