The heavy oak door of Silas's private chambers clicked shut with a sound like a guillotine. The silence that followed was louder than the chaos of the ballroom they had just escaped.
Ava stood trembling, her back pressed against the cold wood of the door. The adrenaline that had sustained her through Marcus's accusation was draining away, leaving behind a hollow, sickening fear. Silas stood in the center of the room, his back to her. His white dress shirt was taut across his broad shoulders, and even from behind, his aura was a dark, swirling storm.
"The child," Silas said, his voice dangerously low. He didn't turn around. "You told me it was a distraction. You told me you needed a year. You didn't mention you were carrying a dead man's anchor around your neck."
"He isn't a dead man," Ava whispered, her hands instinctively clutching her stomach. "Marcus is... he's powerful, Silas. He won't stop."
Silas spun around so fast Ava gasped. In two strides, he was in her space, his large hands slamming into the door on either side of her head. He caged her in, his grey eyes glowing with a predatory silver light that illuminated the dim room.
"He is a Beta who dared to bark in my house," Silas hissed, his face inches from hers. "But that's not what I'm asking. I just lied to the entire Council. I just staked the Blackwood reputation—my bloodline's honor—on a child that smells like a Crimson-Fang mongrel. Give me one reason why I shouldn't throw you to the rogues tonight."
Ava looked up at him, her vision blurring with unshed tears. The power radiating from him was suffocating, but she saw something else in his eyes—a flicker of betrayal.
"Because if you do, they'll kill him," she choked out. "Not just Marcus. My own father. The pack elders. They don't want a 'wolfless' heir, Silas. To them, this baby is a mistake that needs to be erased. I'm not asking for me anymore. I'm asking for the child."
Silas's gaze dropped to her lips, then to her neck, where her pulse was jumping like a trapped bird. His scent—dark cedar and the metallic tang of an Alpha on the edge—filled her lungs.
"You think I'm a charity, Ava?" His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. One hand left the door and moved to her throat, his thumb tracing her jawline with a terrifying tenderness. "In the werewolf world, protection has a price. I've claimed this child as a Blackwood. That means, from this second on, you are mine. Every breath you take, every thought you have, belongs to me."
"I signed the contract," she reminded him, her voice trembling.
"The contract was for a public charade," Silas growled. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. "This... this is different. If I am to be a father to a bastard, then you will be a Luna in every sense of the word. You will sleep in my bed. You will eat at my table. And you will never—ever—mention that man's name again."
He moved his hand from her jaw, his fingers splaying across the silk of her dress, right over her lower abdomen. Ava's breath hitched. The heat of his palm seemed to seep through the fabric, warming her chilled skin.
"Does he move yet?" Silas asked suddenly, his voice losing some of its edge, replaced by an unsettling curiosity.
"No," Ava whispered. "It's too early."
Silas stayed there for a long moment, his hand resting over her womb. For a heartbeat, the monster vanished, and she saw a glimpse of the man who had been lonely for a mate his entire life. But the moment passed as quickly as it came. He pulled his hand away as if burned.
"Go wash," he commanded, gesturing to the ensuite bathroom. "There is a silk gown on the counter. From tonight, we share this room. The guards talk, and the Council has spies everywhere. If we aren't seen entering and leaving the same door, Marcus's lies will become their truth."
"You want me to... stay here? With you?"
"Unless you prefer the cellar," Silas snapped, already unbuttoning his shirt.
Ava fled to the bathroom, her heart hammering. When she emerged twenty minutes later, dressed in a thin, ivory silk slip that offered even less protection than the gala dress, the room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.
Silas was already in bed, propped up against the pillows, a leather-bound book in his hands. He was shirtless, the intricate tattoos of the Blackwood pack swirling across his chest and down his muscular arms.
"Left side," he said without looking up.
Ava slid into the bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible. The silk sheets were cool, but Silas was a furnace. She turned her back to him, curling into a ball.
"Ava?"
She stiffened. "Yes?"
"If you try to run," his voice came through the darkness, low and certain. "I won't hunt you down to bring you back. I'll hunt you down to finish what Marcus started. Don't make me regret saving you tonight."
"I won't run," she promised the shadows.
She expected to stay awake all night, paralyzed by fear. But the scent of sandalwood was strangely grounding. For the first time in six months, she didn't have to keep one eye open for attackers. She had the most dangerous man in the world guarding her door.
Hours later, in the depths of the night, Ava shifted in her sleep, seeking warmth. She didn't feel Silas move, but she felt the heavy weight of his arm drape over her waist, pulling her back against his solid chest.
She didn't pull away. And in his sleep, Silas's hand found her stomach again, his fingers curling protectively around the secret that now belonged to him.