Page 62 of Scarlet Wars
“Stop!” Emma yelled, the word ragged, splintering the violence like lightning through a storm. “Just stop.”
And for the smallest fraction of a heartbeat, everything did stop.
My stomach dropped, the weight of it dragging me under, because I knew what was coming.
However grateful I was for her saving Sean, she better not agree to this, she better not be forced into yet another True Bond, not after everything she’s already endured, not while I still had breath in my body to fight it, not while I?—
“Let’s talk about this,” she interrupted my thoughts quickly, words tumbling out between short, hard breaths, and though her voice shook with urgency, her spine remained unbent, defiance woven into every syllable.
The High Chief arched a brow. “Not much to talk about, Ms. Thompson. Choose to bond with your mate, do it now, and mister McGrath will live.”
It was a tactic that might have worked on others—corner them, offer safety in exchange for chains—but not Emma.
Her breathing slowed, she squared her shoulders, and then she spoke with a chill professionalism that made the room itself pause.
“Then let’s negotiate. Surely, you are not unreasonable?”
The High Chief’s smile faded into something harder, something edged with disdain. “We are also not easy to manipulate, Ms. Thompson. Why would we entertain your requests if we can simply threaten you into compliance?
Emma didn’t flinch. “Because if you negotiate with me, you can stipulate your own terms. Like me keeping what happened here today a secret from the rest of the world. You can either control me or the narrative, but not both. Unless you negotiate.”
The High Chief shifted his weight. “Our reputation is not something we care about.”
“That would be shortsighted,” she said evenly, her retort sharp as glass, “since your illegitimate position suggests it could benefit from a cleaner one, rather than a tainted one.”
For a fraction of a second, the Chief’s expression betrayed a flicker of doubt before he gave a single, curt nod. “You have a proposition?”
Her answer came crisp, unshaken. “I do.”
And just like that, the balance in the room shifted; the two of them moved toward the table, taking their places across from each other as opponents stepping into an arena.
“How long?” she asked, her question clear and steady.
The High Chief tilted his head. “How long…what?”
“How long before I give birth to my son, Alek?”
The Chiefs watched them with predatory patience, and the High Chief shook his head once, almost indulgently. “We can only jump to a certain time we set on the Nexus before we jump. We haven’t found the exact moment in time yet that you do.”
Emma dragged her hand slowly over her mouth, as though pulling herself into the center of gravity, then leaned forward. “What have you found?”
“We found Alek as a child,” the Chief replied, all stripped of theatrics now, all business, all weight. “In about five years, he will be three years old, roughly estimated.”
His focus flicked to Walker. “And will look a lot like you.”
The words landed like a fist to my gut.
Emma’s eyes sharpened, calculation flickering. “Which means he’ll be born in about two years.”
“Yes.”
“Which means I’ll be pregnant in a little over a year.”
“Yes.”
Her expression turned thoughtful, too calm, too unhurried. “Give me a year.”
The Chief frowned, suspicion flickering across his features. “What do you mean?”
