but Greg had wanted to do this part himself. Hugo’s had been the only offer for help he’d been willing to accept. The two of them had moved him into the room. It was only fitting they would move him out.
It was official now. Greg was no longer Alpha.
“Strange,” Hugo muttered as they tromped out of the office and down the stairs.
Greg didn’t have to ask what was strange. They’d known one another too long. “It was time. Roman is ready.”
“Are you?”
Greg shrugged. “As I’m ever likely to be.”
They strode down the hill and along the pathways to the much less ostentatious house where the former Alpha and his mate would be living.
“How does Lucienne feel about all this?” Hugo asked.
Though they worked together in pride matters, Hugo rarely spoke to her in a personal capacity and the two of them were always very careful never to be alone together. At first it had been necessary, but now it was a precaution born of habit.
“It’s an adjustment.” Greg nudged open the door to his new place, holding it open as Hugo crossed through and preceded him toward the office. They dropped the last two boxes among the others and the former Alpha surveyed the stack, his gaze fixed on the boxes when he said, “We won’t be getting divorced.”
Hugo contained his jolt of surprise as Greg slanted him a look. “I wasn’t expecting you to,” he said, uncertain whether the words were a lie.
Greg turned to face him, holding his gaze steadily. “I knew you loved her. Back then. And I was reasonably certain she felt the same. I’ve often wondered if I should apologize for that.”
Hugo’s mouth went dry, a desert with all possible responses trapped inside.
“I never could figure out if I should feel guilty for marrying her or not,” Greg went on. “But it’s been too long now. We’re a matched set. A while back we made the choice to love one another and neither of us wants to go back on that.” Lion-gold eyes watched him steadily. “I figured you had the right to know.”
Hugo nodded, forcing a “Thank you,” past the Sahara of his throat.
He ought to feel... something . Hell if he knew what, but there should definitely be emotion. Disappointment, maybe. Heartbreak.
But no. He just felt a vague sense of…what? Relief to have finally spoken about the past with Greg. A vague satisfaction that Greg and Lucienne had found happiness together.
And desire. Desire to see Moira. To tell her she was right—that Lucienne was free, but she’d chosen to give Greg her freedom and Hugo wasn’t sorry about that for even a second. He didn’t bother trying to parse through why. He just said his goodbyes to the Alpha and went in search of the little she-bear.
Alcohol was not the answer. But neither, Moira mused, was it the problem.
She pushed open the door to the Lion’s Den, the pride’s shifters-only dive bar, and wrinkled her nose at the scent of hops, stale peanuts and two dozen shifters in various states of inebriation. She’d never thought herself the type to need a drink, but it was her day off from the infirmary and all day she’d been plagued by a coiling restlessness, a baseless dissatisfaction.
Without her work to distract her, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Hugo and the way she’d torn into him yesterday when she’d patched up his hand. It had been satisfying, unloading all the unspoken words she’d carried around with her. Satisfying—for about fifteen minutes. Then the guilt had started.
She didn’t want to be that woman. Angry and bitter. She’d never been good at holding a grudge and she didn’t want to start now. She was a healer. She wanted to be the kind of woman who could forgive. Who wasn’t still preoccupied by decades old disappointments.
So when she saw Hugo parked in the back corner with a pitcher of ale in front of him, she didn’t turn tail and run—no matter how strong the sense of catastrophic déjà vu that rose up at the sight.
She’d just go