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“You don’t think I’m a very good person, do you?” I ask, reaching up to cup his slashed cheek. “You don’t think I can overlook superficial stuff like scars?”
“I don’t think that,” he explains. “I fear it.”
“You’re afraid that I won’t be attracted to you?” That’s a weird fear to have, considering how little it matters for werewolves to be attracted to their mates. Procreation doesn’t have to be an enjoyable, passionate thing; all we have to do is breed to keep our numbers up.
“I’m afraid that you’ll think I’m weak,” he admits. “I’m afraid that this has just proven I can’t protect you.”
“All this has proven is that you can take a major beating and survive.” How could I possibly doubt his ability to protect me, when he could have fled the throne room without me, but made sure I was taken to safety, instead?
“Besides,” I add, to lighten the mood. “It would take a lot more than an interesting scar to make you unattractive.”
And, because he’s such an egotistical piece of crap, he replies, “Oh, I know.”
“I never doubted the power of your vanity,” I say.
He takes my hand and kisses my palm. “I promise, I’ll return to work. Tomorrow. Even if I’m stuck in my sickbed, you can bring what you need to me.”
“Okay. I’ll do that.” Because I am super overwhelmed.
“And since you interrupted me,” Nathan goes on, “Maybe you’d like to…”
I squint at him, not understanding. Until I do, and I shoot to my feet in disgust. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I have to know if it still works,” he protests.
“Your hands weren’t injured,” I snap, and stalk to the stairs, not stopping when he calls, “Bailey, I was just joking!”
I wonder if it’s possible for them to put him in a medically induced coma, for his own safety. Because I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to put up with his nonsense.
CHAPTER 42
I don’t help Nathan find out “if it still works” that night, but a nagging voice in my head tells me that if I don’t, Amber will.
I’m not sure if believe him when he says they don’t go all the way. His reasoning makes sense; birth control isn’t a guarantee with werewolves. Plus, as king, he definitely wouldn’t want to endanger the future claims of our heirs.
And if he did, and he got the former queen pregnant…
As Henry the VIII as it is, I have to get pregnant before she does.
So, I send Nathan a message the next morning stating that if he can walk from his bed to mine, we can find out “if it still works.”
During the day, the only thing I’m focused on, though, is actual work. While Nathan might think he’s going to dive back into running both packs, there are too many things I’ve started that I need to finish. Namely, an integrated council between the packs. I know that people in Toronto, maybe even people in the Greater London pack won’t like it, but keeping the two packs operating separately won’t work. Toronto will continue to plot against us and Greater London, and Greater London will very likely continue to plot against Toronto. I take phone call after phone call, draft letters, get briefed on background checks and new evidence in the investigation into the riot, until well after dinner time. I have to eat at my desk. By the time I practically crawl up the stairs to my bedroom, I’ve actually forgotten about my promise to Nathan.
So, it’s a surprise to find him lounging, comfortably nude, on my bed. He raises an eyebrow at my shocked expression and makes sarcastic little jazz-hands. “Ta-da!”
I’m so tired, I don’t even try to say something clever back. But I do laugh.
“You didn’t think I could do it,” he accuses with a smug grin.
“I will never again underestimate the lengths you will go to for pussy.” I shake my head and take a seat in the armchair by the fire, bending down to unzip my ankle boots. When I first came to Aconitum Hall, I had comforted myself with thoughts of sitting in this chair and reading a book on cozy winter nights with a cup of tea. Though, I should have imagined sitting there and scrolling TikTok with a can of pop, if I was being honest with myself. In any case, the only thing I’ve had time to use the damn sitting area for is to take my shoes off.
“Come on, quit dawdling,” he says, and I think he’s joking. He better be joking. “I’ve been waiting quite a long while for this.”
“You’ve been waiting less than twelve hours for this.” I toe off my socks and stand to remove my slacks. He watches my every move as I step out of them and begin to unbutton my blouse.
