Page 30 of Curvy Sold Mate

The question came out casual, unweighted, as though asking about an old friend rather than the woman Viktor had married three weeks ago. Viktor pursed his lips and clenched his fist.

“She’s in the great hall. Meeting with the council about the spring planting.”

“Still running things behind the scenes, huh? Some things never change.” Damian moved to the window, looked out at the darkening compound. “I heard about the kidnapping. Rough business.”

“You heard.”

“News travels. Even to the backwaters where I’ve been hiding.” He turned back, and his expression had shifted—the smile still there, but something underneath it had sharpened. “I also heard about the marriage.”

Viktor waited. The room felt smaller than it had a moment ago, the walls pressing closer, the air between them charged with everything that wasn’t being said.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Damian said. “Or is that the wrong thing to say?”

“It’s been said.”

“Right.” Damian ran a hand through his hair—a gesture Viktor recognized from childhood, the tell that meant his brother was choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I didn’t come back to stir up trouble. I’ve been on the road for four years, and I’m tired, and I wanted to see family. That’s all.”

“Family.”

“You. Kahn. The pack.” A pause. “Olivia.”

The name hung in the air between them. Viktor felt the bond pulse in his chest—a low, steady warmth that had become as much a part of his awareness as his own heartbeat—and wondered, not for the first time, whether Damian could sense it. Whether the history between his brother and his wife carried its own frequency, audible to those who had been part of it.

“She’s married now,” Viktor said. The words came out flatter than he intended, stripped of inflection, a statement of fact rather than a warning.

“I know. I’m not here to—” Damian stopped. Shook his head. “Come on, Viktor. It was years ago.”

“That doesn’t negate the existence of it.”

“It was three months. It ended. We moved on.” He stepped closer, and the distance between them narrowed to the space where old arguments lived. “Unless you haven’t moved on. Is that what this is? Four years of holding a grudge because I had something you wanted?”

The accusation landed with the precision of a blade slipped between ribs. Viktor felt it cut—felt the truth of it, the ugly, undeniable truth that he had carried for eight years and would carry for eight more if necessary—and he filed it away, sealed it, and continued.

“The great hall is that way,” he said, nodding toward the corridor. “If you want to see her.”

Damian studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled—the smile that had always been his first and best defense—and clapped Viktor on the shoulder.

“Lead the way, brother.”

They walked through the compound in silence. The evening had deepened, the sconces casting long shadows across the stone floors, and Viktor was acutely aware of his brother beside him—the rhythm of his breathing, the scent of road dust and cheap soap that clung to his clothes.

They reached the great hall. The council meeting had ended, and the room was emptying—wolves filing out in twos and threes, conversations trailing behind them. Olivia stood at the far end, speaking with Caitlynn, her back to the door.

Viktor watched his brother’s face as Damian saw her.

The change was subtle—a softening around the eyes, a slight intake of breath. Damian’s expression didn’t carry the weight Viktor knew his own did. It was simpler, warmer, the look of someone remembering a pleasant afternoon rather than carrying a decade of want.

“Olivia,” Damian called.

She turned.

Viktor watched it happen in slow motion—the recognition, the surprise, the careful rearrangement of her features into something that looked like pleasure. She smiled, and the smile reached her eyes.

“Damian.” She crossed the room, and Viktor watched his brother’s gaze travel over her—the appreciative sweep that took in her figure, her face, the way she moved through space—and irritation buzzed in him. “You’re here.”

“Couldn’t stay away forever.” Damian stepped forward, and then he was hugging her—a full-body embrace that lifted her slightly off her feet, his face buried in her hair for a moment that stretched too long. “God, it’s good to see you.”

Viktor stood at the edge of the moment, a spectator to his own life. He watched Olivia’s hands come up to Damian’s shoulders, watched her laugh—the sound bright and surprised—and felt the distance between them expand to include a third person who had once known her in ways Viktor still didn’t. He cataloged what he saw with the detached precision of a man conducting surveillance on his own dissolution. Damian’s hands on her shoulders, the fingers spread wide, the grip easy and possessive in the unselfconscious way of someone who had once been allowed to touch and saw no reason the allowance should have expired.