The living room is as breathtakingly beautiful as the rest of the house, all plush fabrics and gleaming surfaces that speak of wealth and taste. I make my way to the nearest couch, ready to sink into its inviting cushions, but before I can even sit down, Nickolas sweeps me up into his arms and deposits me on his lap.
“Whenever we’re together, this is where you sit,” he murmurs, adjusting me on his thighs, his arm wrapping securely around my waist, his hand splaying possessively over my belly.
A soft smile tugs at my lips, warmth blooming in my chest at his casual display of affection. If someone had told me even a few short months ago that Nickolas would be this clingy, this openly demonstrative with his love, I would have laughed in their face. But now, feeling the solid strength of his body beneath me, the tender way he holds me close, I can’t imagine anything feeling more right.
“Let’s hear it,” Eric prompts, settling into the armchair across from us, his eyes alight with curiosity.
And so I tell them everything, and once I am done, Nickolas shares what happened to him and Eric. It explains why the whole house smells of Ava-it’s her house. She’s a bitch, but I admit she has impeccable taste.
“I can’t believe Lord Easterlin went back for the fake head,” I muse, shaking my head in disbelief at the depths of the man’s depravity.
“He had to,” Eric explains, his expression grim. “There was no way the court or the people were going to believe Nickolas was truly dead without proof.”
“True,” I concede, my heart clenching at the thought of all Nickolas has endured. I reach for his hand, which rests on my waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Nickolas, I’m so sorry about your uncle and Ava. I know how much they meant to you.” Even though they were my least favorite people, I know they meant the world to Nickolas.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my belly. He’s been doing it since we sat down. I wonder why he’s suddenly fascinated by it, but I push the thought aside for the moment.
“So, what’s the plan to take down that bastard?” I ask, my voice hardening with determination.
“We have the element of surprise since he thinks I’m dead,” Nickolas muses, his brow furrowed in thought. “But it’s not enough. My uncle’s private army in witch territory is nothing compared to Lord Easterlin’s forces.”
“What if I told you we had the werewolf kingdom’s support?” I offer.
“What do you mean?” Nickolas asks, his eyes widening as he turns me to face him fully, his grip on my waist tightening.
“While we were in lycan territory, we discovered that Lord Easterlin is gathering men for a war,” I explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. “The werewolf kingdom is the only nation whose leader he failed to kill. Obviously, he’s preparing to fight us, which means taking him down is as much our business as it is yours.”
“Wow,” Eric breathes, shaking his head in wonder. “I never thought I’d see the day when werewolves and lycans would join forces to fight a common enemy.”
“Neither did I,” Nickolas admits, his expression thoughtful. “But it doesn’t actually solve our problem. Werewolf and lycan soldiers won’t agree to fight side by side, even if Amelia, the werewolf princess, becomes the queen of lycans.”
His last statement takes me by surprise, a sudden tightness gripping my chest. “You thought making me queen might make the alliance more acceptable?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for his answer, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. If that’s the only reason he considered making me his queen, I’m not sure my heart can take it.
“Yes, it crossed my mind,” he admits, his gaze steady on mine.
“Hmm, okay,” I murmur, trying to keep the hurt from my voice, the sting of his words like a physical ache in my chest. I know becoming queen won’t be easy, but I’d hoped, foolishly perhaps, that he wanted me by his side since I’m his mate.
“Amelia, what the fuck are you thinking about?” Nickolas demands, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “Why are you sad?”
My eyes widen in realization, a silent curse echoing in my mind. We’ve completed the mating process, which means we can feel each other’s emotions unless we actively block the connection. How could I be so careless, leaving my walls down while grappling with something so personal, so raw?
“Nothing,” I say quickly, shaking my head, my gaze dropping to my lap.
“Are you upset about the idea of ruling the lycan kingdom?” he presses, his fingers gentle on my chin as he turns my face back to meet his searching gaze.
“No,” I whisper, my heart in my throat, the word barely audible over the roaring in my ears.
“Then why are you sad?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine, a single brow arched in silent demand for an explanation.
I remain silent, the words lodged in my throat, too painful, too humiliating to voice aloud. How can I possibly tell him how much it hurts, the idea that he sees making me queen as nothing more than a political pawn, a means to an end?
“Because you just fucking told her the wrong reason you wanted to make her your queen,” Eric interjects, his voice cutting through the charged silence.
