Page 2 of Truth or Lie

“Maybe we should start contacting all the attachés and assistants whose blatant flirting you’ve failed to respond to, in that case.” I returned my gaze to Nikolayev’s steel-gray eyes. “What about Prime Minister Fairbanks’ administration? Any movement there?”

“Not yet.” The Russian’s expression remained impassive, revealing nothing. “They are in a somewhat difficult position after failing to uncover your unregistered status for so many years, while you were in a high-ranking position within the Foreign Office.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “I suppose I should be pleased that I didn’t end up bringing down the entire coalition government when things went bad. Still, Fairbanks has always been a bit of a sympathizer, at least in subtle ways. I can’t help thinking he could be the key. If we could somehow pry him loose, he might bring a lot of other leaders along with him.”

Levi Fairbanks, the head of the UFNA government, had risen to power on the back of good looks, charisma, and moderate policies. He’d never risked voter backlash by doing or saying anything overt, but he’d remained a quiet bulwark against some of the more extreme anti-alphomic policies that had taken root elsewhere in the world.

“Perhaps so,” was all Nikolayev said.

“How’s Beckett doing today?” Kam asked, changing the subject.

“He is currently on bed rest, following the advice of my private physician.” Nikolayev’s tone didn’t invite further inquiry.

During his capture by Enoch Sloane, Rhys Beckett had been drugged in a bid to loosen his tongue during interrogation. He’d reacted badly to the injections and gone into an off-cycle heat. Nikolayev’s forces had managed to rescue him before the worst happened, but emotions had been running high in the aftermath of the retrieval mission. Maybe Nikolayev had been too addled by heat pheromones to think about the need for contraception, or maybe he’d simply assumed his mate was already too old to conceive. They were both middle-aged, and Beckett was approaching estropause.

However, ‘approaching estropause’ wasn’t the same thing as ‘past estropause.’ Now, the Nikolayev family was a couple of months away from welcoming its newest member into the world... assuming Beckett’s pregnancy went to term. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a foregone conclusion by any means. The fact that he was only pregnant with one pup and not a litter was in his favor, as was the fact that the Nikolayev family had access to alphomic medical specialists. Meanwhile, Beckett’s age—especially given the stressful circumstances surrounding the conception—was very muchnotin his favor.

“Tell him we’ll visit later if he’s feeling up to it,” I said, wondering if the poor man was going insane with boredom yet. Given what I knew of him, he probably was.

“I will pass on the message,” Nikolayev said. “Now, though, I must take my leave of you both. I have a phone conference this afternoon with the Committee representatives from Kiev and Moscow.”

I winced, not envying him. “Have fun with that.”

The slight twitch of his lips in response had more to do with irritation than any attempt at a smile. “Quite,” he said, and left us alone with the camera crew packing up their equipment.

Kam rolled his shoulders, releasing some of his tension. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to share a room with that man and not feel like he’s two seconds away from pulling a knife on me,” he said. “Sadly, today is not that day.”

I knew what he meant. There was no doubt in my mind that Nikolayev was on the same side we were. That didn’t make him any less of a terrifying bastard to deal with.

“Something to aspire to,” I told him wryly. “So, are you ready to beard the cheetah in her den?”

Kam’s deep brown eyes lit with purpose. “Yes, I bloody well am. This whole thing is getting ridiculous.”

“Hey, now,” I said, twining my arm through his and tugging him toward the door. “Be fair. Alex has a lot to process, and the kind of trauma she experienced doesn’t just disappear in a few months.”

Kam sighed. “Of course it doesn’t. But if you wall it up and ignore it, then it’llneverget better. Go on—ask me how I know.” The last few words were a low mutter.

I squeezed his arm. “We’ll find a chink in her armor. I don’t intend to go through another heat cycle with things still in limbo.”

Arm in arm, we headed toward the front doors of Nikolayev’s palatial manor house—silently girding ourselves to discuss mating bonds with a bereaved alpha. Specifically, an alpha who’d made it crystal clear that she never wanted to hear the word ‘mate’ again.

---