Weston arrived with the still clinging to his suit—office polish over a coil of nerves I’d learned to hear before it snapped. Celeste drifted at his shoulder, white blouse, careful smile, eyes sweeping the room for witnesses.
Father met us in the foyer, still buoyed by the progress he’d made that afternoon. “Wolfhart was impressive,” he told Weston, clapping him once on the arm. “Efficient. Concrete. We’re closer than I thought.” The temperature dropped a degree at Kieran’s surname. Weston’s jaw shifted; Celeste’s lashes lowered, measuring.
“We’ll finish what we started,” Weston said, and found my hand as if that proved it. “Which brings me to good news.” He turned to Mother with an almost devout brightness. “Celeste has volunteered to nanny Ava. That way Harper can devote herself to wedding preparations immediately. No delays.”
Mother actually clasped her hands, delight softening the lines that worry and disappointment had carved there for years. “How thoughtful, Celeste! That will be a great help.”
My skin pulled tight. The shape of the trap was elegant—access around the clock, proximity wrapped as service. I smiled like a woman touched by generosity and angled my body slightly between my daughter’s bassinet and my sister.
“That’s kind,” I said, making gratitude sound easy. “But I worry about your workload, Celeste. You’re still Weston’s assistant, plus the charity committees. It’s a lot to add the most important job in the house.”
“Oh, I manage beautifully,” she trilled. “Babies are soothing. And I adore my niece.” Her gaze slid to Weston’s profile—a caress she hoped no one would see.
“They are soothing… until they aren’t,” I said, voice warm, reasonable. “And Ava’s needs are constant. It would be wrong to burden you. Perhaps part-time—later—once your schedule clears.”
Celeste’s smile stayed perfect, but the muscles along her jaw feathered. “Don’t be silly. I can do both.”
“Your willingness is not in question,” I said, keeping my tone soft enough to pass as concern. “Your rest is. Overwork leads to mistakes. I won’t put that on you.”
Mother surprised us all. “Harper’s right,” she said, small astonishment in her own voice. “It’s considerate to think of your sister’s wellbeing, Celeste. We’ll explore options that don’t exhaust you.”
A tiny victory. Only I watched Celeste’s eyes cool a fractional shade. “Of course,” she murmured, angelic again. “Whatever is best.”
* * *
At the estate, Weston didn’t wait. “What, exactly, did Wolfhart say to you?” he asked before the front door finished shutting.
“Nothing that changes the alliance,” I answered. “He prefers data over displays. He stated terms. I listened.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He moved through rooms with a caged energy, and I let him pace himself into confession. “He watches you. He makes a point of it.”
“He watches everyone,” I said. “It’s his job.”
“Don’t do that,” Weston snapped. “Don’t give me blanks.” He planted himself in front of me. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” I said, and kept my face calm, my pulse slow. “I told you already: we discussed logistics. Trade routes. Relief staffing for clinics.”
“Clinics,” he repeated, scoffing—then flinched at the way that sounded. “You’re unbothered.”
“I’m tired,” I said. “Our newborn eats every two hours. Forgive me if rivalry is less compelling than sleep.”
The indifference landed harder than a fight. He stared like I’d stepped outside the script he knew and closed it on him.
“You dismiss me,” he said, quieter, furious in the way a whisper can be. “You dismiss us.”
“In the nursery,” I said, not unkind, “Ava needs quiet or she startles awake. If you have questions about Wolfhart, ask them in daylight.” I started up the stairs.
He followed. In the soft dark of the nursery, with Ava finally surrendered to sleep, he caged me against the wall. His palms bracketed my head; his body pinned mine without full contact, a deliberate cruelty of inches.
“I’m your mate,” he said, breath hot at my throat. “I’m done waiting.”
“You’re not my mate,” I said. “You’re my fiancé. And I gave birth recently in wolf-healing days. Postpartum recovery is real even for us. Six weeks minimum.”
“There are ways,” he murmured, crowding closer. “Gentle ones. Or let me mark you. The bite is not—”
“No.” I didn’t raise my voice. “The doctor cleared feeding, not mating.”
