“Good?” I ask, raspy.

He doesn’t nod or agree, and I experience a moment of fear that I might not be to his liking. But as I’m about to ask, he takes off his shirt. I blink wistfully at the knots of scars on his chest, the wounds that I wish I had been there to treat for him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

I nod, waiting for him to climb over me—and then melt into the bed when I realize that he didn’t mean my mouth. His aimless, assured, leisurely licks quickly turn into something greedy and violent. His guttural “fuck” followed by a groan, tells me that yes.

This is good.

“You will come back to me,” he whispers against my skin. “And I’ll punish you for making me wait. And I’ll keep you underneath me for weeks. And you will admit that I was right all along.”

I can’t let myself believe a word of it. So I sink back into the pillow when I feel a shiver run down my spine, and the pleasure crashes into me.

Chapter 19

THE CONCESSION Gabriel

Martia and Ivar meet me outside my rooms in the silent hours before dawn.

“Do we have confirmation?” I ask.

“House Larsen is planning on making a move tomorrow,” he says, sounding remarkably awake despite the sudden summons.

“Time?”

“Late morning, according to my sources.”

“Sabotage?”

He nods. “They’re planning to disable the sealing systems in the military wing.”

“But they’ve also been gathering weapons and forces,” Martia adds. “They might be planning attacks on multiple fronts. As you suspected.”

“Make sure we⁠—”

“We have people watching their every move, yes.” She glances at the door I just closed behind me. “What about…?”

“She wants to return to House Larsen, yes.” I don’t even try to keep my tone neutral. I have no doubt that they can smell what just happened between me and Sofia.

“Good,” Ivar says. “That’ll guarantee that everything is by the book, and⁠—”

“It’s not fucking good.” I close my eyes. Since punching my brother and thrashing the corridor will accomplish nothing, I reluctantly concede, “But it might be for the best. If they’re still debating whether to retaliate on me for claiming the Right, the state in which I’ll send her back will tip them over.” I run a hand down my face, already regretting every single thing that came out of my mouth. It’s too dangerous. It’s wrong. She belongs exactly where she is right now. She’s finally starting to smell the way she was always supposed to, and fuck anyone who is interested in changing that.

Fuck House Larsen.

If they all end up dead by this time tomorrow, I will dance on their rotting bodies.

“Gabe,” my brother starts, and I recognize the tone as the conciliatory one he uses for requests that will make me want to throw him around a little. “Tomorrow morning, when Lennart comes back for her, you shouldn’t be there.”

He clearly expects a fight. But the knowledge that she’s safely ensconced in my quarters, her lingering taste in my mouth, they must calm the most impulsive Alpha bits of me, because I easily understand his reasoning. “I won’t,” I agree. “I’ll need to meet with the council, anyway. But,” I add, “I want someone near her every second she is in the Larsen wing. I don’t give a fuck who you have to bribe or if they have to cut off their own arms and legs in order to crawl through the air ducts and keep a visual on her. She is to never be alone, not even for a minute. If something—anything—happens to her while she’s out of my sight, I will personally kill the entire chain of command⁠—”

“Yeah,” Martia interrupts quietly, exchanging a long-suffering look with Ivar. “We get it, Gabe.”

I open the door to my rooms. “Make sure everybody fucking does,” I say, before disappearing back inside.

Chapter 20

THE MOTHER Sofia

Sunlight filters through the water, bathing Gabriel’s bed in a golden glow. I wake up, gradually, and before even opening my eyes, I become aware of the slight change in the hum of the environmental controls. They’re whirring at a higher frequency, working more intensely, as always when dealing with a rising High.

There is a warm body next to mine. It was there throughout the night, stroking me, holding me, playing with my hair, pressing kisses in odd, hidden places—the inside of my elbow, the top of my sternum, the dip of my lower back. Once or twice, even my mouth. Gabriel hates sleeping on soft surfaces, that much is obvious. And yet, I suspect he hated the idea of sleeping away from me even more.

With a small, tired smile, I reach across the mattress, expecting to come across a solid stretch of muscles. But when I encounter it, I find it remarkably hairier than before.

So hairy, my eyelids flutter open.

Alex is staring at me with an outraged expression, and I instantly snatch my hand back. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I thought you were… You really shouldn’t eat me. I’m too gamey to be enjoyable and⁠—”

“Lady Larsen,” says a voice from behind me.

I roll to my back to find Bastian, who is also staring at me.

Clearly, watching me is this morning’s official pastime.

With a tug on the blankets to cover my chest, I ask, “What is, um, going on?”

“Your mate is here. It’s time to go home.”

I sit up. Run a hand through the mess of my hair as I glance around. “Gabriel?”

“The general already left.” There is a tinge of pity in Bastian’s eyes. A touch of commiseration that could be related to the overwhelming scent of what obviously happened here last night, to his perception that I was forced to do something I didn’t want, or to my obvious dismay at Gabriel’s absence. Martia’s Omega seems to have gone from despising me to feeling sorry for me, and I hate it.

I had the night of my life, thank you very much, I want to yell. I came about thirty times. I feel as if my body really belongs to me for the first time since I presented. Don’t look at me like that, you jackass.

I refrain from screaming at the seneschal. Instead I pull the covers higher and ask, “Is Gabriel okay with me…?”

“His Right has been exhausted. Not only are you free to leave, but you must.”

“Shouldn’t I wait for him to return?”

“I fail to see why,” the seneschal says, that hint of pity morphing into outright condolences.

“Great,” I say, sitting up in the bed, trying not to think about last night. About all the things he said. About the fact that when he woke up earlier this morning, he looked at me and decided to leave without feeling the need to exchange any last words.

Do you want to go back to him?

I said yes. That appears to be all there is to it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, happy with how firm my voice sounds. Bile churns in my throat. “I would like some privacy to change back into my mating dress.”

Lennart cannot meet my eyes, not for the entire trip from Gabriel’s chambers to the Larsen wing.

I try to excuse his behavior, telling myself that being a Beta makes the situation exponentially worse for him. His inability to inhale my scent, deconstruct its layers, and inspect each note for clues of what was done to me in the last forty-eight hours forces his imagination to run amok, unconstrained by any boundaries.

It doesn’t help that the four guards his father sent to escort us are all Alphas. The knowledge that they can speculate with some accuracy on the nature of what occurred fills the heavy silence as we step down the stone corridors.

And there’s the fact that my newfound sensitivity to scents isn’t going anywhere. I half thought that it was a product of being temporarily in a unfamiliar setting, but I find myself able to easily pick up traces that just a few days ago would have been impossible. From the taller Alpha in the group, there is the lingering note of a female Omega on her clothes, as if they were handled by her partner. The older man smells as though he shares quarters with a large family of mixed designations. And Lennart…