Back at me.
"I owned her first." His voice had gone thin. "She's mine by right. You know the rules of—"
I laughed.
It wasn't fake. It just came out, bright and genuine and completely inappropriate, and Finn flinched like I'd slapped him.
"You never owned me," I said. I hopped off the desk. My bare feet made no sound on the rug. "You bought a piece of paper from my father. And you know what? I'm glad you did."
Finn's mouth opened. "Glad?"
"I'm glad you ignored me. Glad you humiliated me. Glad you spent every night with other women while I sat upstairs and dealt with my body, and taught myself to stop crying." I stopped beside Ivan, close enough that his free hand found the small of my back. "Because I know exactly how good my life is now. I know what a real pack feels like. If you'd just been mediocre. You know, if you'd been just neglectful enough to keep me from running, but enough to believe, I might still be in your house, convincing myself it was normal to feel nothing."
"You're a used-up—"
Click.
Ivan's thumb on the hammer. The sound cut through the room like a blade.
Finn's mouth closed. His knees trembled. I watched him realize he was going to die in a study in Surrey because hecouldn't stop himself from insulting a woman who'd already beaten him.
“Tell her you’re sorry.”
“Fuck you.”
Ivan pressed the barrel against his temple.
“Sorry–”
"Prove it," I said walking back to the desk.
"Prove what?"
"That you're sorry. On your knees. Prove it."
His face twisted. "I don't kneel for an omega."
Fergus immediately planted himself between me and Finn, growling as Gregor crossed the room in three strides. He pressed one hand on Finn's shoulder, giving him a sharp push. Finn hit the floor so hard I heard his kneecaps crack against the hard floor.
Gregor stepped back.
Fergus stayed where he was. The growl had stopped. He was just standing there now, my tiny fearless Yorkshire terrier was between me and the man who'd spent years making me wish I was dead. And another planning his death.
Fergus, who loved the taste of my slippers, and was now guarding me from a monster he'd never met because he'd decided, somewhere along the way, that I was his to protect.
I crouched down to Finn's level. He was sweating. His hands were shaking. He smelled like fear and expensive cologne and the sourness of an alpha who'd never once been held accountable for anything.
"For years I wanted you dead," I said. "When my body ached and my chest burned, I thought it was you. I thought the bond was still there, buried under the dissolution, pulling me back to Belfast. That's why I went to Prague. To kill you. To cut the last thread."
Finn stared at me. His breathing was shallow.
"But it wasn't you." I stood up. "I never felt you, Finn. I felt them. I smelled my true match in a cigar bar and my body knew before my brain caught up. I went to Prague to kill a ghost. I met my pack instead."
I walked back to the desk and picked up my tea. Bloody chamomile. I was going to have words with the housekeep about her beverage instincts.
"And now I know your death wouldn't help me," I said, turning back. "Because I don't care about you enough to want you dead. You're not worth my peace. And I refuse for my son to grow up knowing his mother killed someone. You don't get to take that too."
I nodded at Ivan.
