“Your instincts would have seen any unmated male approaching her as a threat,” Carlton confirmed. “Especially a family member who might claim prior rights.”
The logic was horrifying in its simplicity. My wolf, still riding high from claiming its mate, would have reacted violently to any perceived threat. And Laziel, going to her room in the middle of the night, would have triggered every protective instinct.
“But I would have remembered. How could I not remember killing my own brother?”
Carlton showed more case studies, focusing on memory loss in alpha rage states. The brain’s inability to form memories during extreme dissociative episodes. Blackouts that left holes where violence lived. It was documented, studied, and understood by those who specialized in alpha psychology.
“The territorial instinct would have been overwhelming,” he explained. “Your wolf would have taken complete control, operating on base instinct. Protect mate. Eliminate threat. Human consciousness gets suppressed entirely.”
I sank into my chair, the weight of possibility crushing. Had I killed Laziel? Had I torn apart my brother in a rage I couldn’t remember? The evidence suggested it, painted a picture of an alpha lost to instinct, acting on primitive drives.
“This doesn’t excuse anything,” I said, voice hollow. “If I killed him...”
“You need all the facts before drawing conclusions,” Carlton interrupted. “There’s one more thing, sir. Laziel’s personal journal mentions his obsession with Miss Thornback. He had planned to confront her that night.”
34
— • —
Rhea
I sat in the window seat, one hand absently rubbing circles on my belly. The twins responded with lazy movements, their activity patterns becoming as familiar as breathing. A few hours had passed since Carlton’s visit with his mysterious folder.
My fingers traced patterns on the window glass, leaving fog that quickly evaporated. Outside, guards patrolled in patterns I’d memorized, their movements a reminder that this comfort came with bars. But even that had changed. Where before they’d watched me with suspicion, now they nodded respectfully when our paths crossed. Some even smiled, genuine warmth replacing professional distance.
The twins shifted again, one pressing what felt like an elbow into my ribs while the other performed acrobatics against my bladder. They were strong already, their movements gainingpower daily. Alpha genetics, the healer had noted with carefully neutral expression. They would be formidable from birth, demanding everything from my body to build themselves into predators.
I thought about the woman I’d been months ago, standing in this same compound in my green dress, innocent of what was to come. That Rhea had worried about proper etiquette and making her parents proud. She’d had no idea that within hours she’d be claimed, marked, and set on a path that would destroy everything familiar.
Would she have run if she’d known? Fled the ceremony before heat could betray her? Or would she have walked the same path, drawn by biological imperative and the mate bond’s cruel poetry? I touched the scar on my neck, feeling the raised tissue that would never fully heal. Sometimes phantom pain still shot through it, my body remembering the violence of our severing.
The door opened softly, and Sophia entered with herbal tea. She’d become a constant presence, anticipating needs before I voiced them. Her omega nature made her safe in ways others weren’t, though I wondered sometimes what she truly thought of serving the notorious female who’d supposedly murdered a prince.
“You’re thinking too hard again.” Sophia set the tea on the side table, her observation gentle but accurate.
“How can you tell?” I watched steam curl from the cup, patterns that dissipated like everything else in my life.
“You get this little line between your eyebrows. The Lycan King gets the same one.” She arranged pillows behind my backwith practiced efficiency, supporting the new weight distribution pregnancy demanded.
“We’re nothing alike.” The denial came automatically, though even I heard its weakness.
“If you say so, miss.” Sophia’s tone carried the particular neutrality of someone who saw more than they’d ever say.
She bustled about the room, straightening things that didn’t need straightening, maintaining the illusion of purpose that kept conversations casual. But I caught her glances, the way she assessed my color, my posture, my general well-being. Everyone watched me now, waiting for signs of what? Breakdown? Acceptance? Some signal that would tell them how to proceed?
“He’s trying very hard,” Sophia ventured after a moment. “The whole staff has noticed.”
“Trying doesn’t erase history.” I picked up the tea, inhaling herbs meant to soothe both mother and children. “Almost five months of exile, my parents in the outbacks, my life destroyed. Tea and foot rubs don’t balance those scales.”
“No,” she agreed simply. “But perhaps they’re not meant to balance. Perhaps they’re just... a beginning.”
A beginning of what? I wanted to ask. But Sophia was already moving toward the door, her point made in that subtle way omegas perfected. We understood each other, she and I. Both of us navigating a world where our instincts made us valuable in specific ways, vulnerable in all others.
Alone again, I considered the past week through this new lens. Not as payment for crimes or manipulation for forgiveness, but as fumbling attempts at connection. Damon didn’t know how to apologize for something so vast, so he brought breakfast. He couldn’t undo the past, so he tried to secure the future with reforms and nursery plans.
It was almost endearing, if I let myself think of it that way. Which I couldn’t afford to do. The moment I softened completely was the moment I became vulnerable again. The twins needed me strong, needed me to remember that their father’s kindness came only after cruelty had run its course.
But still, watching him research optimal room temperatures for newborns at midnight, seeing his genuine joy when the baby moved beneath his palm, feeling his desperate attempts to provide everything we might need... it was becoming harder to maintain the cold distance that protected me.
