Page 34 of Pistols & Peonies

And again, when she was hauled into the reckoning room. I still remember the way she stood straighter when I asked her about her arm, refusing to show weakness. How it scratched at something inside me I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Neither of those instances felt like this bond does, though, and I didn’t see her again until the full moon when we were Paired.

That’s it.

I freeze, towel halfway to my face, a fresh spike of adrenaline shooting through my veins.

The full moon run.

Pack protocol is strict– wolves are assigned to preserves by rank and status, pack order and geography. Until last week, I’d never shared a preserve with Violet for the run. We never crossed paths in wolf form under the full moon. If we were fated, we never would’ve known it– there was never an opportunity for the bond to snap in before we’d already sealed the deal.

Was fate just waiting for the optimal moment to sucker punch me?

As the pieces slot into place, I don’t know whether to laugh or throw a damn dumbbell through the window. I settle for lobbing the towel across the room instead, then run my hands over my face as the full weight of it settles in.

I’m fifteen years older than her. She’s a wildcard, a walking liability, the antithesis to everything I am. She can’t follow a direct order to save her life, and according to the digging I’ve done into her background, she has a history of stirring up chaos everywhere she goes. On paper, the two of us don’t make sense together.

Then again, I suppose fate doesn’t read resumes.

The gym door suddenly swings open, shattering the fragile peace. Two low-level enforcers step in, freezing mid-conversation when they see me.

I lift my chin in acknowledgement, then dart my gaze away as a clear indicator that I’m not up for pleasantries.

They mutter brief greetings anyway, then detour to the treadmill row. I grab my water bottle, take a long pull, and decide I’ve had enough socialization for the day. I barely acknowledge them on my way out of the gym, heading for the elevator.

The ride up is a brief oasis of silence, only the hum of machinery and the distant city to keep me company. I step off on the thirty-second floor, making my way to my apartment door. My unit is east-facing, which means as soon as I open it, I’m greeted by a wash of warm orange morning light.

The aroma of coffee is heavy in the air, tangled with Violet’s signature scent– an intoxicating blend of lemon and peony; both tart and sweet. She’s awake. The wolf inside me perks up and starts salivating, which is just fan-fucking-tastic.

I try to shut it out, not wanting to throw off my morning routine now that I’m finally feeling normal again. My boots scuff against the hardwood as I make my way down the long entry hall, veering into the kitchen for a dose of caffeine.

I’m greeted by the sight of Violet bent over the counter, leaning an elbow against the marble while spooning cereal into her mouth. She’s wearing the same thin tank top and panties she slept in, the lines of her tattoos vivid in the daylight. Her hair’s loose, falling in a dark river down her back, the ends grazing the top of her round ass.

I freeze in the entryway, every cell in my body buzzing. She looks so completely at home in my kitchen that for a split second, I’m thrown by how natural it feels. By how much I welcome the sight of the gorgeous, infuriating woman eating Lucky Charms on my countertop, legs bare, blue eyes cutting to me the second I enter the room.

And just like that, the glass of my routine shatters.

“You wanna take a picture?” she asks, arching a brow. “It’ll last longer.”

“Put on some fucking clothes,” I grumble, stomping past her toward the coffee pot. I set it to brew before I left– five scoops of grounds for two cups, strong enough to peel paint.

Violet smirks, her sharp gaze tracking me across the room. “I’m at home,” she replies unapologetically. “I’ll wear what I want.”

I grind to a halt in front of the coffee pot, hands curling into fists at my sides when I see the fucking thing’s empty. “Coffee?” I growl, pivoting her way.

She shrugs, licking a drop of milk from her spoon. “I was thirsty.”

I grit my teeth against the urge to snap at her. “You could’ve made another pot, mate,” I say calmly, keeping my tone even despite the way my blood boils.

“Wasn’t expecting you to return, Commander,” she fires back, dunking her spoon into her cereal. “You don’t exactly make a habit of coming here.”

I huff out an irritated breath, pivoting toward the cabinet and yanking it open. “Why else would I have set up the coffee?” I growl as I reach up for the canister of grounds.

“Thought you were trying to be a gentleman after sleeping with me.”

I slam the canister down on the counter, eyes darting to hers. “Sleeping,” I repeat, like it needs clarifying that nothing else occurred.

The corner of her mouth ticks up in a smirk. “That’s what I said.”