My smile must have blazed like wildfire because Maeve stopped mid-step, books clutched to her chest.
"That expression could light candles. What brilliant scheme just hatched?"
"Come to Blackwood Manor." The words tumbled out fast, each one building momentum. "Extended visit. Starting tomorrow if possible."
"Helena—"
"Listen." I gripped her arm, pulling her deeper between the stacks where whispers wouldn't carry. "Your parents want you married and settled. What better education than watching your dear friend navigate pregnancy? You'll help with tasks my expanding belly makes difficult. Learn the reality of wifehood and motherhood."
Maeve's eyes sharpened. "They'd see it as training."
"Exactly. Proper preparation for your inevitable marriage." I let sarcasm drip from each word. "Meanwhile, you're safely away from Pemberton's reach. We'll have weeks to devise something permanent."
"God, the irony." Maeve's laugh rang bitter and bright. "Using pregnancy as a shield against forced breeding."
"Will they agree?"
"Mother will weep with joy. Her rebellious daughter finally showing interest in domestic life?" She set the books down with deliberate force. "She'll pack my trunks herself."
"Then it's settled."
"Helena." Maeve's voice dropped serious. "I'd be thrilled to stay at your manor, especially given the oddities that seem to haunt it. That attack on your hunter—the one we found bleeding out—something unnatural caused those wounds."
Ice crystallized in my chest. "Maeve—"
"There's more happening at Blackwood than difficult pregnancies and absent husbands." She leaned closer. "I want in. Whatever secrets you're guarding, I want to know."
The moment stretched taut. She deserved the truth. Deserved the choice to walk away before stepping into our particular darkness.
"Swear to me." My fingers dug into her wrist. "Swear what I tell you never leaves this library."
"I swear on my hatred of Pemberton and love of books."
"Good enough." I drew breath like diving underwater. "What I'm about to share sounds impossible—"
"Alistair's a vampire."
The words landed like a slap. I jerked back, mouth falling open.
"Don't look so shocked." Maeve's smile turned knowing. "The books you borrowed. Your protective behavior around the pregnancy. The way you guard him from daylight questions. His almost painful civility when any other man would rage about mysterious circumstances."
"How long have you—"
"Suspected? Since you started researching nocturnal afflictions." She ticked points off on ink-stained fingers. "Known? About thirty seconds. Your face just confirmed everything."
"Christ."
"He feeds on animals, doesn't he?" Maeve pressed forward. "That's why he maintains control. That's why you trust him around you and the baby."
"Yes." The admission scraped out. "Deer mostly. Sometimes boar. Never humans."
"When was he turned?"
"November. Attacked in the chapel crypt during flood inspection." I let the whole truth spill. "An ancient vampire, targeting nobility across the region. Building a network of turned heirs and magistrates."
"Political vampirism." Maeve's academic excitement flared. "Conquest through bloodline corruption."
"Exactly. Alistair maintains rigid control through constant feeding and iron discipline. The household runs on careful rules."
"And Nathaniel?"
Heat flooded my face. "That's... complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
I met her gaze directly. "He's in the Order of the Argent Dawn. Trained since childhood to kill vampires after his village was slaughtered."
"Yet he hasn't killed Alistair."
"No." My hand moved to my belly. "Because of this."
Understanding dawned in Maeve's eyes. "The baby's his."
"Most likely." The words emerged steady despite the storm in my chest. "The timing suggests—Alistair was already turned when conception occurred. Vampires can't create life."
"Does Nathaniel know?"
"Everything. He knows Alistair's nature, knows the child is probably his, knows my husband has chosen to claim it regardless." I pressed both palms flat against the shelf. "He wants me to run. He thinks Alistair will eventually drain me. But he also can't quite let go."
"A love triangle with fangs and stakes." Maeve's voice carried awe. "You're living a Gothic novel."
"I'm living in a powder keg. One spark and everything explodes—Alistair's control, Nathaniel's restraint, the careful balance that keeps everyone breathing."
"I still want in."
"Maeve—"
"I'm serious." She grabbed my shoulders. "You need allies. I need escape. We'll help each other survive our respective monsters."
"You're sure?"
"Completely." Her grin turned fierce. "Besides, someone needs to document this properly. For posterity."
"You're insane."
"Probably. When do I arrive?"
Within three days, Maeve's trunks crowded Blackwood's entrance hall. She emerged from her carriage wearing traveling wool and an expression of determined brightness.
"My parents practically threw me at your doorstep." She embraced me carefully, mindful of my expanding middle. "Mother gave me a lecture on observing your maternal glow and taking careful notes."
"If only she knew what notes you'd actually take."
"Welcome to Blackwood Manor," I said louder, for the servants. "Your room overlooks the rose garden. Southern exposure, perfect for reading."
"Perfect for everything." Maeve's eyes sparkled with meaning.
Nicholas directed footmen with the luggage, his commands sharp and efficient. The servants moved like a well-drilled unit, trunks disappearing up the main stairs with military precision.
Movement in the courtyard caught my eye—Nathaniel crossing from the stables, that familiar stride eating ground with predator's economy. He approached our gathered party, pulling off leather gloves with practiced ease.
"Ladies." He bowed correctly, then extended his hand to Maeve. "Nathaniel Crowe. I manage the estate's hunting grounds."
"Lady Maeve Carrow." She took his hand with perfect composure. "The hero of the recent violent incident, I believe? Helena and I found you rather dramatically damaged."
"Occupational hazard." His smile deployed that easy charm that had once undone me.
Something sharp and unwanted twisted in my chest—Maeve's hand in his, that smile directed at someone else, the way his attention focused completely on a new woman. I killed the feeling before it could bloom.
"How's your recovery progressing?" Maeve addressed Nathaniel with the clinical interest of someone cataloging specimens. "Those wounds looked fatal many days ago."
"Steady improvement." Nathaniel rolled his shoulder experimentally, testing the binding beneath his shirt. "Thanks to both of you. Without your intervention, I'd be feeding the crows."
We stood there in the entrance hall—vampire's wife, vampire hunter, newest conspirator, and the secrets binding us all. Maeve withdrew her hand from Nathaniel's with deliberate grace, moving to my side in clear allegiance.
The game had just added another player.