Page 65 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
Artem stiffened. He exchanged a heavy, loaded look with Ivan over my head.
"Maeve, it's late," Artem said gently. "You're exhausted—"
"Take me to the cottage," I begged, looking up at him with stinging eyes. "Please. If you want me to trust you... just let me see her."
Artem closed his eyes. A muscle feathered in his jaw. Finally, he looked at Gregor, who gave a single, tight nod.
"Okay," Artem said softly.
He stood up and effortlessly lifted me into his arms. I didn't fight him. I buried my face in his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me out the front doors, with Ivan and Gregor flanking us like a royal guard.
The night air was cool against my skin as we walked across the massive estate in silence. Gravel crunched under their shoes as we approached a small, stone cottage tucked into the edge of the woods.
The estate felt different at night.
In daylight, it had manicured lawns and honey stone, the sort of countryside wealth that belonged on postcards or in period dramas where everyone had tragic cheekbones.
At night, the softer edges disappeared. Cameras winked red in the darkness. Guards were stealth-like behind the trees. The gravel path glowed pale under low garden lights, leading us away from the main house and into the black mouth of the woods.
Artem carried me like I weighed nothing.
That should have made me feel helpless.
It didn’t.
His arms were tight, but not trapping. Ivan walked close enough that his knuckles brushed my calf with every step. Gregor moved behind us, silent as a wall growing legs and deciding to patrol.
Their scents wrapped around me in layers of the same match. Champagne. Storm-clouds. Caramel.
Under all of it, my own scent answered, slowly stopping its curdling with fear.
When the guards saw us approaching, they immediately stepped aside and murmured something in Russian as they nodded their heads.
Artem gently set me down on my feet on the porch. Ivan stood close behind me, his hand resting reassuringly on the small of my back.
Artem reached out and pushed the door open.
I braced myself for a rival omega, willing and ready to take my place. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to look at her.
I locked eyes with the girl sitting at the small wooden table. She froze as she stared up at me with wide, shocked eyes.
The air rushed out of my lungs before I could gasp, "Oh my God."
14
Maeve
"What are you doinghere?"
The words scraped out of me before I could stop them.
Mary stood up so fast her chair tipped and hit the floorboards. She was trembling, her dark eyes tracking my face like she was looking for evidence of a ghost.
She'd gotten taller.
That was what my brain offered me. Not your sister is alive. Not your father is selling the spare now. Just she got taller.
The last time I'd seen her, she was fifteen and cross-legged on my bed while I painted her toenails glitter-blue and told her she could absolutely leave Dublin and do something ridiculous like study art history or date a drummer. She'd laughed. Bright and reckless.
