<h4>Chapter 50: Chapter 50: PINKY PROMISE</h4>


    <strong>IVAN’S POV</strong>


    I hadn’t been able to get a useful response out of Serenast night. After I asked about the source of the picture from five years ago, she t-out refused to give me an answer of any value.


    "You do not have the right to make demands from me, Ivan Cross," she’d said coldly. "Why should I hand you one more weapon for Maeve’s arsenal of lies? It doesn’t matter what I say—you’d eat out of her palms either way."


    She’d spat those words before storming out of the room.


    I hadn’t seen her since.


    Frankly, I didn’t think I wanted to.


    Why would I bother looking her in the eye when all I wanted was another? She might have been my intended, my chosen mate on paper—but that title meant less to me with every passing day.


    Somewhere along the way, Maeve had wed her way back into my head, and now she was all I could think about.


    I wanted to kiss her again.


    Last night, I’d gone to bed with the memory of her wetness still etched in my mind.


    The best part had been how much she wanted me to touch her. Her moans had filled the room. Her legs had wrapped tightly around me.


    Again, I wondered how far things would have gone between us if Serena hadn’t shown up when she did.


    How could she still want a separation ritual when we were still so drawn to each other?


    I knew there were deeply rooted issues between us, but there was always a way to move past them.


    There had to be a way for us to forgive each other and build something better than it ever was before. No, not the way it used to be—better.


    This time, I’d take care of her. I’d dote on her, be the man she’d always wanted. Better than her new mate.


    This was probably just my lust talking—clouding my better judgment. Be that as it may, the fact remained: I couldn’t get Maeve out of my system.


    I needed to have her.


    I needed to kiss her. To bury my cock deep inside her warmth and feel here all around me.


    But first, I would start by talking to her.


    * * *


    I skipped breakfast with the elders’ council.


    We were supposed to meet to discuss thetestbat routine added to the warriors’ training regimen, but I managed to push it to dinner instead.


    Standing in front of Maeve’s chambers, I hesitated before knocking. For a full minute, I tried to gather the courage. It should have been easy.


    I’d bickered with her plenty of times. I’d circled her wetnessst night, swallowed her moans in open-mouthed kisses.


    And yet, the thought of seeing her now made me nervous for reasons I couldn’t pin down.


    My hesitation dragged on long enough to be ridiculous. It was now or never.


    Squaring my shoulders, I raised my knuckles and knocked.


    I winced at the sharp sound echoing through the quiet hallway.


    I waited a few seconds, then knocked again. No sound came from the other side. No footsteps heading toward the door.


    Maybe showing up at seven in the morning was a bad idea. Maeve was probably still asleep—and I doubted my face was what she’d want to see first thing when she woke.


    I needed to leave. I had paperwork to deal with anyway.


    I decided I’d wait until noon. Then I’d send a letter inviting her and Asha to dinner with the rest of the packhouse.


    It was about time my subjects became acquainted with my son and heir. Hopefully, at some point during dinner, I could get a chance to finally talk to Asha.


    His anger toward me ought to have cooled by now.


    I was counting on it.


    Just as I began to step away, the doors burst open, revealing none other than Asha.


    The sight startled me so much I lost my footing. I tripped, catching myself on the doorpost before I could hit the floor.


    Great. Way to look cool in front of the kid.


    He already thought of me as the bad guy who took pleasure in harassing his mother. I wondered what he thought of me now.


    I looked down at him. He wore blue striped pajamas, his hair messy from sleep.


    Up close, I noticed applesauce stains at the corners of his mouth and splotched across his shirt.


    Had he been in the middle of breakfast?


    "Can I help you?" Asha’s tiny voice was clear and crisp, his question shaking me out of my thoughts.


    I straightened to my full height, clearing my throat.


    "Good morning." There. That was a good start.


    "Good morning," he replied, unenthused. His small hands still clung to the door, like he was ready to m it in my face.


    I didn’t want that. I had to try harder.


    "Um... how did you sleep?"


    It sounded like the right next thing to say.


    I hoped it was.


    "Fine." Asha pursed his lips, letting go of the door and folding his tiny arms across his chest, settling into a defensive stance. "If you’re here to see my mother, she’s not here."


    "She’s not?" I raised my brows, surprised at how easily he’d guessed my intent.


    He was such a little spitfire—possessing a sass and vigor I hadcked as a child. Even now, Icked it still.


    "No, she’s not," Asha said, narrowing his eyes at me. "Which is a good thing. You won’t get to be mean to her."


    Oh, fuck.


    "I am sorry, Asha." The apology left my lips before I could even register what, exactly, I was apologizing for.


    "What are you sorry for?" he asked. "You need to say it. Mummy always tells me to state the things I am sorry for. That way, I won’t repeat them again."


    My lips twitched at that.


    "Your mummy sounds like an incredibly smart woman."


    "She is." Pride shed in his eyes. "Now, what are you sorry for?"


    This was it—my moment to right the errors of my ways. For Asha. For the future we could both have.


    "I’m sorry for not always being kind to your mother. She’s a wonderful woman, and I haven’t treated her the way she deserves. I came here to tell her that, but since she’s not here right now, I’ll start by telling you. I’m sorry, Asha. I promise I’ll do my best to be nicer to her from now on."


    "Hmm. Pinky promise?" he asked, a little less suspicious now.


    "What’s a pinky promise?" I asked, genuinely confused.


    Asha stared at me for a beat before doing thest thing I expected—heughed. Loud and painfully mocking.


    "Mum was right; you’re not very bright."


    I winced. She said that?


    "You don’t know what a pinky promise is?" he wheezed, clutching his ribs. "Exactly how old are you?"


    Despite my little frown at Maeve’s choice of description—just what else had she told him?—hisughter was so infectious it brought a smile to my face.


    I scratched the back of my neck. "I’m pretty much ancient. How about you enlighten me?"


    "Here." He extended his smallest finger toward me. "Hold out your pinky, like this."


    "Like this?" I copied his movement.


    "Good. Now, you have to kneel."


    "Kneel. Wow. Okay." I obliged, lowering myself until we were nearly eye level. "Now what?"


    "Now, we link our pinkies together." His eyes sparkled as he hooked his pinky through mine. "This is how you do a pinky promise. Got it?"


    "Yes," I nodded seriously, trying my hardest not tough. "You really are a skilled teacher."


    "Really?" He seemed pleased, not even realizing our fingers were still linked.


    "Yes. I didn’t know what a pinky promise was five minutes ago. Now I do. It’s all thanks to you."


    "I’m a skilled teacher," Asha dered, finally pulling his finger away but not stepping back. If anything, he seemed more intrigued by me now.


    Finally. Some progress.


    "I have a toy ne," he announced, making wide gestures with his hands. "It’s red and big."


    Well, that was quite the switch.


    "That so?" I said with a small smile, still kneeling, because if staying here on the floor meant sharing this moment with my son, I’d do it.


    "Yeah. Do you wannae in and have a look at it? I could also teach you how to fly it."


    "You want me toe in?" I blinked, caught off guard by the invitation.