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So I do. I stop fighting it, stop trying to hold any of myself back, and the sound that comes out of me is nothing I’d choose to let anyone hear. And Orien’s pleased rumble makes it all worth it.

When I come, it’s in my pants with my fingers twisted in his shirt and my forehead tucked into the curve of his shoulder, shaking. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t ease up, until I shove weakly at his wrist, and my knees shake so hard I’d be a puddle on the floor if not for his hold on me.

He bends to capture my parted lips in a slow kiss, and the gentleness is the worst part. I wasn’t ready for it, and my eyes burn.

When he pulls back, his desire remains, but new tenderness tempers it. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses me again and fixes the front of my jeans. “Come home with me.”

I should say no. Spending another night with Orien will only widen the rift between who I was and who I could be with him.

But I don’t want to leave him yet. “All right.”

Relief flashes before his face smooths back to its usual neutrality. “Let’s go.”

We slip out the side exit, avoiding the crowd, and his hand stays linked with mine as he drives us to his apartment.

Inside, he drops his keys on the small table by the door and turns to pull me back into his arms.

His mouth finds mine, gentler this time, and I melt into it, my arms sliding around his waist to hold him close. His hand cradles the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and a small, hungry sound escapes me.

Knees bending, he lifts me and turns, striding to his bedroom, where he lays me down, and I once again lose myself to my Alpha.

20

Aweek later, the summons with a time and place to meet comes from Mikhail’s assistant rather than from Alexei’s direct line.

That distinction is a clear signal of the temperature waiting for me inside the compound.

I park in my usual spot and sit with my hands on the wheel, staring at the security cameras as they pivot to track my arrival. My thumbnail finds a small crack in the leather of the steering wheel and digs into it as I fight down the urge to vomit.

A physical threat would have been cleaner. A fight with Orien would have an end, win or lose. This is different. This is a judgment I can’t strike back at, only endure.

With a steadying breath, I climb out and stride to the side entrance, my pulse pounding as I hold my palm over the reader, waiting to see if it will accept my print or if the family has already cut me out.

When the heavy door swings open on well-oiled hinges, it doesn’t come as a relief. At least if they had locked me out, I could have avoided facing my brother after betraying him.

The corridor beyond is empty, and my footsteps echo on the marble as I head for the east wing, each step taking me closer to whatever waits in the council chamber.

When I enter, the chamber is a sea of empty chairs. Only the core of the council waits for me. Uncle Mikhail stands rather than sits at his place at the table, two senior council members flanking him with their hands folded and their faces closed.

My uncles, Giorgi and Aram, sit with identical posture, backs straight. Giorgi’s fingers rest flat on the table, still as death. Aram’s thumb worries his cuff, the only movement in the room.

Alexei occupies his usual seat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled before him, unreadable as ever.

The family crest hangs on the far wall, carved from a single piece of oak and polished to a perfect shine. It goes ignored as I take my place at the end of the table, standing rather than sitting.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” Mikhail says, the formal courtesy an immediate warning. He never thanks me for anything. “We’re reviewing the outcome of the recent pressure campaign.”

I keep my shoulders back and my hands loose at my sides. “I understand.”

“The disruption was anticipated at every point,” Mikhail says, tapping the printed report before him. “The backup vendors were already positioned when our first pressure wave arrived. The licensing documentation was filed before the review was announced. The held shipment cleared port through a vendor we didn’t know existed until it was already done.”

As he speaks, silence settles over the room, the air heavy with unspoken accusation. Giorgi and Aram don’t shift in their seats as they dissect me like a line item in a risk assessment.

“The Blue Note moved as if they had been warned,” Mikhail continues, pausing there to let the implication hang there.