Chapter 155

Agnes’s POV

Breastfeeding was the one thing that had brought me back to myself after the rescue of my son.

Aiden’s mouth, the weight of him in my arms, the warmth of him that was different from every other warmth in the world. My body remembering what it was for.

I looked down at him.

He was looking up at me with the focused intensity of someone conducting very important business, and I felt the familiar tightness in my chest that had been living there since I had gotten him back - fear of losing him again, which I understood was going to live in me for a long time regardless of how safe he was.

I was going to leave.

I knew this.

I was going to leave. For my son. For me.

I was going to take Aiden and I was going to find somewhere quiet and small and mine, and I was going to build something that didn’t include my heart making terrible decisions and my thoughts filled with my sister’s husband.

I tucked Aiden in, in his crib, making sure the blanket sat right, making sure he was comfortable, watching his face go slack with the trust of deep sleep.

I turned to the maid who was tidying up the room.

"Find out if the Alpha is available," I said. "Not his brother. The Alpha."

The maid nodded and went.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my sleeping son and thought about money and distance and the kind of freedom that came from starting life anew. A life where no one would know us, or our past.

The maid came back.

"The Alpha is in throne room, milady," she said. "He’s addressing pack matters."

I looked at her. "You’re certain it’s the Alpha?"

The maid looked uncertain in the way of someone who had been asked a question they hadn’t thought to verify. "I... I believe so, my lady."

I decided to believe it too.

"Stay with him," I said. "I’ll be back." Then I left the room, towards the throne room, in search of Terrell for the hundredth time.

I spotted a figure from far down the corridor as I approached.

Tall. Dark coat, with the kind of posture both brothers had.

I couldn’t tell which one from here. And I didn’t want to risk running into Merrick right now.

I turned before I had made a conscious decision to turn, stepped through the nearest door, and pressed myself against the wall with the dignity of a woman who was definitely not hiding.

Footsteps.

I heard them pass.

I waited.

The footsteps stopped.

I held very still.

They came back.

Slower, this time, as if someone was following something they had picked up in the air...

The door opened.

Merrick stood in it.

He looked at me, then he turned and looked at the corridor behind him.

He looked back at me.

"Why are you hiding?"

"I’m not hiding."

He looked at the room I was standing in - someone’s storage room, shelves, a space not designed for people to stand in pressed against walls. He looked back at me. He said nothing, which was somehow worse.

"I was..." I pushed off the wall. "I wasn’t hiding."

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing." I moved toward the door. "Excuse me."

He filled the doorway.

"Where are you going?"

"To the throne room."

"To see Terrell?"

I said nothing, which he took as the confirmation it was.

"Agnes..."

"Please move aside," I said.

"One minute..."

"I don’t have a minute."

I tried to go around him. He shifted. I tried the other side. He shifted again, with the infuriating ease of someone who had twice my wingspan and knew it.

"I’ve been looking for you," he said. "I need five minutes."

"I don’t want five minutes." I pushed. I put my hands on his chest and pushed with the intention of moving him. "I’m busy. I have things to do. Important things that don’t involve..."

I knew what he wanted to say.

That was the problem. I had known since that morning I’d told him about my plans to leave. I knew what was going to come out of his mouth and I could not hear it because I didn’t need anything to tug at my heart. Anything to stop me from leaving. Especially if that that was forbidden.

"Let me go," I said.

"Agnes..."

"I said let me..."

He said something low and short under his breath, like a curse word. And before I could register what it was, he leaned in.

Then he kissed me.

I fought it for three seconds.

Three full, effortful, sincere seconds of pushing against it with everything I had.

Then something in me simply — stopped fighting.

And it was — I had expected, if I had been honest with myself, that I would feel the wrongness of it, would feel the guilt of it, would feel my sister’s face arriving like a verdict.

Instead I felt...

Home.

Like a key in the right lock.

My late husband had taken time. Good man, kind man, I had loved him in the way you loved someone who deserved it — built carefully, brick by brick, over months of proximity and trust.

This required nothing.

This was simply already there.

And he is your sister’s husband.

I broke away, stepped back and slapped him hard across the face.

He didn’t flinch.

He stood there and let me look at the mark of my palm on his face, and his expression was not apologetic.

"Why would you do that," I said. Through my teeth.

"So you’d stop talking and listen."

I looked at him. "You have my attention," I said. "Congratulations. What."

"Not here." He looked at the storage room. "Come to my room."

"I’m not going to your room..."

"Agnes." He held out his hand. "It’s five minutes. Then you can go wherever you want."

I looked at his hand.

I looked at his face.

"I can walk on my own," I said.

"I know," he said.

I walked past him into the corridor and followed him without taking his hand.

Merrick’s POV

I opened my bedroom door and stood aside.

She went in without looking at me, which was fine. I was getting used to the ways she moved - the pride in every step, the tilt of her head when she was determined to communicate that she was not impressed by anything.

I thought, watching her cross my room, that I had clearly lost my mind.

How on earth was this even happening?

My type of women have always been soft, luscious, warm and curvy. The kind of woman who filled a room with something gentle. I had always gone in that direction - easy, uncomplicated, innocent.

And here was Agnes.

All sharp edges and scorched patience and the kind of pride that had survived things that would have broken other people — standing in my room with the evidence of her hand print still on my cheek, looking at me like she was ready for whatever came next.

Terrell’s type, it turned out, was my type.

And apparently my type had been Terrell’s type all along.

The universe, I reflected, had a comprehensive sense of humor.

I closed the door behind me.

"I spoke to Terrell," I said. "And Angel."

She looked at me. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You wanted to leave," I said. "You were going to Terrell for money."

Something shifted in her expression. The slight narrowing of someone whose private plan has been named out loud.

"You don’t have to leave," I said.

"That’s not your decision."

"Agnes." I crossed to her. "I know why you’re leaving. I know what you’re afraid of doing to Angel." I stopped in front of her. "So I’m telling you — it’s already done. Angel knows. Terrell knows. My marriage will be dissolved." I picked up her hand. Held it. Felt her stiffen and held on anyway. "You don’t have to run."

She stared at me.

"I can protect you," I said. "Both of you. You and Aiden. We go to my castle, we build something there, and I swear to you..."

"What are you..." She stepped back. I came with her, because I was not letting her step away from this. "What are you saying? What does that even mean? You... we barely..."

"Agnes."

"I have... I don’t have any feelings, I don’t know what you’re..."

I put my hand over her mouth.

She looked at me over it with blazing eyes.

"Don’t finish that sentence," I said quietly. "I know your heart already."

I watched her eyes — the blazing, furious, terrified eyes — suddenly soften.

I dropped her hand.

And I pulled her into my arms.

I buried my face in her neck, and her scent enveloped me immediately. It wasn’t sweet and innocent like angel’s, hers was warm and airy like a cool night breeze. It was like walking in a green field under the moonlight.

My wolf started surging forward with everything it had, trying to claim her right there, but I held it back with the determination of a man who knew that this wasn’t the right moment.

I felt her shoulders.

Once rigid, slowly started to ease and relax.

Then her arms came around me and hugged me back.

I closed my eyes.

"I want to see Aiden," I said after a while. Quietly.

I pulled back and looked at her face.

"Okay," she said.

She took my hand.

I followed her — out the door, down the corridor, with my hand in hers and my wolf absolutely insufferable about it — and I let myself be led like a mischievous teenager in love.

She stopped at the door.

Used her free hand to open it, then led me in.

But then she stopped short.

Her hand went cold in mine.

"My baby," she said.

Very quietly.

"My baby is gone."