Nickolas’ gaze snaps to mine, understanding dawning in his eyes. “You think I only want you as my queen because it might help me win the war,” he says, more statement than a question.
I shrug, unable to meet his gaze, my heart too raw, too exposed under the weight of his scrutiny.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice soft but unyielding.
I roll my eyes, a halfhearted attempt at defiance, before finally dragging my gaze back to his, steeling myself for whatever I might find there.
To my surprise, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, the sight of it sending a traitorous flutter through my belly despite the hurt still lingering in my chest.
“I have wanted to make you my queen from the moment you claimed my heart, Amelia,” he says, his voice low and genuine, his eyes burning with an intensity that steals the breath from my lungs. “It wasn’t just a passing thought, a means to an end. You are the only one who could ever truly own that throne in every way that matters.”
“Really?” I breathe, hardly daring to believe the words, the ache in my chest transforming into something warm and bright, a fragile hope unfurling in my heart.
He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “Who else owns that fucking throne but you?”
Hearing him say the word “own,” knowing he means it in every sense, banishes the last lingering traces of doubt from my mind. The warmth in my chest expands, filling me up until I feel like I might burst from the sheer force of it, tears of joy pricking at the backs of my eyes. It feels too good to be true, this perfect, shining moment where everything falls into place, where I finally understand the depths of his love for me.
Unable to contain the swell of emotion, I surge forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, my arms winding around his neck as I pour every ounce of my love into the press of my mouth against his. Nickolas responds in kind, his hands tightening on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer as he drinks me in, the taste of him exploding across my tongue, making me moan into the kiss.
“I think that’s enough,” Eric coughs, the sound of his voice breaking through the haze of desire, reminding us we’re not alone.
We break apart reluctantly, my cheeks flushing hot as I bury my face in Nickolas’ neck, trying to catch my breath to calm the frantic racing of my heart.
“You two can fuck each other’s brains out later,” Eric teases, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Right now, we have a war to plan.”
“Actually, I had a thought about that,” I say, lifting my head to meet Eric’s gaze, my mind already racing ahead. “Nickolas, why don’t you try talking to your men first? They have to know they don’t have the numbers to win against Lord Easterlin on their own. If you explain the situation, make them see that joining forces with the werewolves is our only path to victory; they might be more open to the idea than we think.”
Nickolas considers my words for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “It’s worth a try,” he concedes at last, his fingers absently tracing patterns on my hip. “The worst they can do is say no.”
“Exactly,” I agree, a flicker of hope sparking in my chest. “And if they agree, it could change everything.”
Eric nods, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a good plan,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “But we need to be prepared for every eventuality. Let’s go over the details and make sure we have all our bases covered.”
We spend the next few hours deep in discussion, going over every aspect of the coming war, every possible scenario and contingency plan. By the time Eric finally takes his leave, bidding us goodnight with a knowing wink and a sly grin, my head is spinning with information, my body heavy with exhaustion.
Nickolas and I make our way upstairs, his hand warm and solid in mine. But as we reach the landing, he says something that stops me in my tracks, my brow furrowing in confusion.
“I think it would be safer for you to stay in witch territory rather than the werewolf kingdom,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.
I blink at him, uncomprehending. “I’m fighting in the war,” I say slowly, as if speaking to a child. “You know that, right?”
He chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” I counter, my voice rising with anger, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. How dare he try to sideline me?
“No, you’re not,” he repeats, his jaw clenching with stubborn resolve. “End of discussion.”
“You can’t be serious right now,” I sputter, my eyes wide with disbelief. “I want to fight, Nickolas, and I will!”
“You’re not fighting, Amelia. Especially not now that you’re pregnant.”
His words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs and the ground from beneath my feet. “Who’s pregnant?” I whisper, my voice trembling, my mind reeling as I stare at him in shock.
“You are,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Unmask your scent, little one. See for yourself.”
With shaking hands, I do as he says, allowing my true scent to fill the air around us. And there it is, the unmistakable aroma of new life growing inside me, the hint of something uniquely lycan mingling with the scent that is purely me.
“We’re pregnant,” I breathe, the words feeling foreign on my tongue, too big, too momentous to be real. I stare at Nickolas, my eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears, a million thoughts swirling through my head, a thousand emotions warring for dominance in my heart.