My Cheating Mate (Emma and Jeremy) novel Chapter 166

Chapter 166

“And what we’d gain?”

“Time. Coalition consolidation. The optics of having forced the Council to the table.” He glanced at me. “And possibly–possibly —an actual framework. Jeremy, the moderate faction within the Council–the one that was horrified by the Sarah Mitchell operation, that sent representatives to meet us years ago–they still exist. Still want peaceful resolution. If last night shifted internal power balances, we might actually be talking to different people than we faced before.”

I thought about that. About the letter’s tone–different from every other Council communication we’d received. Less imperious. More–not humble, exactly. Realistic.

“We have to go,” I said. “We have to take the meeting.”

“I agree. With significant security precautions.” He pulled off the main road onto the smaller track that led toward the safe house. “Jeremy, I want to be at this meeting. Not behind the scenes coordinating—at the table.”

“You’re the one they wanted executed two days ago.”

“Which makes me the most significant person to have at the table. If the Council is genuinely considering a framework for coexistence, my presence- -as the vampire they declared should die for being Grace’s Uncle Cas–forces them to confront the human reality of their ideology.” He paused. “Or vampire reality. You understand what I mean.”

“You want to be living proof that what we’re fighting for is real.”

“I want to be sitting across from them while they try to explain why an eight–hundred–year–old vampire should be executed for loving a five–year–old child.” His voice was quietly fierce. “Let them say that to my face. In a room full of witnesses.”

The safe house came into view–a sprawling farmhouse on fifty acres of neutral territory, surrounded by open ground that made surprise approaches nearly impossible. I could see the vampire guards Cas had stationed, subtle but present.

And then, bursting through the front door before the SUV had fully stopped–Grace.

“DADDY!”

She crossed the distance at full toddler sprint, arms pumping, completely heedless of the fact that I was barely out of the car. I caught her, swinging her up despite the protest from my injured shoulder, holding her tightly enough that she squirmed. “Daddy, you’re squeezing too much

”

“I know. Give me a minute.” I buried my face in her strawberry–scented hair. My daughter. Safe. Completely fine. “How’s my girl?”

r

“Good! Elara and I built the biggest block stable ever. It has three horses and a feed room and Elara said she’d help me paint it but we need special paint for wood and can we get some?” She pulled back to look at my face with those enormous brown eyes. You have bruises.”

“I do. I’m okay though.”

“Uncle Cas has bruises too,” she observed, looking past me to where Cas had climbed out of the SUV.

“Uncle Cas,” she announced, wriggling to be put down. I set her carefully on her feet and she ran to him with the same abandon she’d shown with me. He caught her with practiced ease, his damaged arms wrapping around her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Which, to him, I suspected she was.

“You’re all messy,” she informed him, examining his torn shirt with five–year–old seriousness. “What happened to your shirt?” “I had a very busy night.”

”

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“Fighting the bad people?”

He paused. “Yes. Fighting the bad people.”

“Did you win?”

“We won.”

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