Chapter 26
It’s easier to pretend the world doesn’t exist when Orien’s wrapped around me in bed.
Harder when he’s guiding me through the Blue Note with one hand on the small of my back while people track the fresh mating Marks peeking above the collar of my sweater.
By now, the worst of the aftereffects of the three Heats has faded enough for dread to settle into its place.
My thighs ache beneath borrowed sweatpants, the fresh Marks at the base of my throat pulse beneath the collar of Orien’s sweater, and every inch of me is loose and oversensitive after days spent wrapped around my Alpha.
But none of that compares to the crushing reality waiting in the back office.
Because the moment Rowan summoned us, the outside world came crashing back in.
I snuggle into Orien’s side, rubbing my cheek over his pec. “What happened to William’s suggestion that your mate recover and not leave the apartment?”
A ghost of a smile touches Orien’s mouth. “We spent all of yesterday resting.”
“Nothing about yesterday was restful,” I grumble.
Orien gives me a shrewd look. “Do you need me to carry you, trouble?”
With an offended hiss, I straighten and take a step away from my mate. No way in hell I’m meeting Rowan for the first time while being carried like a baby.
A muffled snort comes from Orien.
My head whips toward him, and I glare. How dare he think he can manipulate me?
At the secure door to the back rooms, Orien punches in the code and holds the door for me to go first.
As I pass, he smirks down at me. “Feeling more confident now?”
“No.” My hand lifts to the back of my neck. “I’m starting to question our logic.”
I’m a bonded mate. To a man whose crew my family is trying to destroy.
“Hey.” Orien pulls me to a stop and tips my chin up. “No one’s going to hurt you here.”
I grip his wrist. “Even if our mating doesn’t change my family’s plan?”
He bends until our foreheads touch. “Whose side are you choosing?”
My hand lifts to rest over the steady beat of his heart, and I match my breathing to it. “Yours.
“That’s right,” he murmurs when my breathing steadies. “Now, let’s cross this first bridge before we deal with your family.”
I want to be optimistic for Orien’s sake, but dread still churns in my stomach. “Rowan’s going to want answers.”
“He will.” Orien’s hand slides to my nape, fingers tracing his Marks, and the touch soothes me far more than when I did it to myself. “And you’re going to give them to him.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed. “I’m not usually this insecure.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” He kisses me slowly. “Three Heats in twenty-four hours would put the strongest person on their ass. I promise this won’t take long, and once we’re done, we’ll go back home and spend the rest of the day in bed watching fox videos.”
A soft laugh escapes, and I straighten away from him. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Orien guides me past a handful of closed doors to the one at the end, where he knocks once before opening it without waiting for a response.
The office beyond is larger than I expected, with a desk in the center and bookshelves lining one wall. A worn leather couch sits beneath the single window, the afternoon light streaming through the blinds to stripe the floor in gold.
Rowan stands behind the desk, a phone pressed to his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration. He raises his head as we enter, his attention flicking from Orien to me before returning to the call.
Ash sits sideways in one of the chairs across from the desk, a tablet balanced across his knees and a cup of coffee sitting untouched on the armrest. He pauses his reading as we enter, concentration giving way to surprise, then concern as he takes me in.
“You look like shit,” he says, not unkindly. “When was the last time you ate?”
The question catches me off guard. “Orien’s been shoving food into my mouth at every opportunity.”
Ash cuts my mate a disapproving glare. “As he should after what he did.”
Orien scowls. “William is a fucking loud-mouthed gossip.”
Ash lowers his tablet. “Did Angel give you the drugs?”
I, too, turn to Orien. At the time, I hadn’t stopped to wonder where and why Orien had obtained the Inductis, but it’s not an easy drug to come by.
Orien lifts one shoulder. “He might have given me some from his stash.”
Ash’s lips thin before he shakes his head and gestures for me to take the chair beside his. “You should sit before you fall down.”
Orien guides me to the offered seat, and I sink into the leather with relief, my legs grateful for the chance to rest.
Rowan ends his call and sets the phone down with a decisive click. “Thanks for coming,” he says, looking at me for the first time. “I realize you’re not at your best right now.”
I straighten in my chair. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.” He turns to Orien. “Is he stable?”
“My mate’s strong,” Orien replies, perching on the arm of my chair to stay close. “But let’s keep this brief.”
