I Married a Rogue, So Why Is My Family Kneeling to Him

The rusted latch on the attic window gave way without a sound.

Kieran swung his long legs over the sill, landing on the creaking floorboards with the quiet grace of a predator. The cold night air poured in behind him, but he barely seemed to notice as he shut the warped frame.

His eyes swept over the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the puddle forming beneath the metal pail, and the threadbare cot shoved into the corner. His jaw tightened into a hard, rigid line, his expression turning downright murderous.

"This is where they put you," Kieran said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble. "In an unheated storage loft with water leaking through the ceiling."

"Kieran, stop," I whispered, stepping between him and the door before he could pull out his secure phone. "You promised. You are not going to interfere, and you are not revoking any more Silver Pine resources tonight."

"They have you sleeping on springs, Maeve."

"It's two more days," I insisted, reaching up to rest my hand flat against his chest. "If you start tearing this pack apart now, everything blows up before I'm ready to walk away. Just let it be."

He stared down at me for a long moment, a storm brewing behind his dark irises. Finally, he let out a harsh breath, reached down, and pulled his tactical sweater over his head, tossing it onto the wooden crate. He was left in low-slung black training pants, his bare shoulders wide and heavily corded with muscle in the dim moonlight.

He sat down on the edge of the cot. The old metal frame groaned in protest under his weight.

There was barely enough room for one person, let alone a six-foot-four Alpha King. I lay down on the far side, facing the wall, trying to give him space.

Exhaustion settled heavy in my bones within minutes. The moment my mind began to drift, my body betrayed every ounce of restraint I had attempted to maintain. The pregnancy amplified my wolf’s instincts, and my wolf craved the scent of her mate.

Without realizing it, I rolled over, tucked my face into the curve of his neck, and wrapped an arm around his torso. The scent of pine, crushed cedar, and winter frost immediately enveloped me, soothing the lingering ache in my lower back.

***

Kieran later told me he did not sleep.

Every time the floorboards downstairs creaked or a gust of wind rattled the loose roof shingles, the muscles beneath his skin locked tight.

I drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the night, vaguely aware of the steady, burning heat radiating from his chest. Once or twice, when a distant floorboard groaned below us, I felt his heartbeat spike. In the shadows above me, a faint, amber glow flickered behind his lashes—as if his wolf were pacing right beneath the surface, agitated by the cramped, hostile environment.

He could have leveled this entire house with a single command. He could have summoned an armored division to haul my father and Brock into the yard for putting me in this room.

He later admitted that he kept his raw power tightly leashed, afraid that a sudden spike in his aura would distress me or the baby. He simply drew me higher against his chest, locking his heavy arm around my waist to keep me anchored against him.

When the pale gray light of dawn finally crept through the skylight, I woke up completely tangled in his limbs.

My left knee was hooked over his hip, my face was buried against his bare collarbone, and both of my hands were clutching his waist like a lifeline. He was awake, staring down at me with heavy, hooded eyes.

"Morning," I mumbled sleepily, my voice thick.

"You spent the entire night crawling on top of me," he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly with disuse.

I looked down, suddenly realizing how thoroughly I was plastered against his heated skin. A flush crept up my neck, and I moved to scramble backward toward the edge of the mattress.

His arm tightened around my waist like an iron band, keeping me pinned firmly against him.

"Stay," Kieran said softly. A faint, wicked curve touched the corner of his lips. "Though you are making restraint unnecessarily difficult."

Before I could answer, heavy footsteps came pounding up the attic stairs.

The rhythmic thud was sharp, hurried, and unmistakable.

"Maeve!" Talia’s voice called out from the second-floor landing, growing louder by the second. "Wake up! Mom said you need to press the tablecloths for tonight!"

My eyes widened in sheer terror.

There was only one way into the attic, and the window dropped three stories down onto a jagged rock bed. There was nowhere to run.

"Get up!" I hissed, throwing the blanket off and shoving his chest with both hands. "Move!"

Kieran didn't look remotely panicked. He sat up with a calm, unimpressed expression, looking around the tiny room. "Where do you suggest I go, Maeve?"

"The wardrobe!" I pointed frantically to the narrow, weathered wooden closet shoved between two support beams.

The Sovereign of the Northern Realm looked at the dusty piece of furniture with utter disbelief. "You want me to hide in a closet?"

"Unless you want my sister to see you half-naked in my bed, get inside!"

The footsteps reached the top landing.

I grabbed Kieran’s arm, yanked him to his feet, and shoved him toward the wooden wardrobe. He barely managed to duck his head to fit inside before I slammed the thin doors shut, turning the rusty wooden latch just as the doorknob jiggled.

The attic door flew open.

Talia stepped inside, carrying a garment bag over her shoulder. She wrinkled her nose immediately, waving a hand in front of her face.

"God, it smells like mold up here," she complained, her gaze sweeping around the dusty room. "How can you stand this?"

I stood in front of the cot, smoothing down my sweater and trying to steady my breathing. "What do you want, Talia?"

"I brought my backup dress for the Moon Feast," she said, tossing the garment bag onto the cot. "It needs to be steamed. And you need to start getting ready early."

She crossed her arms, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across her face.

"Brock just got off a private call with his division commander," Talia said, tilting her chin up. "A high-ranking representative from the Northern capital is arriving in Silver Pine tonight. He's attending our pack feast."

I froze. "A Northern representative?"

"Yes," Talia beamed, stepping closer. "Brock says this official is here to assess the regional infrastructure and review the security clearance for the territory. The Alpha King’s personal circle is actually paying attention to us."

She paused, looking me up and down with a condescending sneer.

"You should really call that rogue of yours, Maeve," Talia added mockingly. "Tell him to put on his cleanest flannel and come down to the hall tonight. It’s a public feast. We wouldn't want him to feel left out while my mate receives a formal commendation."

"I don't think he’s interested in pack politics," I said flatly.

Talia laughed, a sharp, patronizing sound that grated on my nerves. She turned and took two steps toward the old wardrobe, intending to look at herself in the cracked oval mirror mounted on the right door.

"Oh, come on," Talia sneered, reaching a hand out toward the wooden handle. "Let him come. Let him see what a real Alpha looks like."

Panic surged through my veins.

Before her fingers could touch the wood, I stepped directly into her path, slamming my back flat against the wardrobe doors to block her.

Behind my shoulder blades, the air turned deadly cold.

A suffocating, heavy pressure began leaking through the cracks of the wooden panels, thick with pure Alpha dominance. The wooden frame trembled faintly against my spine as Kieran’s control slipped, his aura threatening to blow the hinges off the wardrobe.

Talia blinked, freezing mid-step. She frowned, looking around the room with sudden unease as the air grew thin and heavy. "What is that...?"

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I kept my back pressed tight against the doors, fighting to contain the force threatening to erupt from behind me.

Suddenly, through the narrow gap between the warped wooden panels, five strong, burning fingers snaked out from the darkness and snapped tightly around my wrist.