Chapter 40

My Cheating Mate

Emma pov

The safe house was three hours north, deep in neutral territory where no pack had claim. We'd driven in silence, Jeremy checking the rearview mirror every few minutes, his jaw tight with tension.

I felt like a coward.

While my pack—my father, the enforcers, wolves I'd trained with—cleaned up the battlefield and mourned their dead, I was running. Hiding. Letting others fight my battles.

"Stop," Jeremy said quietly, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Stop what?"

"Whatever you're thinking. I can see it on your face. The guilt. The feeling like you should be back there." He glanced at me briefly. "Emma, you're not a coward. You're the target. The reason they attacked. Getting you to safety isn't running—it's strategy."

"Three wolves died because of me."

"Three wolves died because fifty mercenaries attacked our pack," he corrected firmly. "Not because of you. Because of Vanessa's hired killers. Don't take that on yourself."

But how could I not? Those wolves had families. Mates. Children, maybe. And they'd died protecting me from a threat that only existed because of Jeremy's affair.

I didn't say that out loud. We'd been through too much therapy for me to weaponize guilt like that. But I thought it. And from the way Jeremy's hands tightened on the steering wheel, he was thinking it too.

The safe house finally appeared as dawn broke—a small cabin nestled in a valley, surrounded by dense forest. Remote. Isolated. The kind of place you'd never find unless you knew exactly where to look.

Jeremy parked and immediately went on alert. His eyes scanned the tree line, the surrounding area, every shadow and movement. His whole body was tense, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice.

"Jeremy," I said gently. "We're safe here. Your father said only he and my dad know this location."

"Unless the spy figured it out." He got out of the car, still scanning. "Stay close to me. Don't go anywhere alone until I've cleared the house."

I watched him move toward the cabin with practiced caution—checking windows, testing the door, moving like the soldier he'd become over the past few months. This wasn't the Jeremy I'd mated. Wasn't even the guilty, self-destructive Jeremy from therapy.

This was someone new. Harder. Scarred by violence and loss.

I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

He cleared the house room by room, then finally gestured for me to come inside. "It's secure. Basic supplies, reinforced doors and windows. Communication equipment in case we need to reach your father."

I followed him in, taking in the sparse furnishings. One bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen and living area. Functional but not comfortable. A place meant for survival, not living.

"How long will we be here?" I asked.

"Until they find the spy. Until they neutralize Black River." Jeremy set down the bags we'd brought—clothes, supplies, weapons. "Could be days. Could be weeks."

"Weeks." The word felt heavy. "Alone together."

He caught the implication immediately. Weeks in close quarters. Just the two of us. No therapy sessions to mediate. No pack duties to distract us. Just us, facing each other without buffers.

"I can sleep on the couch," he offered quickly. "Give you privacy. I know this isn't—we're not—"

"Jeremy." I stopped him. "It's fine. We're adults. We can share space without it being weird."

But it was weird. Everything about this was weird.

Twelve hours ago, I'd been sleeping in his guest room, both of us carefully maintaining distance. Then mercenaries had attacked and suddenly we were pressed together in combat, in fear, in desperate survival.

Now we were supposed to just... exist? In a tiny cabin? For potentially weeks?

"I'm going to make coffee," I said, needing something normal to focus on. "Do you want some?"

"Please." He was still at the window, watching. Always watching.

I busied myself in the kitchen, grateful for the mundane task. Coffee grounds. Water. The familiar ritual of making something hot and bitter and necessary.

Jeremy's phone buzzed. He answered immediately. "Report."

I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I watched his face. Saw the tension increase, the lines around his eyes deepen.

"Understood. Keep me updated." He hung up and finally turned from the window. "That was my father. They found the spy."

My heart stopped. "Who?"

"Drake. Councilman Drake." His voice was hard. "The one who argued I should be executed along with Vanessa. Apparently he'd been feeding information to Black River for weeks. Emma's location, security schedules, patrol routes."

"Why?" The betrayal felt personal, even though I barely knew Drake. "Why would he help them?"

"Money. Black River paid him fifty thousand to provide intelligence." Jeremy's hands clenched into fists. "Three wolves died because that bastard sold us out for money."

I set down the coffee I'd been pouring, my hands suddenly shaking. "What happens to him now?"

"Execution. Immediate. My father's not taking any chances." He paused. "They're also increasing security across the board, changing all protocols Drake might have compromised. It'll take time to be sure the information pipeline is completely cut."

"But we have to stay here."

"We have to stay here," he confirmed. "Even with Drake exposed, Black River still has the intelligence they already gathered. They know pack layouts, routines, weak points. We need to give my father time to change everything, make their intel obsolete."

I nodded, processing. A spy in our own pack. A council member, someone trusted with secrets, with access. It made me feel sick.

"Coffee's ready," I said, needing to focus on something I could control.

