Chapter 8 · Problem Solved

His mouth was still on my throat when his whole body locked.

I felt it before he moved. Breath stopped against my skin. One hand braced on the blackstone ledge, the other fisted in the front of my dress, and every muscle in him went still — the way a wolf goes still when the trap clicks.

I knew what he'd caught. I'd known since his nose dragged up my jaw. Under the soap and the rite oil and the wine I'd spilled on my sleeve, something thinner. Sweeter. Milky. Too new to have a name, and already louder than I was.

"Tell me that's not—" He stopped. His fist tightened in the cloth. "What are you carrying?"

"Eleven days." I made myself say it flat. "That's how long I've known. Not how far along."

His hand went hard.

"I had the whole night planned." My voice came out steadier than I'd earned. "Good cups. The wine your uncle sends. The speech. After."

"After."

"After you were done being Alpha at two hundred people."

He didn't blink. Then he took the floor out from under me. "My healer's been in my study nine nights running.