Page 76

When Nell saw me, she smiled. My steps stuttered, and I knew the cost. I knew what I would pay to have her.

I turned to face my father. "I'm willing to step down as Alpha. I can't marry Rosalind. I know what that costs and I know what it means for the alliance and I'm telling you now, in front of everyone, that I⁠—"

"Oh, hush." Sorsha Lobo sat in the armchair across from Nell, her own tea in hand. "It's already arranged. There will be a wedding tonight." She set her cup down with the decisive click of a woman closing a negotiation. "As agreed."

"I can't—" I started.

"Magnus." Nell's voice. The CEO register. The one that ended discussions.

I gave my fated mate my full attention.

Nell set her own cup down and stood. "Could everyone give us a moment?" she said to the room at large.

The room at large began to redistribute. Vidar found Addie and pulled her into him with a warning growl, which she just grinned at. Gunnar slumped down into a dainty settee, his big body looking comical in the frilly chair. My dad crossed to Sorsha, diplomacy in his stride.

"Use my bedroom."

That came from a girl in the corner of the room. I hadn't even noticed a fourth woman. It must be Rosalind. She wore a fitted dress that hugged her ample curves. Her hair was a mass of black curls. Sunglasses sat perched on her nose.

"Just please don't get any fluids on the sheets. I need to sleep there tonight with my new husband."

I opened my mouth to protest that I would not be marrying her, but Nell's hands tugged me into the bedroom. It had been hours since I'd touched her. I forgot all about the woman I was promised to marry and followed the woman who owned my heart.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

NELL

Rosalind Lobo's bedroom was not what I expected for such a fussy princess. Bags — expensive, multiple, the kind that came from stores that didn't put prices on things — were stacked along one wall in various states of unpacking. Which was to say, not unpacked. Tags still on. Tissue paper undisturbed. The careful accumulation of a woman who had been given a great deal of beautiful things and didn't care about using them.

And then the desk. I would've expected fashion magazines. Or at least bestsellers that readers purchased but never actually read. The books were huge, like old research-sized books that would be found in the back room of a university library. The Art of War. Thucydides. A thick volume on military psychology. A more recent text on organizational behavior in hierarchical systems.

Something about Rosalind Lobo did not compute. But I couldn't spare the time to figure her out right now. Because Magnus was in the room.

He crossed it in two strides. His hands found my face. He kissed me with a full, unmanaged kind of intensity. I kissed him back with everything I had; my hands on his chest, his forehead coming down to rest against mine when we finally broke apart. We stood there, just breathing each other's air.

"I'm not marrying her," he said. Low and certain.

"I know," I agreed.

"I'll step down from Alpha. The pack can⁠—"

"Magnus." I pulled back enough to look at him. "If that's what you want, I'm cool with it. But don't do it on my account. I'm sure as hell not giving up my career when we get married."

He looked at me. Opened his mouth. Closed it. In the end, he just pulled me closer. "What exactly happened out there?"

"I got you out of a marriage you didn't want. Now you can make a decision about what you actually want to do with your life."

"I decided what I wanted to do with my life the moment I picked you up and held you in my arms. That's what I want to do."

"Rescue me? I don't make a lot of mistakes to need rescuing."

In answer, he pulled me close, resting his nostrils against my forehead and inhaling deeply.

"The holding part? We can do that; we can do that a lot."

"You're mine."

"I'm yours," I agreed.