“You’ve been watching her?” I ask as I come to a stop next to him.
He grunts and jerks his head in a single nod. “There’s an alpha that she spends time with?”
Grieves brow wrinkles. “Is there?”
“Big, black, dresses like a GQ model. Looks like one too.” The words are said grudgingly, but it’s the bloody truth and I hate it.
His glower clears. “Atticus Calloway. He’s one of Haven’s alphas. Why do you ask?”
I grit my teeth for a moment before admitting. “He swooped in like a white knight and picked up our girl like she belonged to him after she fainted.”
“She what?”
I go on to explain what happened, but he’s already pulling out his phone to watch it for himself.
“I’m going to murder them,” he growls, but he doesn’t crush his phone, like I did. He does raise his voice and bellows, “let’s go!” down the hall.
A moment later the rest of our pack hurries into view, bags over their shoulders or wheeling behind them.
I’m moving before they reach us, yanking open the door, only to be brought up short by some palace staffer that I recognize but couldn’t tell you his name. He lifts his brows and then looks over my shoulder. “Your highness, you are going somewhere?”
Forsythe muscles his way forward leading the way into the hall and forcing the staff member back. He must be some kind of house manager, based on his stiff upper lip alone. “Indeed. We’ll be gone for a week at least, maybe longer.”
“But, your highness, you have dinner with the queen and your betrothed in just a few hours, I was coming to confirm the menu-”
“We’ll have to reschedule,” he bites out, not waiting for a reply before he hurries down the hall. The rest of us are right on his heels, urgency pushing us to a near run. “I will let my grandmother and my… betrothed know when I expect to return, when I have more information.”
“I see,” the man puffs from somewhere behind us, struggling to keep up with our fast pace. “And might I tell the queen where you’re going so suddenly?”
“You may not.” Sythe’s tone doesn’t invite more questions. In fact, it dissuades them. Rather effectively if the way the beta gawps after him like a fish is any indication.
I glance at Grieves and his mouth tightens as we explode outside to find three cars waiting for us and eight guards.
Without talking about it we move to the middle car. Grieves slides into the driver's seat after he’s tossed his bag into the back. We all pile in and in seconds we’re on the road.Not fast enough, my alpha snarls at me. And I can’t argue with him.
We’re too fucking far away from Pixie. Half a world away, and it’s going to take ages to get to her.
I think about her pale face, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the way no one tried to fucking catch her as she went down.
We should have left ages ago. As soon as we knew she was sick, we should have bid farewell to Bravonne and the goddamn queen and done everything in our power to grovel, to beg, to earn her forgiveness and prove that we’ll never hurt her again.
We land on a private airstrip in Granton eleven hours later. An hour after that we’re parked in front of a security gate facing down a guard holding a gun big enough to blow a hole in an elephant.
“I’ve told you,” Forsythe grits out. “I am His Royal Highness Forsythe Ashbourne and this is my pack. We’re here to see our omega, Florence Karlin.”
The guard sucks his teeth unmoved by the title or the claim of Florence as ours. “From what I recall, you stated quite plainly that Miss Karlin was not your omega, didn’t you? Right there in front of the cameras for everyone to see.”
I sag at the derision in his voice. We expected some pushback from Haven and the Calloways, but we didn’t expect that the guards would have opinions on how we treated Pixie. But then, why wouldn’t they? They’re tasked with her protection, her safety, and I’m sure if they have any sort of regular interactions with her, she’s won them over with her kindness and sunshiny personality, just like she does everyone.
“Mistakes were made,” Forsythe grits out.
“Pretty damn big mistake,” the guard standing on the other side of our car holding an equally large gun spits out. “Rejecting your fated mate.”
I lean forward, trying to slip my charming persona on, but knowing it falls short. “Look, we’re more than aware we fucked up. But we’re here now. We just want to see her, see how we can help her get better.”
“You gonna bond her?” The first guy asks, and when all of us growl in his direction he just shrugs. “It's a valid question. Just about the only cure for RMD, isn’t it, Sykes?”
“Sure is,” the other man agrees.