Page 165 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“And your heart?”

I looked at the door, then at the nest, at the scarf, the clothes, the cushions and blankets that had gradually made my nest mine. “My heart is being stupid.”

Maeve’s voice softened. “Hearts often are.”

“Please send Gregor.”

“He’s already gone.”

I hung up and sat there for a moment with the phone in my hand.

Then I got dressed quietly, like a woman who wasn’t leaving forever, only trying to keep a family from breaking in half.

Chapter 27

Hudson

Mary had been gone for two days.

She’d picked up the phone once, and that was to tell us to deal with Damien before finding her. She hadn’t sounded cruel. She’d sounded tired.

My alpha command had slipped beneath the words when I told her to come home. Since then, the silence on the other end had gone cold.

Lincoln didn’t speak for nearly a minute after that call. Then he sent flowers. White tulips, purple irises, and wild violets in a low ceramic bowl because Mary disliked things that looked designed to die dramatically in a vase.

They came back six hours later with the courier looking terrified and a note in Maeve’s handwriting.

She said no.

Lincoln read it once, then took the flowers to the terrace and stood in the rain with them until I went out and brought him back inside.

Then I sent messages I could barely look at afterward.

Lincoln sent voice notes because he said she needed to hear his voice.

She didn’t reply to either of us.

This afternoon, we went to Surrey. I drove too fast, and Lincoln didn’t tell me to slow down.

At Maeve’s gates, the guard looked apologetic before he even spoke. Artem came down himself, standing on the other side of the iron in a dark coat, rain threading through his black hair.

“Hudson. Lincoln.”

“Open the gates,” Lincoln said.

Artem’s eyes moved to him. “I am sorry.”

“She’s carrying our children,” Lincoln said.

“I know.”

“She’s our omega.”

“I know that too.”

“Then open the gates.”

Artem looked at me. “Only Mary can open them.”