Chapter 6 - What Do You Want From Me?
1488 Words
Celina’s POV
THE words hung in the air like lightning, still sparking in my ears.
You’re pregnant. And it’s mine.
I could still feel his breath against my skin, warm and invasive, his scent coiling around me like it had the night he marked me without asking. My stomach clenched, whether from fear, defiance, or the truth I could no longer hide—I didn’t know.
I stepped back, putting space between us. “Yes,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper but steady enough to carry in the charged air. “It’s yours.”
Lucien didn’t move, didn’t blink. His jaw flexed once, but there was no satisfaction in his expression—only a cold, assessing stillness that was somehow worse than his earlier rage.
Rhys shifted his weight, still between us enough to make his point. “Now you know. Leave.”
Lucien’s gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade. “Not a chance.”
“This isn’t your territory,” Rhys said, tone calm but layered with warning. “You don’t get to waltz in here and start making demands.”
Lucien stepped forward, ignoring him entirely. “You’re coming back with me.”
I laughed, bitter and humorless. “Not happening.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re carrying my heir. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“Yes,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “It means I’m about to be treated like a breeding vessel by your precious council. Which is exactly why I’m not going back.”
His nostrils flared. “You think you can protect yourself from them? From other packs? From rogues who would kill you just to get to me?”
“I don’t need your protection,” I shot back.
“Yes, you do,” he growled, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed mine. “You’re not just you anymore, Celina. You’re—” He stopped, his voice grinding against the word. “You’re carrying my blood.”
Rhys moved again, subtly blocking him from closing the last bit of space. “She’s not property, Lucien. If she stays with me, she gets to choose what happens next.”
Lucien’s gaze flicked to Rhys, and something dark passed between them. “And you think she’d choose you over me?”
“She already did,” Rhys said evenly.
Lucien’s laugh was low, humorless. “You think this is about a choice? This is about survival. In my world, she has protection, status, and power. With you? She has a cabin in the woods and a target on her back.”
I folded my arms, the weight of his gaze pressing on me. “So that’s your grand offer? Control dressed up as protection?”
“I’m offering you safety,” he said, his tone softening, though the steel never left it. “I’m offering to make sure no one touches you. No one threatens you. You’ll want for nothing.”
“Except love,” I said, and his expression didn’t change—but his silence was answer enough.
I looked between them—Lucien, a storm I’d never outrun, and Rhys, steady ground beneath my feet.
“Rhys is offering me peace,” I said, my voice quieter now, “and you’re offering me a gilded cage.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened. “Peace won’t save you when they come.”
I swallowed. “And power won’t save me from you.”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t answer. Not directly. “You think you’re safe here. You’re not. The council already suspects something. Once they confirm the pregnancy, they’ll move fast.”
“Confirm?” I asked sharply.
“They’ll smell it on you soon enough,” he said. “And when they do, they’ll use it. They’ll use you to control me. To force my hand on alliances, treaties, even war.”
The floor seemed to shift under me. “So I’m not just a bargaining chip for you—I’m a weapon for them.”
Rhys’s voice was firm. “Then we keep her hidden.”
Lucien turned on him. “And when they find her? When they take her, and the child, and you’re not strong enough to stop them?”
Rhys didn’t flinch. “I’d die before I let them take her.”
Lucien’s lip curled, part snarl, part something else I couldn’t name. “And I’m telling you they won’t have to take her—because she’ll be with me, where she belongs.”
I cut in before Rhys could answer. “Enough. Both of you. I’m not a prize you can win by shouting the loudest.”
Lucien’s gaze locked on mine, burning with something fierce and unyielding. “You don’t have to like me, Celina. You don’t even have to trust me. But you need me.”
“No,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “I need freedom.”
The silence between us was deafening, full of all the things we’d never say.
Lucien finally stepped back, but it didn’t feel like surrender—it felt like the pause before another strike. “Think about what I said. You won’t have much time.”
Then he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him with enough force to rattle the glasses in the cupboard.
I didn’t move until I heard the SUV’s engine fade into the storm.
Rhys’s hand found my shoulder, steady and warm. “He’s wrong. We can keep you safe here.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the part of me that knew Lucien also knew this wasn’t over.
I DIDN’T sleep that night.
Every creak of the cabin made my pulse jump. The rain eased, but the tension didn’t. My ears kept straining for something—footsteps, engines, Lucien’s voice—anything that might mean the walls were about to close in.
Rhys noticed. Of course he did. He leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, arms crossed, watching me curl tighter into the couch blanket. “You’re wound so tight you’re going to snap,” he said softly.
“I can’t help it.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, my fingers digging into the blanket. “I’m not just… me anymore. I can’t just think about myself.”
His eyes flicked down to my stomach, then back up to my face. “You think I don’t understand what that means?”
“You’re not the one carrying this,” I said, my throat tightening. “You’re not the one who has to wonder if every sound outside means they’ve found us. You’re not the one who…” I trailed off, swallowing hard. “I can’t protect this baby if they come.”
Rhys crossed the room in three strides and crouched in front of me. “Celina, look at me.”
“I am,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“You’re safe here,” he said, slow and steady, like he could anchor me by sheer will. “I don’t care if it’s Lucien, the council, or the whole damn northern packs—if they want you, they go through me first.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I said. “That they will go through you. And they’ll win.”
Something fierce flashed in his eyes. “They won’t.”
“You can’t promise that,” I said, shaking my head. “You know you can’t.”
He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then reached for my hands. His was warm, solid, the kind of grip that could almost make you believe in safety. “No. But I can promise I won’t stop fighting. And you—” His voice dropped, almost breaking. “You and that baby are worth the fight.”
My throat burned. “Rhys…”
He gave me a small, crooked smile. “I’m not Lucien. I don’t measure worth in power. You stay here, you eat, you rest. Let me handle the rest.”
I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. But the truth settled like a stone in my chest—this place, this fragile peace, was a bubble. And bubbles always pop.
We sat in silence after that, the only sounds the tick of the old clock on the wall and the soft patter of rain returning against the windows.
Sometime past midnight, exhaustion finally dragged me under. I drifted into a restless doze on the couch, blanket tangled around my legs.
The vibration of my phone yanked me awake.
One new voicemail. Unknown number.
I pressed play.
The voice on the other end was rough and urgent, heavy with static.
“They’re coming for the child. You have 24 hours.”
The message cut off. No name. No explanation.
Just a countdown.
- Writer
