Chapter 13
Maeve
The scent was blackberry and rain and it was all over my alpha.
Faint, yes. But to an omega whose nerves had been stripped by childbirth, and moving into a mafia fortress three days postpartum, it might as well have been a foghorn.
I stood at the top of the staircase in Artem's shirt, barefoot on marble that was probably worth more than my old flat, and tried very hard not to become the sort of woman who threw antiques during arguments.
The vase on the landing was close enough.
It looked like it could’ve been Ming dynasty. Or at least old enough to have witnessed several revolutions. I wasn't going to touch it. I was just aware of it, in the way a person wants to touch but knows they shouldn't.
Artem took another step up. His hands were raised, palms out. "Maeve. Let me explain."
"Explain what?" I wanted to shout but kept my voice much quieter. "That you're getting married? That you've got another omega stashed in the gardener's shed while I'm upstairs feeding your—"
"She's not my omega."
"He's telling the truth," rumbled a voice from below.
I whipped around. Ivan and Gregor had materialized at the bottom of the stairs like guilty bookends. Ivan was doing the weight-shift shuffle of a man who'd rather be anywhere else. Gregor was doing his granite impression.
"Don't." I pointed at them. My finger was shaking. Fine. Let it shake. "Don't lie to me. Not you three. I can't do this twice."
"Maeve." Ivan took one slow step onto the bottom stair. "It's political. A show for the council. That's all."
"A show."
He winced. Even he'd heard how that sounded.
The word wedding was still ricocheting around my skull, and my body was a terrible historian but an excellent alarm system, and it didn't care about context. It cared about the last time an alpha had used those words while looking at me like something to be traded.
The marble under my feet stopped being marble.
It became the cold tile of Finn's hallway. The chandelier became the yellow bulb above his bed. Artem's raised hands became Finn's hands, not because they looked the same, but because fear is not a careful archivist. It grabs whatever is closest and screams.
My scent must have turned, because all three of them reacted at once.
Artem's face went gray. Ivan's hand pressed flat against his own chest like I'd physically struck him. Gregor stepped sideways, not blocking me in, just blocking the world out.
It almost helped.
Then the word wedding bounced again and the old cage slammed shut.
"You think I haven't seen this before?" I wasn't shouting now. I was much worse. I was calm.. "You think I don't know how this ends?"
"Maeve—"
"My father sold me." The words came out in pieces, sharp and unstrung. "To an alpha. I tried to run. So many times. But I was an omega. I was—" My throat closed. I forced it open. "He didn't want me. He wanted the bond. The status. He brought other omegas into my home. He fucked them in my bed.”
Artem froze. "Maeve—"
The three men went perfectly, horrifyingly still. The air in the foyer suddenly dropped ten degrees, thick with a lethal, suffocating anger that wasn't directed at me, but at the ghost of the man who had broken me.
"I escaped," I sobbed, tears blurring my vision. "I made it out, but he found me. And to make sure I couldn't ever leave again... he pinned me down and put his teeth in my neck."
I grabbed the collar of Artem’s oversized shirt and yanked it down, exposing the jagged, ugly scar over my scent gland.
"I never presented my neck. He claimed me without my permission! He kept me locked in his house, cut off from my family. I hated my father for selling me, but I spent years in a cage missing them anyway! Years of torment, until I finally found the strength to run!"
My knees gave out. "I had his bond dissolved, but it didn't take away my fears. The hurt he caused me, the pain of being left by my own father for the sake of a political alliance... it doesn't just disappear, Artem." The adrenaline vanished, leaving nothing but sheer exhaustion and heartbreak.
I strode down the marble stairs with nothing to lose.
Artem rushed to me and dropped to his knees on the step, pulling me flush against his chest. A second later, Ivan was there, wrapping his massive arms around my back, shielding me from the world. Gregor knelt below us on the stairs, his large, calloused hands enveloping my bare feet, grounding me.
"No," Artem growled, his voice vibrating against my cheek. He buried his face in my neck, right over the scar, his scent washing over me in a thick, heavy wave of our match, champagne-bright and caramel-warm. "No. Never again. Moy malen'kiy tsvetok."
Ivan pressed his face into my hair, inhaling deeply. "We are not him, Maeve. We don't want anyone else. We want you."
"You’re pack," Gregor murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into my ankles. "You are the center of what we are."
They held me. Three of the most dangerous men in Europe knelt on a staircase and poured their scents over me, blanketing my panic with pure, protective Alpha pheromones. They didn't try to silence me. They let me cry until there were no tears left, until my body went entirely limp in Artem’s arms.
I took a shuddering breath, staring at Artem’s chest. "If she's just a political move," I whispered, my voice completely hoarse. "If she's just a show for the council... take me to the cottage. Let me meet her."
Artem stiffened. He exchanged a heavy, loaded look with Ivan over my head.
"Maeve, it's late," Artem said gently. "You're exhausted—"
"Take me to the cottage," I begged, looking up at him with stinging eyes. "Please. If you want me to trust you... just let me see her."
Artem closed his eyes. A muscle feathered in his jaw. Finally, he looked at Gregor, who gave a single, tight nod.
"Okay," Artem said softly.
He stood up and effortlessly lifted me into his arms. I didn't fight him. I buried my face in his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me out the front doors, with Ivan and Gregor flanking us like a royal guard.
The night air was cool against my skin as we walked across the massive estate in silence. Gravel crunched under their shoes as we approached a small, stone cottage tucked into the edge of the woods.
The estate felt different at night.
In daylight, it had manicured lawns and honey stone, the sort of countryside wealth that belonged on postcards or in period dramas where everyone had tragic cheekbones.
At night, the softer edges disappeared. Cameras winked red in the darkness. Guards were stealth-like behind the trees. The gravel path glowed pale under low garden lights, leading us away from the main house and into the black mouth of the woods.
Artem carried me like I weighed nothing.
That should have made me feel helpless.
It didn’t.
His arms were tight, but not trapping. Ivan walked close enough that his knuckles brushed my calf with every step. Gregor moved behind us, silent as a wall growing legs and deciding to patrol.
Their scents wrapped around me in layers of the same match. Champagne. Storm-clouds. Caramel.
Under all of it, my own scent answered, slowly stopping its curdling with fear.
When the guards saw us approaching, they immediately stepped aside and murmured something in Russian as they nodded their heads.
Artem gently set me down on my feet on the porch. Ivan stood close behind me, his hand resting reassuringly on the small of my back.
Artem reached out and pushed the door open.
I braced myself for a rival omega, willing and ready to take my place. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to look at her.
I locked eyes with the girl sitting at the small wooden table. She froze as she stared up at me with wide, shocked eyes.
The air rushed out of my lungs before I could gasp, "Oh my God."