“I don’t harm children.” I tested a smile I hoped conveyed my nonthreateningness to her in case I lucked into an opportunity to question her later. “It’s nice to meet you, Emily.”

Bessemer’s gaze scythed between us as though sensing there was more to my polite interest in his daughter. Guilty conscience speaking perhaps? His daughter thawed under his regard, wilting until her feet sank into soft grass. There would be no reaching her now, not while her dad was nearby.

“There you are.” A bony hand closed over my elbow. “Did you get turned around again? Dell’s been waiting on you half the day.” Meemaw started as if the folds covering her eyes had prevented her from spotting her alpha until this moment. “Oh dear, I didn’t interrupt?”

“Not at all,” he assured her through tight lips.

Capitalizing on the stalled-out hostilities, Imogen rested her hand on Bessemer’s forearm. “Do you have time to discuss the expansion project?” She patted Emily’s head with yearning clear in her bright eyes. “That’s what brought me to the Lane.”

“Of course,” he said, shooing his daughter ahead of him. “I’m hungry.” His gaze burned hot over Imogen. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere more private.”

A squirming sensation left my gut tight, fear that Imogen was entertaining him to deflect his interest in me. What had changed there? Why was she championing me now? Had I proven my dominance and settled that score? Or had she humored me and let me claim the victory for other reasons? Reasons that involved an opportunity with a male one rung higher on the pack’s social ladder.

The pair set out for the log cabin-style mansion on the rise, and I stared in the direction Emily had gone before a sharp tug at my elbow brought my attention back to Meemaw.

Wrinkles parted over dark eyes. “Do you want to give him another reason to kill you?”

“Does he need one?” Besides the fact I was fae and breathing.

Her gnarled hand gripped my jaw and hauled my face down to her level. “Imogen is in heat.”

“Heat?” Dread ballooned in my chest. “Since when?”

“Going on forty-eight hours as best I recall.” She fanned her nose, the air no doubt ripe with pheromones for those able to scent them. “She’s got her sights set on Bessemer at the moment, and he’s looking right back.” The older woman turned me loose. “Aisha hasn’t given him children, and anyone who’s seen him with Emily can tell he craves more. This is an opportunity for both of them.”

“Who is Emily’s mother?”

“Her name was Agatha. Aggie,” she amended. “She died due to complications when Emily was eight weeks old. Bessemer has been burning through females in our pack searching for a replacement ever since. This time he might have met his match in ambition.”