Nathaniel stepped between us, shoulders squared, hunter's instinct overriding sense. "She's not going anywhere—"
"Stand aside." My voice cut cold as the February wind.
"Helena, you don't understand what he—"
"I understand you're blocking my path." I locked eyes with him, letting frost creep into my tone. "You're employed by this estate, Nathaniel. By my husband. Step aside or find yourself without a position by nightfall."
His jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, but the reminder of wages and station hit its mark. He shifted, barely, enough for me to pass.
Nicholas offered the smallest smile—approval threading through professional distance. "My lady."
We crossed the frost-burned parterres toward the south wing, my boots crushing ice-brittle grass. Nicholas maintained a careful half-pace behind, the practiced distance of discretion.
"Has the pest hunter been troubling you, my lady?" His tone carried the weight of unspoken solutions. "Lord Blackwood needn't be burdened with such trivial matters. I could arrange for the man's quiet removal from the estate."
"Your loyalty is noted, Nicholas."
"It's more than loyalty." His voice dropped, confidential. "The household requires stability. Especially now, with your condition becoming apparent. Distractions and... complications can be managed discreetly."
I measured my words carefully. How much had he seen—Nathaniel's hand on my sleeve, the way our bodies angled toward each other like magnets finding north? "I appreciate your concern for the household's order, but I can handle it."
"Blackwood born and raised, my lady. Three generations of my family are in service here." He paused at the tower door. "Some things are worth protecting. The family line, the estate's reputation. Your safety."
"And you believe Mr. Crowe threatens those things?"
"I believe wolves dressed as shepherds rarely change their nature." He produced a key, unlocked the tower door with practiced efficiency. "But as you say, my lady—you'll handle any necessary decisions yourself."
The climb felt longer than usual, each step weighted with dread and anticipation. At Alistair's door, I raised my hand to knock despite the key weighing in my pocket—courtesy over convenience, supplication over demand.
The door yanked open before my knuckles touched wood.
Alistair stood close enough that I could count his eyelashes. Color warmed his mouth. His shoulders carried their old authority, that commanding presence that once made rooms reorganize themselves around him.
"Helena." Just my name, but it carried weight.
The study had transformed. Shutters thrown wide, February air streaming through, turning the space arctic. Papers weighted with crystal, curtains snapping like flags.
The cold hit like medicine—my nausea retreating at the sharp air, the sick heat in my throat finally cooling.
"You'll catch your death." The irony struck as soon as I spoke it.
"Already did." His mouth quirked—almost the ghost of our old humor. "The cold helps. Dulls the hunger. It makes your scent bearable instead of maddening."
I entered, shivering immediately. He moved behind me, settled his jacket across my shoulders in one fluid motion. The wool carried his scent.
"Sit." He gestured to chairs arranged precisely across from each other, the desk between us like a negotiation table.
We settled into silence that stretched taut as wire. I pulled his jacket closer, breathing him in, remembering nights when that scent meant safety instead of questions.
"You're looking better," I managed.
"Hunting helps." His fingers drummed once against oak—the only tell that his control wasn't absolute. "Deer primarily. The occasional boar. Nothing... nothing human."
"I never thought—"
"I know." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and God help me, even this monster wore my husband's face beautifully. "Helena, your presence makes control difficult. Your scent, the child's heartbeat underneath yours—it's a symphony that tears at me."
"Then why did you summon me?"
"Because I've decided." The words dropped between us like stones in still water. "I won't relinquish you. Either of you."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Alistair—"
"Let me finish." He stood, paced to the window, hands clasped behind his back—lord of the manor addressing his domain. "This child is unexpected. Impossible, given what I've become. But Helena..." He turned, and his eyes held something fierce. "It's a gift I never thought I'd hold."
"You're saying—"
"I'm saying the child will be mine. Legally, publicly, entirely." He crossed back to the desk, palms flat on wood. "I'll claim it, protect it, raise it as the next Blackwood heir."
"Even knowing it might not—"
"It doesn't matter." The certainty in his voice could have cracked stone. "I can't father children anymore. This is the only heir Blackwood will ever have through me. Your child becomes our future, Helena. Not an accident to be survived, but a life to be cherished."
Tears burned hot down my cheeks—relief flooding through me like spring thaw. "You mean it."
"I've spent a week wrestling with hunger, jealousy, biology." He sat back at the desk. "But clarity came in the woods, blood on my tongue, watching life drain from a doe's eyes. I'm dead, Helena. But you're not. This child isn't. And I'll be damned twice over before I let my curse destroy what life remains in these halls."
I nodded, his jacket still warm across my shoulders. But beneath the relief, ice crystallized in my chest. Nathaniel knew. I'd already given him the truth, handed him weapons against the very man now offering sanctuary.
My hand pressed against the subtle swell of my belly, feeling for the flutter that would come in weeks. Two fathers—one dead but claiming life, one living but promising death.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Don't thank me yet." Alistair's smile held edges. "We have a long road ahead. The servants whisper, the tenants watch, and my mother sharpens her claws for grandmotherhood. This child will be born into scrutiny."
"We'll manage."
"We'll have to. Whoever fathered this child—he may not vanish quietly when he learns I'm claiming what's his."
The words landed like prophecy. Between the jacket's warmth and winter's bite, I listened to my own heart beat its complicated rhythm—once for salvation, once for the reckoning still to come.