Submission is Not My Style novel Chapter 134

I lean back against the pillows, tracing lazy circles over my stomach as muffled voices drift from the council room down the hall. Jack’s voice rises above the others deep, steady, commanding–but I know the truth beneath it. He doesn’t want to be away from me and our baby. Not with Malik still alive, breathing the darkest magic in existence.

But the Blood Fang elders had arrived, demanding answers, demanding leadership. Without an alpha, their pack is cracking like dry earth under relentless sun. They’ve begged Jack to return to them, to lead them again. He refused, bluntly, fiercely, as I knew he would but the debate rages on. Choosing the right alpha is no small decision, and their endless meeting will stretch for days, maybe weeks.

And for once, I’m glad of it.

Because Jack’s possessiveness means I almost never have time alone with my mother. And now, with the elders keeping him occupied, I finally do.

I use every moment of it.

“Hold still, darling, or I’ll pin your ear instead of your hair,” Mother scolds gently from behind me, though her lips twitch with amusement. Her fingers move quickly, deftly, weaving braids into an elegant crown I could never hope to master on my own.

I laugh, wrinkling my nose at her in the mirror. “You act like I’m still ten.”

Her eyes soften, and there’s a flicker of sadness there that makes my chest ache. “You’ll always be Ten to me sometimes.” She tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “My baby. My little princess.”

We spend our stolen days doing everything I used to dream about but never had. She pulls me into her chambers, where silks and jewels glitter in warm lamplight, insisting I try them all. We laugh until our stomachs hurt as I trip over gowns too long for me, until she finally declares I am the worst model in the kingdom.

She paints my lips in her shade of dark red, the one that always made her look fierce and regal. On me, it makes me look less like a queen and more like her daughter. Sometimes she pauses, staring at me too long, her fingers brushing my cheek as if she’s trying to memorize me. I want to reassure her–that everything will be fine, that she will defeat Malik because she’s a queen, because she’s unstoppable. But the words tangle in my throat, heavy with doubt. For the first time I don’t believe them. And it makes me want to beg her to abandon her plan, to think of another way. But deep down, I know there isn’t one.

At night, we curl up together in her bed as though I were a child again, blankets tucked to our chins. She strokes my hair until my eyes grow heavy, then turns her attention to my belly, speaking to my baby as though it isn’t still just a seed–tiny, barely a week old, not yet fully formed.

“She’s going to be so strong,” Mother says, grinning ea to ear.

“She,” I echo, smirking. “Jack insists it’s a boy.”

Her expression hardens, not unkindly but with the weight of certainty. “It’s a girl. I know it. And when she comes, you’ll give her my name.”

I blink at her. “So demanding. What if I want to name her after myself?”

Mother laughs, brushing her thumb across my brow. “You’ll see. She’s mine as much as she’s yours. I’ll hold her first and even if I don’t she must be named after me.”

Her voice drops soft but fierce, like an oath carved into stone.

Something prickles at the back of my neck. As the days pass, I see it more clearly–the fear in her eyes, the way her laughter never quite hides it. I know the time is hear. The moment she must face Malik. I never bring him up again. I don’t want to shatter our little moments, not when we’ve had almost a week of stolen joy–of braiding, giggling, and stories I thought I’d never hear.

“Fine,” I whisper at last, leaning my head on her shoulder. “If it’s a girl, she’ll have your name.”

Satisfied, she smiles, and begins reading to me. Her voice is the same one that used to soothe me when nightmares clawed at my sleep. I close my eyes, lulled by the rhythm, by the warmth of her beside me, by the steady touch of her hand on mine.

When I open them again…

She’s gone.

The bed is cold. The place where she had been lying feels hollow, drained of everything. My chest tightens as I sit up, glancing around wildly. The air has changed–sharp, biting, the kind of cold that creeps into your

bones.

“Mother?” My voice cracks.

Nothing answers.

The connection between us is gone, severed so suddenly it feels like the air has been ripped from my lungs. Terror claws at me, icy and suffocating, as my worst fear fills me.

She’s gone to confront Malik.