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."
