I pushed the door open, arranging surprise across my face. "Father, I was looking for—"
The words died. Kieran sat across from my father's desk, amber eyes lifting to mine. The mate bond detonated between us—savage, demanding, worse after days apart. My wolf slammed against my ribs, clawing to reach him.
"Harper." My father's voice carried irritation. "We're in the middle of sensitive negotiations."
"About the alliance." I kept my tone light while my blood turned to lightning. "Weston mentioned you'd taken over discussions."
"Your mate delegated." Father's emphasis on the word made it clear what he thought of that decision. "Pressing business elsewhere, apparently."
"How convenient." Kieran's voice rolled through the room like smoke over glass. "Sending his Beta father-in-law to negotiate what an Alpha should handle personally."
"Weston trusts family." I stepped further inside, maintaining careful distance from Kieran though every cell screamed to close it. "Perhaps I could assist? Future Luna's perspective on pack needs might prove valuable."
"Unnecessary." My father waved dismissal. "Better return to your mother."
"Actually." Kieran leaned back, the movement predatory in its ease. "I'd welcome Harper's input. She understands both territories better than most."
Father's jaw worked. "She just gave birth—"
"A week ago." Kieran's gaze never left mine. "Wolves heal remarkably fast."
The silence stretched taut. My father calculated—refusing Kieran risked offending our most crucial ally. His fingers drummed once against the desk.
"Fine." He stood abruptly. "One hour. Harper, show Alpha Wolfhart the eastern trade routes. I'll review the contracts."
"Mother is with Ava right now." I kept my voice neutral. "Perhaps you should check on them? Your granddaughter seemed fussy earlier."
His expression softened instantly. "Fussy?"
"Just needing her grandfather, I think."
Father grabbed his jacket, already halfway to the door. "One hour, Harper. Don't waste the Alpha's time."
The door clicked shut. Kieran rose from his chair with lethal grace, the room suddenly too small for both of us.
"Eastern trade routes?" His mouth curved, not quite a smile. "How thorough should this tour be?"
"Thorough enough to satisfy concerned pack members." I turned toward the door. "Shall we?"
The administrative building emptied around us—mid-morning meant wolves at their posts, corridors deserted. We walked in silence that buzzed with everything unspoken, my wolf howling for contact while I maintained rigid distance.
Outside, summer light slanted through pines. I led him away from main paths, toward the grove where pack children played on weekends. Today it stood empty, shadows pooling between ancient oaks.
He stopped abruptly. His hand caught mine—not rough, but inevitable. The touch sent electricity racing up my arm.
"How long?" His thumb traced circles against my palm. "How long must I wait for you?"
"I don't understand—"
"Don't." The word came soft but absolute. "We're past pretending, Harper. I understood you needed stress-free delivery. Though my presence nearly triggered early labor at dinner, didn't it?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Your flowers caused more stress than your presence."
"Liar." He stepped closer, still holding my hand with devastating gentleness. "Your heart rate spikes when I'm near. Your wolf calls to mine across rooms. Yet you maintain this performance of distance."
"It's not performance. I'm engaged to another Alpha. I have his child—"
"You have your child." His free hand lifted, hovering near my face without touching. "Who happens to share his blood. There's a difference."
"Not to the pack. Not to the law."
"Fuck the pack." The vulgarity cracked like a whip. "Fuck their laws. You're my mate. The Moon Goddess herself marked you for me, and you want to discuss politics?"
"Politics determine whether my daughter lives safely or becomes a target." I pulled my hand free, though it cost me. "Whether war breaks out between territories. Whether blood soaks into soil because two Alphas couldn't control themselves."
"Control." He laughed, dark and hollow. "You think this is control? Smelling his scent on your skin? This is barely contained violence, Harper. This is me choosing not to tear his throat out every second he touches what's mine."
"I'm not yours."
"No?" He moved faster than thought, backing me against an oak. His hands braced on either side, caging without touching. "Then why does your pulse race? Why does your wolf whine for mine? Why do you look at me like I'm both salvation and damnation?"
"Because you are." The admission ripped free. "You're everything I can't have and everything I need and if I could just—"
I bit down hard, trapping the words. If I could just tell you I died. That I came back. That your sister-in-law murdered my daughter and I'm here to destroy her. That I'll reject Weston publicly at our wedding while exposing Celeste's crimes.
"Just what?" His voice gentled. "Tell me what holds you back. Whatever chains you wear, I'll break them."
"Some chains can't be broken." I pressed my palms flat against bark, grounding myself. "Some debts demand payment."
"Weston doesn't own you—"
"This isn't about ownership." The words came fierce. "This is about justice. About ensuring monsters face consequences. About protecting my daughter from threats you can't even imagine."
"Try me." His breath warmed my cheek. "Tell me what you're planning. Why you look like you're preparing for war instead of a wedding."
The urge to confess everything rose like a tide. To explain the regression, show him photographs on my phone of Celeste's journals, detail every piece of evidence Dr. Holland had gathered. To fall into his arms and disappear with Ava into his territory where we'd be safe and cherished.
But how could I explain knowing the future? Watching my own death? Planning revenge that required perfect timing, absolute precision? He'd think grief had broken my mind.
"I can't." The words scraped raw. "Not yet. After the wedding—"
"After you bind yourself to him permanently?"
"After I free myself permanently."
His eyes sharpened. "Harper—"
"Trust me." I lifted my hand between us, not quite touching his chest. "Can you do that? Can you wait just a little longer and trust that I know what I'm doing?"
He caught my hand, pressed it flat against his heart. The beat thundered under my palm, strong and steady and mine.
"I've waited for years." His voice dropped to gravel. "What's a few more weeks?"
"Everything." I whispered. "A few more weeks changes everything."
We stood frozen in that grove, caught between the future he offered and the justice I needed. Between my mate's patient promise and my daughter's necessary revenge. Between the life I wanted and the debts I had to pay first.
The clock on my phone marked our stolen hour bleeding away, and still neither of us moved.