Page 49 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

“I’m not asking for forever,” I said. “I’m asking for time to figure out if I can accept who you’ve shown me you really are.”

I didn’t stop to listen to anything else he had to say. My feet carried me down the hallway, each step putting distance between us. The guest room door clicked shut behind me, my trembling fingers fumbling with the lock until it turned with a final, decisive snap.

Through the bond, I felt his shock and anger and desperate need to fix whatever was breaking between us. But I also felt something else—that persistent bitter satisfaction that suggested he still believed he’d made the right choice.

And that, more than anything else, told me just how far apart we really were.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ilay in my nest, staring at the ceiling and trying to process the hollow ache in my chest. Five days since the devastating revelations in Blake’s living room, five days of sleeping apart from Dominic, five days of him stubbornly maintaining his position while I grappled with the knowledge that the man I loved was capable of destroying three hundred lives without remorse.

The ultrasound photo lay hidden in the nightstand drawer where I’d placed it three nights ago. It was too precious and painful to look at, but impossible not to keep close to me.

The nausea had threatened again last night—pregnancy hormones made worse by stress—but I’d managed to settle it by pulling several of Dominic’s shirts from the closet and burying my face in their familiar scent. Even fighting, even furious with him, my body craved the comfort of my alpha’s pheromones.

Through the door, I could hear the quiet sounds of Blake’s morning routine—coffee brewing, the news playing softly on the television. Down the hall, I could hear Penny’s quiet voice,probably checking on Jake again. Was Dominic still asleep on the couch or was he lying there as awake and conflicted as I was?

Through the bond, I felt his presence like a constant low-grade fever—not painful, but impossible to ignore. He was chafing at the separation, sending waves of frustrated energy that made the omega in me want to submit and apologize. But I had nothing to apologize for, so every time I considered unlocking the door, I remembered his cold satisfaction when he’d talked about ruining careers and destroying retirement funds.

When he'd described his calculated plan to seduce me into compliance, into betraying my own community. Had I really seemed so weak and biddable to him then?

I will always choose to protect you over strangers. That’s not a moral failing, the way I see it.

The words echoed in my head as I forced myself to get up and face another day of unresolved tension.

When I emerged from the guest room, I found Blake in the kitchen reading on his tablet while sipping coffee from a white porcelain mug. He looked up as I entered, his expression carefully neutral.

“Morning,” he greeted. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

As he poured me a cup, I could sense his discomfort with the ongoing domestic crisis—and with his own role in creating it. Blake was used to solving problems through negotiation and strategic thinking. Having his houseguests locked in an emotional stalemate over tactics he’d helped design was clearly testing his diplomatic skills.

I took a sip and immediately grimaced as the bitter liquid hit wrong, my stomach churning in protest. Without a word, I poured the coffee down the sink and reached for Blake’s well-stocked tea selection, searching for the ginger blend that had become my morning salvation. I filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave, then waited for the water to heat.

“The demolition starts soon,” I said, dunking the tea bag into the steaming water.

“Eight AM,” Blake confirmed. “Vertex probably wants to begin before any protesters can organize.”

“A whole lot of good that’ll accomplish.”

“Nevertheless, Adelaide’s managed to gather about fifty people. They’re maintaining a vigil across the street.” He paused, then added quietly, “At least we saved the others. After what you learned about our original plans… that has to count for something?”

“Where’s Dominic?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“Shower,” Blake said. “He’s been up since four.”

Before I could respond, I heard the bathroom door open and the sound of bare feet on marble tile. Dominic appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing dark jeans and a black sweater, his hair still damp from the shower. His silver eyes found mine immediately, and I felt the bond flare with desperate need.

He looked younger with his hair damp and messy, droplets still clinging to the dark strands. The clean scent of soap and his natural warmth drifted across the kitchen, and my fingers curled around the handle of my mug to keep from reaching for him. The needy omega in me whispered urgent suggestions about leadinghim back to the guest room, to my carefully arranged nest of blankets where I could hold him close and breathe in the scent of his skin.

Instead, I took a stubborn sip of my tea, the ginger helping settle my queasy stomach, though I wished Dominic were close enough that his scent could provide the comfort my omega biology craved.

Dominic moved to the kitchen counter where he’d left his medication and shook out a pill with aggressive precision. When he caught me watching, he smiled—a sharp expression that showed just the tips of his fangs.

“Morning,” he said quietly, dry-swallowing the anti-seizure medication like it was a challenge.

“Morning.”