“We need to bolster protection around Ms. Thornback,” Yates replied. “She’s no longer just your mate. She’s carrying the next generation. Political symbols matter, and she’s become one.”
“I won’t parade her,” I said flatly. “She’s not a leverage.”
“No one is asking for that,” Morell assured. “But visible, controlled security, just enough to remind the pack she’s guarded. And by extension, that the future is, too.”
Carlton stepped forward. “We’ve already increased her detail quietly. I can elevate it further. Add perimeter shields, double rotations, verify food lines.”
“Do it,” I said. “Quietly. If she notices changes, I’ll speak with her myself.”
“Then we’ll consider this matter addressed,” Yates said. “A course of action has been set.”
“Very well,” I concluded. “This meeting is adjourned.”
The walk from the council chambers to our private wing felt like crossing a battlefield. I was still navigating the aftermath of my confession, and from the bowed heads in front of me, I knew it would take me some time to earn back their trust. But today felt like a small win. We had reached a conclusion without anybody being threatened or claws being bared.
I found Rhea in the sitting room, curled in the window seat with a book she wasn’t reading. The past two weeks had brought color back to her cheeks and softened the defensive angles of her shoulders. But worry lived in her eyes now, the kind that came from sensing danger but not being able to identify its source.
She looked up as I entered, and I saw the moment she catalogued my exhaustion. The council meeting had left its marks, tension in my jaw, the lingering scent of aggression from my altercation with Hampton. Her nose wrinkled slightly, picking up the cocktail of hostile pheromones I carried like a second skin these days.
“Bad meeting?” she asked, setting aside the book.
“They’re all bad meetings lately.” I crossed to pour whiskey from the decanter, needing something to burn away the taste of political failure.
“You’re drowning in damage control. I understand.” Her hand moved unconsciously to her belly, where the twins had been especially active lately. “But something feels wrong, Damon. The servants won’t meet my eyes. My food comes from different kitchens each meal. Guards I’ve never seen before stand outside our door.”
She was right. While I’d been fighting political fires, someone had been making subtle changes to her daily routine. Patterns disrupted, familiar faces replaced, small alterations that added up to something sinister. My wolf stirred uneasily, recognizing threats I’d been too distracted to see.
“I won’t let anything happen to you or our children.” The vow came out fiercer than intended, alpha instinct overriding political exhaustion.
“You can’t fight every battle alone.”
“I’m not alone,” I said, covering her hand with mine. “I have you.”
She studied my face for a long moment, seeming to weigh truths against lies, present actions against past betrayals. Then she leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead that felt like benediction.
“The twins need their father whole,” she said softly. “Don’t let the pack tear you apart before they’re born.”
The simple wisdom of it, the quiet support despite everything I’d done, threatened my composure more than any council hostility. I caught her hand, pressing it against my cheek, borrowing strength I desperately needed.
We prepared for bed with the careful choreography of two people relearning intimacy. She changed in the bathroom while I checked locks and reviewed security reports. When she emerged in one of my t-shirts that fell to her knees, the domesticity of it made my chest tight. This was what we could have had from the beginning if pride and blood rage hadn’t poisoned everything.
The bed felt too large with the space maintained between us, but her presence alone eased the heaviness of the day. I lay facing her, watching the twins’ movements play across her belly in the dim light. They were active tonight, responding perhaps to their parents’ proximity after so much separation.
“Dr. Mira wants to see you tomorrow,” Rhea said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “We’re starting week twenty-four. She says it’s important to check the twins’ development, especially with...”
Her hand found mine in the darkness, guiding it to where movement was strongest. “They’re bigger than they should be for twenty-four weeks. Dr. Mira says it’s because they’re alphas, but...”
“But she’s worried.” I felt the firm press of what might have been a foot against my palm. My children, growing stronger every day despite the chaos surrounding them. “What time is the appointment?”
“Ten in the morning. If you can make it with everything else…”
“I’ll be there.” The promise came instantly. Council meetings, political crises, pack challenges, none of it mattered against the health of my mate and children. “I should have been at every appointment. I’m sorry I haven’t been.”
“You’ve been trying to save a kingdom,” she said softly. “I understand the priorities.”
“You are the priority. You and them.” My hand spread wider across her belly, trying to encompass both twins. “The kingdom means nothing if I lose you.”
She was quiet for a long moment, processing the weight of that admission. In the darkness, with only the sound of our breathing and the occasional movement of our children, the truth of it settled between us like a third presence.