Skepticism flared mean in his eyes. He needed more. He needed proof he was winning.
So I gave him the performance he would recognize.
I pulled him down and kissed him the way I had learned in a different life to stop questions—a long, ferocious kiss with nothing in it that could be used against me except technique.
Passion as sleight of hand. Hunger without heart. I let my fingers slide into his hair, let my mouth yield and then demand.
His tension melted. I felt the moment his suspicion rewired into satisfaction, the moment he chose the version that served him. He broke away on a ragged laugh, forehead to mine. “That,” he said, throat rough, “is how it should be.”
“Later,” I murmured, and put my hand on his chest like an oath and a delay at once. He left the nursery smiling.
Ava slept through it all.
* * *
Dawn saved me in a better way. Raven came home on the early patrol shift, leather jacket dusty from highways beyond our borders, hair tangled by wind, the hunger of roads still on her skin. She knocked twice and didn’t wait.
“You look different,” she said instead of hello. Then she saw the bassinet and went soft around the edges. “And she—Goddess, Harp.”
“Come meet your niece.” I lifted Ava into the crook of her arm, and the enforcer melted. The baby blinked up, solemn and satisfied, and Raven made a sound I’d never heard come out of her—a little hitch of wonder.
Weston arrived on the last of that sound. He took in Raven, the jacket, the bassinet, the fact of another predator near his heir, and his eyes narrowed.
“Enforcers don’t do childcare,” he said, not bothering with good morning.
“They do protection,” I said smoothly. “Which is what I’m asking. Packs gossip. Outsiders sniff opportunities. Our heir deserves a guard as well as a nanny. Raven can be both. She’ll take orders from you directly.” I didn’t add what I knew would sweeten it: paranoia is a language he speaks.
Raven lifted a brow but held her tongue, reading the room like the professional she is.
Weston glanced at Ava—small and asleep and worth an empire. Possessiveness washed away his suspicion and left strategy.
“You’d give up runs to sit in a nursery?” he asked Raven, testing her.
“I’ll station myself where the threat vector is,” she said. “If that’s the nursery, so be it. If it’s your door, I stand there. If it’s the roofline at three a.m., that’s where I’ll be.”
He liked the confidence more than he disliked me choosing it. His gaze returned to me. “You want a protector for the baby,” he said. “Not a babysitter.”
“Exactly,” I said. “You’ve said it yourself: we can’t be everywhere. Even wolves sleep.”
His breath left him like a man who’d seen the sharper path and couldn’t admit it wasn’t his. “Fine. Trial week. If schedules conflict, she’s out.”
“Done,” Raven said, already recalculating her life with an enforcer’s efficiency. “We’ll work in shifts. I’ll coordinate with your head of security.”
“Do it,” Weston said, and strode off to tell someone it had been his idea. The victory tasted clean, even with his fingerprints on it.
When he was gone, Raven looked at me over Ava’s downy head. Her eyes held the same fierce humor I’d clung to since we were girls sneaking out on full-moon nights.
“You’re not hiding in her shadow anymore,” she said. “When did that happen?”
“Somewhere between yesterday and now,” I replied.
Raven grinned, quick and feral. “Good. Because I like this version. She looks like she bites back.”
“She does,” I said, and meant it in more ways than one.
Raven’s expression sobered, curiosity sparking under the approval. “What changed you?”
“Motherhood,” I said, because it was true and because the rest would sound like madness.
She accepted that without prying. “Then let me make it easier.” She tucked Ava closer, the motion instinct and training in one. “You run your plays. I’ll keep the pup breathing.”
I let the compliment sit where I could feel it. For once, admiration replaced pity in a face I loved. In Raven’s arms, Ava looked like everything I had bargained for and everything I refused to lose.
Having Raven close meant I could walk into the days ahead with a blade in my pocket and a shield at my back. My daughter had a true protector now, and I had room to maneuver in the dangerous game I’d chosen to play.