Chapter 5: Furniture

"Eamon," Dacia said, and her voice had lost its gentleness. "You're taking her word over a year of paperwork?"

"I'm taking my eyes," he said. "Go back to the hall and wait for me in my office."

"I only ever wanted what was best for the pack."

"Go."

She went, with a look at me that I felt on the back of my neck for the next ten minutes.

The two visiting Alphas stayed to watch her white SUV out of sight, and then, tactfully, they stayed out of everything else.

Eamon turned to me with the page still in his fist.

"Five minutes," he said. "Alone."

"No."

"Please."

I hadn't heard him say that word in thirteen months.

Fergus, from the porch, said quietly, "Your cabin, your door. Open or shut, Ismay. I'll be right here."

I walked up the steps without a word, and Eamon followed me in.

It was a small room.

He took up most of it just standing there, with his shoulders nearly touching the beams.

I left the door open, and I stood with my back against the woodstove's cold iron.

"Say it," I said.

"I owe you an apology."

"You owe me a lot more than that, but it's a start."

He stared at the floor.

"After the wedding," he said, "I told myself I'd be fair."

"I would keep the treaty and I'd keep my distance."

"I didn't want to like a bargain two dying men made over my head."

"Over mine too," I said. "Go on."

"Dacia's reports came every Sunday."

"They said you wouldn't leave the east room, or sit on the council, or look at a ledger."

"I read them and I thought, good. She doesn't want this either. We can both be unhappy and quiet."

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