POV Odette
"The child isn't yours."
The words detonated between us like shrapnel. Devon's face drained of color, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
"What?" The word finally scraped from his throat.
"When Dr. Brennan first examined me, he dated the pregnancy at two weeks. That was two weeks ago. I'm four weeks pregnant now." I forced myself to meet his eyes. "We haven't been intimate in over two months, Devon."
"That's impossible." He stumbled backward, hands shaking. "You're lying. You have to be lying."
"I'm not."
"Then whose—" His voice cracked. "Who did you—"
"A stranger." The admission burned my throat. "The day after you chose your three new wives. After you stood in our great hall and selected Mira, Celia, and Jasmine to replace me. I went to a bar and slept with a stranger."
Devon's laugh came bitter and broken. "A stranger. You threw away our vows for a stranger."
"You threw them away first!"
"So this was revenge?" His hands clenched into fists. "You spread your legs for the first man who—"
"Don't!" The word tore from my throat. "Don't you dare make this ugly when you paraded those girls in lingerie, when you let them touch you while I watched!"
"That was different—"
"How? How was it different?"
Devon's face crumpled, anger dissolving into something worse—grief. "We tried for three years, Odette. Three years of tests and disappointments and now you're pregnant with another man's child?"
"I know."
"Do you?" Tears tracked down his cheeks. "Do you know what it's like to watch your wife carry another man's baby? To know that after everything, some stranger gave you what I couldn't?"
The pain in his voice nearly broke me. "Devon—"
"Maybe we deserve each other." The words came out soft, resigned. "Both of us breaking vows, both of us betraying what we swore. We're perfectly matched in our failures."
"That's not—"
"I'll raise it."
The words hung in the garden air, shocking in their simplicity.
"What?" I stared at him.
"The baby. I'll raise it as mine." He stepped closer, desperate intensity burning in his eyes. "Come home with me, Odette. We'll tell the pack it's mine. No one needs to know."
"You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious." His hand moved toward my stomach, stopping just short of touching. "I meant my vows, even when I broke them. For better or worse, remember? This is worse, but I still choose you."
"You'd raise another man's child?" I couldn't hide my shock.
"I'd raise your child." His voice cracked with emotion. "If you'll let me. If you'll come home."
"This is insane, Devon."
"Is it? The council wants an heir. They'll get one. They'll back off about additional wives once there's a baby on the way." He moved closer, close enough that I could see the desperation in every line of his face. "We could start over. Be the family we always wanted."
"With another man's baby?"
"With your baby. That's all that matters." His fingers brushed my arm. "I can love what you love, Odette. I can be the father this child needs, the husband you deserve."
Thunder rumbled overhead, cutting through his words. The first drops of rain began to fall, gentle at first, then gaining strength.
"We should go inside," I said, grateful for the interruption.
"Odette, please." Devon caught my arm. "Think about what I'm offering. A home, a family, a pack that already knows you. No scandal, no questions."
"And you?" I searched his face. "What do you get?"
"You." His voice broke. "I get you back. That's all I've wanted since you left."
The rain intensified, soaking through our clothes. Devon's hand remained on my arm, warm against the chill.
"I need time to think."
"Take all the time you need." He released me reluctantly. "I'll be here. I'll wait."
We walked back toward the house in silence, rain washing away the tears on both our faces. The weight of his offer pressed against my chest—forgiveness wrapped in desperation, love tangled with political necessity.
That evening, I searched the residence for Nathaniel. His room stood empty, his training gear absent from the yard. Finally, I found my father in his study.
"Have you seen Nathaniel?"
Magnus looked up from his papers. "He sent word at dawn. Pack business requires his attention. He'll be gone several days."
"He left?" The words came out sharper than intended. "Without telling me?"
"The message was quite formal." Magnus studied my face. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing."
But something twisted in my chest—a small, irrational hurt that tightened with each breath. Last night at the reception, he'd whispered promises that made my blood burn. Today, he'd vanished without a word.
My wolf lifted her head, ears pricked for footsteps that didn't come. The silence felt deliberate, calculated. After everything—the training sessions, the charged looks, the kiss on the practice mats—he'd simply disappeared.
I turned down the corridor toward my rooms, my mind spinning with Devon's offer and Nathaniel's absence. The collision came without warning—Devon rushing around the corner, nearly knocking me off balance.
"Sorry!" He caught my elbow, steadying me. "I'm sorry, I wasn't watching—"
"What's wrong?"
His face was pale, phone clutched in his hand.
"Pack emergency. There's been an attack." His hand hovered over my abdomen, protective instinct flaring before he caught himself and pulled back.
The world narrowed to breath and choice.