We sat at the small kitchen table, the silence heavy between us. Outside, birds were starting to sing. Morning sounds. Normal sounds. Like the world hadn't just exploded into violence and betrayal.

"Emma," Jeremy said finally. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't—"

"For all of it. The affair that started this. The choices that led to Vanessa hiring mercenaries. The spy who existed because my behavior created opportunities for people like Drake to exploit." He stared into his coffee. "Three wolves died last night. And it all traces back to me."

"We've been over this in therapy," I said, my voice gentle but firm. "You're responsible for your choices. The affair. The lies. But you're not responsible for Vanessa becoming a murderer. Or Drake becoming a traitor. Those were their choices."

"Choices that wouldn't exist if I hadn't—"

"Stop." I reached across the table, taking his hand. "Jeremy, if you keep taking responsibility for everything bad that happens, you're going to drown. And I can't—" My voice caught. "I can't watch you drown again. Not after last night. Not after watching you fight and bleed and nearly die. Again."

His eyes met mine. "I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. To the mercenaries. To the violence. To the consequences of my own stupidity."

"Then don't lose me." I squeezed his hand. "Be here. Actually here. Not drowning in guilt. Not punishing yourself. Just here, with me, figuring out how to survive this."

"I don't know if I know how to do that."

"Neither do I." I managed a small smile. "But we've got time to figure it out. Stuck in this cabin together. Might as well use it productively."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Talking. Really talking. Not in therapy, not with Dr. Chen mediating. Just us, honest, no filters." I paused. "Jeremy, we're going to be here for potentially weeks. We can spend that time avoiding each other and being miserable, or we can actually use it. To heal. To communicate. To figure out if there's really an us worth rebuilding."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You're right. And terrifying. But right."

"I have my moments."

The coffee helped. The morning light helped. The simple fact of being alive after last night's chaos helped.

But I couldn't shake the image of Jeremy fighting. The way he'd thrown himself at that leader wolf without hesitation. The way he'd bled and snarled and refused to let them through to me.

"You saved my life last night," I said quietly. "You and my father. That leader would have reached me if you hadn't—"

"I would die before I let them touch you," Jeremy interrupted. "Emma, I know I don't have the right to be protective. Know I lost that when I betrayed you. But last night, watching them come for you—" His voice cracked. "I've never been that scared in my life."

"I was scared too. Watching you fight. Watching you get hurt. Knowing I was the reason you were in danger."

"You're not the reason. Vanessa is. Black River is. The situation is." He stood, moving to the window again. Old habits. "But Emma, I need you to understand something. Last night, fighting those mercenaries, thinking I might lose you—it clarified things for me."

"What things?"

"What matters. What's real." He turned to face me. "I love you. Not because I feel guilty. Not because I'm trying to make up for my mistakes. But because you're brave and strong and kind even when you have every reason not to be. Because you stayed by my bedside when I was in a coma. Because you still care about me even though I destroyed us."

"Jeremy—"

"Let me finish." He moved closer. "I know we're working through things. Know trust takes time. But Emma, if those mercenaries had killed me last night, I needed you to know. That I love you. Really love you. The way I should have from the beginning."

Tears were streaming down my face now. "I love you too. That's what makes this so hard. I love you and I'm still so hurt and I don't know how to reconcile those things."

"We'll figure it out." He pulled me into his arms, and I let him. Let myself be held. Let myself feel safe for the first time since the alarms had woken us. "Together. In this tiny cabin. For however long it takes."

I laughed wetly against his chest. "We're going to drive each other crazy."

"Probably. But at least we'll be alive to be crazy."

We stood there for a long moment, holding each other while the morning sun streamed through the windows and birds sang outside like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Three wolves were dead. We had a spy exposed. Fifty mercenaries were still out there, still hunting.

And Jeremy and I were alone together, forced to actually face each other without escape routes or buffers.

It was terrifying.

But also—maybe—exactly what we needed.

"Come on," I said finally, pulling back. "We should eat something. Then we need to actually talk about how this is going to work. Living together. For weeks."

"Setting boundaries," Jeremy agreed. "Communication protocols. Making sure we don't kill each other."

"Or worse—make things worse between us."

We made breakfast together in the tiny kitchen. Eggs and toast. Simple. Normal. A domestic routine that felt both familiar and strange.

This was my life now. At least for the next few weeks.

Hiding with my ex-mate in a secret cabin while mercenaries hunted me and my pack cleaned up the mess.

Not how I'd imagined my life going.

But at least I was alive.

At least Jeremy was alive.

And maybe—just maybe—we'd figure out the rest.

One conversation at a time.

One day at a time.

One tentative step toward healing at a time.

If we survived that long.

If the mercenaries didn't find us first.

If we didn't kill each other.

Big ifs.

But for now, there was coffee and eggs and morning sunlight.

And that would have to be enough.