Chapter 2 The Quiet Exit

(Peyton)

The front hall of the Alpha's house is empty when I get home, which suits me fine.

I don't cry. I don't scream either. Screaming takes air, and the pup is using most of mine.

Instead, I call a number I haven't used in over a year, and the caretaker of my old cottage on Greyfell land picks up on the second ring.

"It's Peyton. I need the cottage opened up. Scrub it top to bottom, open every window, chase out the spiders. I'm moving back in by the end of the week."

"About time," he says.

Until then, any hotel beats one more night under this roof.

Upstairs, I drag my old travel bags out of the closet. They came with me to every treaty table I ever sat at.

Only the things I paid for get packed.

The soft pastel maternity dresses stay on their hangers. I bought those to look like the sweet, quiet wife Cormac's family wanted.

That woman retired an hour ago, in a healing center hallway.

My favorite silk blouse is still in the laundry room.

Two steps through the door, my shoe hits soapy water and the floor comes up fast.

I twist to keep my belly off the tiles, so my knee takes all of it. The crack is loud, and the pain shoots straight up my thigh.

I lie there and check.

The pup kicks me, annoyed and perfectly fine.

Thank the Goddess.

My knee isn't. It swells while I watch.

A healthy she-wolf would heal this in an hour. Mine has been half asleep for months, so I get to do it the slow way.

The puddle sits right across the doorway, and there's no leak anywhere near it. Tess, the head housekeeper, left it there on purpose.

When Cormac's home, she's all "Yes, ma'am," when I give an order.

When he's out, my coffee shows up cold, my requests get lost, and puddles appear wherever I'm about to walk.

Nobody comes running. Every wolf in this house can hear a pin drop two floors away, so they all heard me fall.

I haul myself up by the washing machine, call it a few names, and limp to the kitchen for ice.

I sit there alone with a bag of frozen peas on my knee, and an old hurt wakes up.

Being left behind is nothing new. I've had practice.

When I was little, my mother packed her bags in the middle of the night, took my older brother, and walked out without a note or a goodbye.

My father burned every photo of them. These days I can't even picture their faces.

Then he died too, and I learned the only person I could count on was me.

"That's never happening to you," I tell the pup, one hand on my belly. "It's you and me, kid. Always."

"Always so clumsy."

Meredith Whelan stands in the kitchen doorway in cream cashmere, looking down her nose at my knee. She clicks her tongue.

"She would never make a scene like this."

She.

So my mother-in-law already knows about the honeysuckle girl. Knowing Meredith, she introduced them.

To her, I'm a mistake with a due date.

Her eyes flick up toward my room and her face hardens. She's seen the bags.

"Cormac left documents in his study. They're needed at the pack hall. Take them to him. Now."

I could tell her exactly where to put those documents. But I've got about one fight left in me today, and I'm saving it for her son.

"Happy to," I say, and limp past her.

The folder is on Cormac's desk. There's something else underneath it.

Divorce papers, dated three weeks ago, with my name already typed in.

Three weeks, and he didn't have the guts to hand them over.

He's offering a fat monthly allowance, like a pension for a retired warrior. He can keep it.

There's only one thing I want, so I take his fancy pen and write a new clause at the bottom.

I give up every claim to Blackpine's land, money and titles, now and forever. The pup stays with me.

No mark means no bond to break. Ending us only takes a pen.

Both folders go in my tote.

I'm halfway to the pack hall when Ian's name lights up my phone, and I catch myself smiling for the first time today.

Ian Blackwell is the Alpha of Greyfell, my old boss, and my best friend since we were pups.

"Pey. I need a massive favor."

"Define massive."

"An alliance deal. High stakes, short tempers, and a deadline breathing down my neck. I need my old emissary back. The scary one."

"She's a bit pregnant."

"I noticed. I also know your Alpha likes you at home knitting booties. But you were never built for that, Peyton, and you're the only one who can save this. Name your price."

When I gave up my post to marry Cormac, Ian asked me to think twice. I didn't.

He never once said I told you so. Not even when our packs ended up on opposite sides of the table.

My tote sits on the passenger seat with the end of my marriage inside it.

Deep in my chest, my wolf lifts her head. She always did love a fight at a treaty table.

"I'm getting divorced," I say, and it comes out calm. "I'm done fighting for a marriage that was dead on arrival. Send me the treaty terms, Ian. I'm in."