Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 158

Chapter 158

BIANCA

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The woman who walked through the door on the far side of the room was older than I’d imagined when I’d seen her photograph in Klaus’s files. The photograph had been eight years old, taken at a Council gathering, and the woman in it had been in her late sixties–sharp and contained, the particular posture of someone who’d been powerful long enough that the power had become physical.

The woman in front of me now was somewhere past seventy, smaller than I’d expected, with white hair pulled back from a face that had settled into the specific sharpness of someone who’d spent decades making careful decisions and rarely regretted them. Miriam Voss looked at me with the calm interest of someone examining something they’d been waiting for.

“You’re awake,” she said. “Good. I was beginning to wonder how long that would take.”

I looked at her and said nothing.

“The concussion is unfortunate,” she continued, moving closer with the unhurried ease of someone who had nowhere else to be. “That wasn’t intentional. The collision was supposed to disable the vehicle, not cause injury. My people were slightly— enthusiastic.” She tilted her head slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had better evenings,” I said.

She smiled at that. Not warmly. The smile of someone who appreciated a certain kind of composure and had expected less of it.

“Elara’s daughter,” she said. “I can see her in you. The same stillness when you’re afraid. The same tendency to take inventory rather than panic.” She stopped a few feet from my chair and looked at me the way I’d seen researchers look at things they’d been studying for a long time and had finally gotten close to. “I knew your mother, you know. Not well. We were on opposite sides of a disagreement that has been going on for longer than you’ve been alive. But I respected her abilities. She was exceptional.”

“Don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t tell me you respected her while you were hunting her down. It doesn’t work the way you think it does.”

Voss looked at me for a moment, then nodded slightly, as if I’d said something that confirmed a hypothesis. “Fair enough.” She turned slightly, looking at the room around us with an expression of quiet satisfaction. “Do you know where you are?”

“I have a reasonable idea,” I said. “The preparation site. The anchoring work you’ve been doing for the past several days.” I looked at the floor symbols. “You’re further along than I’d hoped.”

“We’ve been at this for fifteen years,” she said. “The preparation work is exactly as far along as it should be.” She turned back to me. “I want to be honest with you, because I think you’d appreciate that more than false reassurance. You are here because we need what your blood carries. The ritual requires three verified curse–breaker lineages, and you are one of three. There will be some discomfort involved. But you won’t die from the process.”

“You’ll understand if I don’t find that particularly reassuring.”

“I understand completely,” she said, with what appeared to be genuine acknowledgment. “I also want you to know that your comfort during the time before the ritual is entirely contingent on your behavior. If you cooperate, you’ll be treated reasonably. If you attempt to work against the barrier or cause disruption, the accommodations become significantly less pleasant.”

I looked at her steadily. “My disappearance will be noticed. People who have significant resources will start looking for me immediately. You won’t have as much time as you think.”

Voss smiled again. This one was different. Wider. The smile of someone about to show you something they were genuinely

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pleased with.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “And I think this is the part you’ll find most interesting.” She paused, clearly enjoying the moment. “Right now, at the safe house where you’ve been staying, a woman who looks exactly like you is asleep in the bed you left. She woke up when Rivera checked on her an hour ago. She told him you’d had a headache and come to bed early. He believed her because she is, for all practical purposes, you.” She paused to let that settle. “Same face. Same voice. Same way of moving. Built from a strand of your hair and a carefully constructed memory pattern that allows her to respond correctly in most short interactions.”

The cold feeling in my stomach got worse.

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