“Tell her we’re coming back. Tell her we’ll secure this seat and then we’re coming home to her and our son.”
I repeated it.
Fresh tears slid down Maeve’s face.
“And tell her,” Artem added, “we’re going to take care of her and all our babies.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. “Babies. Plural.”
I considered my answer carefully. “Alphas tend to be ambitious.”
She laughed weakly.
“I’m ending the call,” I told Artem. “I may need to use my field knowledge.”
Maeve narrowed her eyes on me. “Why did you say that?”
I paused.
“Gregor,” Maeve said slowly.
“I have a field suture kit,” I said.
Her expression transformed instantly into horror. “You were going to sew me up with a field kit?”
“Only if necessary.”
“Artem!,” she yelled toward the phone, clutching Mac tighter. “Tell him he can’t sew me up. I need to look neat down there."
Ivan’s laughter exploded down the line.
Artem made a strangled sound. “Gregor.”
“Pakhan.”
“Do not sew my wife.”
Maeve glared at the phone. “I’m not your wife.”
A beat.
Then Artem, very slowly said, “Do not sew my not-yet-wife.”
I looked at the ceiling. “I’ll call you later, Pakhan.”
10
Artem
I looked at thephotograph until Ivan said my name twice and I realized we'd arrived, and I was still staring at a screen like a teenager with his first crush.
"Put it away," Ivan said. Not unkindly. "You're about to walk into a room full of men who can smell sentiment like sharks smell blood."
"He's got her finger," I said.
"I know. I saw. You've shown me four times."
"That's his whole hand around just her finger, Ivan."