Rowan turns to the door as it opens behind us.
Ghost slips in, a file folder in one hand and two steaming mugs in the other.
He sets one in front of me, a hot chocolate based on the mound of whipped cream on top, then takes his place at Rowan’s side, keeping his thoughts locked behind his mismatched eyes.
“Okay,” Rowan says once we’re all settled. “Let’s get started.”
The meeting begins far calmer than I expected. Rowan doesn’t interrogate me or demand explanations immediately. Instead, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, and asks, “How’s the Mark setting? Any fever or swelling beyond the normal response?”
I blink at him, thrown by the question. “Not...no. Only the usual tenderness.”
“And you’re staying hydrated?” He zeroes in on the mug of hot chocolate, untouched between my hands.
I lift it and take a small sip, the sweet warmth spreading through my chest. “Yes.”
“Good.” He motions to the folder Ghost holds. “You recognize this.”
My stomach twists. “Yeah, I took it from my family’s compound. Did you read it?”
“We did,” Ghost confirms. “We would have given you the chance to tell us yourself, but Orien thought it might be time-sensitive.”
“He was right.”
“It’s an interesting read,” Rowan says, deceptively mild. “Very thorough. Your family doesn’t leave much to chance.”
The hot chocolate turns to acid. “No, they don’t. I tried to warn you—”
“You did.” Rowan cuts me off with a raised hand. “And we’re grateful. But there’s information you need before we go any further.”
He gestures to Ghost, who opens a drawer in the desk and pulls out another folder, this one thicker, the edges worn from handling. He places it on the desk between us and flips it open to reveal a stack of photographs, maps, and typed reports.
“Three months ago, we started to receive anonymous tips about Vartanian movements, weapons transfers, and expansion plans into Blue Note territory.” He slides one of the photographs toward me. “Sound familiar?”
I stare down at the grainy shot of what appears to be a delivery truck parked behind a warehouse. The logo on the side has been blurred, but the angle and lighting match the surveillance photos my uncle presented to the council last month.
Ghost pulls another paper out. “We received this a month ago.”
I take it and read the message, my attention catching on familiar buzzwords.
Aggressive expansion into West Ashford suggests an imminent territorial grab.
The Vartanian family head is pushing for confrontation rather than negotiation.
My mouth goes dry as I scan the pages. The phrasing is too similar to be a coincidence, the tactical assessments too aligned with my family’s internal discussions to have come from outside sources.
“I don’t understand. My family had no interest in the Blue Note until our data fell into your hands,” I say, the words scraping my throat. “My original mission was to come here and verify you hadn’t kept a copy and to confirm you didn’t hold a grudge.”
I cast Ash an apologetic look. “Sorry about the police scaring you and your sister.”
“Yeah, that was pretty fucked up,” he says.
I grimace and focus on the paper in my hand. “We didn’t think the Blue Note was an actual threat until we received a tip similar to this one, about the Blue Note planning to expand into our business. Someone’s been feeding both sides the same information.”
“Not the same,” Ghost corrects. “To your family, we’re the aggressors. To us, you’re the threat.”
He pulls out a third report, this one with a map attached. “Then there’s this.”
I reach for the map, a fine tremor shaking my hand. The locations marked in red match the first-phase targets in my family’s plan almost exactly. “This isn’t possible. Our sources are—”
“Compromised,” Rowan says flatly. “Or manufactured. Either way, someone’s been playing us against each other.”
“Who?” I manage. “Who would do this?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Rowan leans forward. “You understand your family’s operation better than anyone. Who would have access to this level of intelligence? Who would benefit from a war between the Vartanians and Blue Note?”
A name forms on my lips, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Not yet. Not without being sure.
“These reports,” I say instead, pointing to the dates. “They follow a pattern.”
“Three distinct phases,” Ghost agrees. “Initial contact to establish credibility. Escalation to trigger a response. And then...” He pulls out the final page, a single paragraph with several sections underlined in red. “The final push.”
I skim it, my pulse jumping as I recognize the phrasing. “This is from the council meeting. Word for word.”
“We received ours the same day,” Rowan confirms. “The timing was...convenient.”
Too convenient. As if someone knew when the family would be gathered, at what point tensions would be highest, and what push would send us over the edge.
“When did your first report arrive?” I ask, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.