CHAPTER 90: CHAPTER 90: ONCE BROTHERS

MAEVE’S POV

A pause.

"I’m just saying," he added, like that excused it.

For some reason, my heart constricted—and my teeth clenched down hard. I stared at the wall, blinking back the leftover wetness in my lashes.

"Sorry I’m not in the mood to... release the tension that way," I said quietly.

"Yeah. I figured," he sighed, a tad disappointed. Like I’d let him down by being too human. "Guess there must be something satisfying for your wolf to have your fated mate that close."

I didn’t respond. Rather, guilt extended its vicious claws.

"Is he around?" he pressed, his tone suddenly more clipped. "Ivan. How have things been between you two? I learned that the Severance failed—for the second time. Are you having second thoughts on this because of Ivan? Maybe why you’re not interested in releasing any tension with me?"

There it was.

That bitter little slip.

"Wow," I muttered. "Is this really the road you’re going down right now?"

Devon exhaled. "I’m just asking a question. As your mate. A concerned mate."

"No, you’re making accusations. And being jealous of a man who has been nothing but an asshole, by the way."

"Yet neither of you can seem to let each other go," he muttered.

I froze.

He kept going. "Look, I know you’re not dumb. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind that maybe the reason he’s keeping you around so much, so close, is because he wants more. Marlo reports these things, Maeve—and I just want you to be honest with me. You walked around naked for another man, for crying out loud—and maybe I am a little jealous. My mate is all the way in another pack with her ex-mate—her fucking fated mate."

I swallowed hard.

"You’re the one who sent me here," I whispered.

"Yeah. And now I’m starting to wonder if..." he trailed off and sighed. "I just don’t want to lose you, Maeve."

If only he knew the war of emotions and feelings Ivan had put me through—that might explain how far gone my head really was.

I sighed softly. "I’d tell you this is hard, Devon—but not to the point that I’d choose him over you. You literally saved me. You gave me a life when he discarded me. You are my everything."

Even with the bitter taste left in my mouth from Devon’s previous words, I tried to remind myself what mattered—he was still the man who saved me when I was a woman on the run with a child in my stomach.

He gave me shelter, a family, a pack. He was my savior, as Nina had so generously said. And for that reason, I felt the need to never give up on him or on us, to smooth it over.

"I’m sorry I said all that," Devon whispered in response. "But I won’t take back that I miss being inside you—and fucking you, and hearing those sweet, soft moans of yours."

My mind flashed back to Ivan’s lips crashing against mine, his hand slipping between my thighs, the way his breath had scorched my skin.

Rather than thrill, I felt exhaustion then.

"I’m tired," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "Let’s talk tomorrow."

"How’s Asha?" he asked suddenly.

I stiffened—thinking of the fact that my son was currently having the time of his life with the bone of contention between us.

"He’s good," I said too quickly. "He misses running in the woods with you."

"How is he fitting in with the pack and... Ivan?" he added, voice tighter.

I hesitated.

"The pack has been the most welcoming and with Ivan, he has been... distant," I lied. "I don’t think Ivan is exactly father material."

"Mmm," Devon said. "He always was a coward when it came to things that really mattered."

I didn’t reply.

"How has he been to you...? You haven’t told me much about that, Mae," Devon murmured. "You sure you’re telling me everything?"

"No," I admitted softly. "But it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s just... complicated. And I don’t want you worrying over nothing. Things are just really complicated."

"Complicated’s his specialty."

I sighed.

"I just wish I knew where the black book might be and I’d be set free from this hell. It’s not with Lydia or Roderick’s study. And I don’t know... Ivan doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d keep something evil like that black book."

Devon laughed bitterly. "That’s where you’re wrong. Ivan lives to be his father’s son. That man would sell his own soul—hell, yours too—if it meant getting that throne."

I swallowed. He had done that five years ago, after all.

"Don’t let your heart soften," Devon said gently. "You know how that goes. You start looking for the good in a man who already showed you his worst."

I nodded, though he couldn’t see it. "I know."

There was a silence between us.

"You’re still beautiful when you cry, you know," Devon whispered.

I huffed a laugh. "Shut up."

"I’d kiss those tears off if I could."

I buried my face in the throw pillow, heart pounding, shame burning behind my ribs.

"You sure you don’t want me to come get you?" he asked again.

I didn’t answer right away. I was thinking of Ivan’s hands, the feral way he kissed me, the ache in my chest when I caught the scent of another woman on him.

Then I thought of Devon—of safety, of warmth, of cedar-scented candles and his protective arms. He trusts me with this—with this mission.

I wouldn’t let him down.

"I’m staying," I said at last. "At least... until I find that book."

"Then let me help you," he said. "Ivan has the black book somewhere, but it won’t be laying around in obvious places. Check for hidden passages in his offices and rooms. That’s where he’d hide something that sensitive. When we were kids, we’d play hide and seek and wander into the passages. He used to stash all sorts of crap in there—letters, charms, even old sketches he never let anyone else see. If there’s something worth hiding, it’s there."

Secret passages? Even in my five years, I didn’t know those existed. And Ivan and Devon sounded like they were once as close as... brothers.

"Wow. Well, I’ll try," I said. "But... it’s risky."

"Everything about this has been risky," Devon said. "Just don’t let your guard down. Not with him. Trust me, Maeve."

I nodded again, whispering a soft, "I won’t."

"I love you," he said suddenly.

My heart clenched.

"I know," I whispered.

"I’ll be waiting," he added. "Whenever you’re ready to come home."

We ended the call quietly, my heart a conflicted, aching mess of loyalty, guilt, and desire.

And deep in my chest, I couldn’t help but wonder—would I really be as unbothered to watch Ivan burn to ashes?