“The books say pregnancy changes the body’s center of gravity,” he said, focusing on his task. “Puts extra strain on feet and ankles. I should have noticed sooner.”
“You had other concerns,” I found myself saying, then wondered why I was offering him excuses.
“No concern is more important than your well-being. Yours and the pup’s.” His hands continued their careful work, and I noticed calluses I didn’t remember from our brief time together. “I’ve been implementing changes in the pack. Things your father advocated for years ago.”
“What kind of changes?” I asked, curiosity overcoming caution.
“Protection laws for pregnant omegas. Mandatory leave policies. Healthcare reforms that ensure no omega goes without proper medical care during pregnancy or birth.” He switched to my other foot, maintaining the same careful attention. “I was reading through old council notes and found dozens of proposals from your father. Good ones. Ones that would have helped so many if I hadn’t been too proud to see their value.”
“The council approved them?”
“This morning. Unanimous vote once I made my position clear.” A wry smile crossed his face. “Turns out they’re much more amenable to omega rights when their Lycan King insists on it.”
“The one my father proposed three years ago?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. That particular act had been his passion project, shot down repeatedly by conservative council members.
“Yes. I was a fool to dismiss it then.” His hands stilled for a moment, regret clouding his features. “I dismissed so many things that didn’t directly affect me. I see now how willfully blind I was.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You changed everything. Made me see what I refused to look at.” His hands resumed their gentle work, but his voice carried the weight of hard-won realization. “Every reform I’m implementing is something that would have protected you. Would have prevented... so much pain.”
The foot massage had become something more than physical relief. It was a metaphor playing out in real time, the mightyalphaserving, the wronged omega slowly accepting care. Both of us were navigating this strange new dynamic where old rules no longer applied.
“The council must be thrilled,” I said dryly, imagining Hampton and Yates’ faces at these progressive reforms.
“The council serves at my pleasure,” Damon replied with a hint of his old authority. “Those who can’t accept the new direction are welcome to retire. Several already have.”
“You’re reshaping the entire power structure for...” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“For our pup. For you. For every omega who deserves better than what we’ve given them.” He lifted my feet from the water, patting them dry with a towel so soft it must have been specially selected. “And selfishly, because I need to build a world where you might someday forgive me.”
The honesty of that admission took my breath away. He wasn’t pretending altruism or claiming some grand awakening. He was acknowledging the personal motivation behind these sweepingchanges – a desperate attempt to earn forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.
“Forgiveness isn’t that simple,” I said quietly.
“I know. But I have to try. Every day, in every way I can think of, I have to try.” He slipped my feet back into the slippers, then surprised me again by not immediately rising from his knees. “I know I have no right to ask, but... will you tell me about your time away? About how you survived?”
The question opened wounds I’d tried to keep closed. But sitting here, feet soothed by his care, surrounded by evidence of his attempts to change, I found words spilling out. I told him about the roach-infested motel that first week. About finding work with Wayne, who asked no questions and paid in cash. About learning to stretch dollars and swallow pride. About nights spent calculating whether I could afford both food and prenatal vitamins.
He listened without interrupting, his face cycling through expressions of rage, guilt, and something that might have been admiration. When I described the rogue wolves’ attack, his hands clenched into fists, claws threatening to emerge.
“They’re still out there,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Still hunting.”
“They’re not important anymore,” I said, surprised to realize I meant it. “I survived. That’s what matters.”
“You survived because you’re stronger than any of us realized. Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.” He finally rose from his knees, but only to sit beside me on the couch, maintainingcareful distance. “I spent months thinking I was dying without you. But you... you built a life from nothing. Protected our pup alone. You’re extraordinary, Rhea.”
The praise felt uncomfortable after months of being nobody. But underneath the discomfort was a warmth that threatened the cold anger I needed to maintain.
“I did what I had to do,” I deflected.
“No. You did more than that. You thrived where others would have broken. You found people to care for you when I failed to. You protected our child when I didn’t even know they existed.” His voice roughened with emotion. “I’m humbled by your strength. And ashamed it was necessary.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever response I might have made. Carlton appeared in the doorway, his expression grave in a way that immediately set off alarm bells. He carried a thick folder that seemed to weigh more than paper should.
“Damon,” he said, his tone urgent and careful. “You need to see this about Prince Laziel’s death.”
33
