Page 42 of Pistols & Peonies

A feral growl rips from my chest as I press her harder into the tile, my grip tightening on her hips, control slipping through my fingers. Then she makes a sound– a soft whimper, unmistakably pained– and it slices straight through the haze.

The spell shatters.

I let go of her, stumbling back a step as reality crashes down all at once. The heat. The water. Her body bruised and trembling beneath my hands. What I was seconds away from doing.

Violet slumps against the wall, chest heaving as she fights to catch her breath. Wet hair clings to her cheeks and throat, blue eyes blazing with fury.

I drag in a breath that does nothing to steady me, my hands flexing uselessly at my sides. My whole body hums with adrenaline, overcharged and on a knife’s edge while want and shame and regret collide in my chest, hollowing me out.

Violet’s lips part on a shaky inhale, her stare locked on mine like she’s daring me to push her one last time. “Get out,” she rasps.

And for the first time tonight, I do what she asks.

I back out of the shower, letting the glass door swing shut between us before turning away. I don’t look back. I already know what I’ll see, and I don’t trust myself not to cross that line again.

Water splashes against tile, then hardwood as I storm out of the bathroom and down the hall, leaving chaos in my wake. Every step is heavy, my head still spinning, body still humming with everything I didn’t finish. My wolf howls inside me, furious and unsatisfied.

I hate myself for what I almost did.

For wanting her anyway.

And even as my bedroom door slams behind me and the apartment falls quiet, I know one brutal truth with absolute clarity.

This isn’t over. Not even close.

It’s only just beginning.

CHAPTER 15

Violet

I’ve endured plenty of sleepless nights lately, each followed by a shitty morning, so it’s no surprise this one’s more of the same. My wolf burned through so much energy healing me that she actually shut the fuck up long enough for me to get some rest, but of course it wasn’t nearly enough to truly feel refreshed. There’s still a phantom ache in my limbs, a dull, throbbing pressure behind my eyes, and all the toothpaste in the world couldn’t scrub the taste of regret from my mouth. I wake up angry.

I groan and mash my face into the pillow, willing the mattress to swallow me whole as I slowly piece together the events that led to this particular flavor of hangover.

All roads lead back to Kane.

They always do, dammit.

We may be bonded together as mates, but that doesn’t change how much I hate the man and everything he represents. The loss of my freedom, the system that unfairly sentenced me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s enemy number one, and no amount of pining from my wolf can alter that reality.

Except last night, I slipped. Forgot myself and let something happen that absolutely shouldn’t have.

The memory of his hands on me– rough and demanding, yet also careful in a way that makes me want to scream– is still burned into my nerves. It’s like my body memorized him without asking my permission, and now I’m forced to relive every second of that encounter with brutal clarity. My wolf is practically panting at the thought, replaying our moment in the shower over and over like it’s her favorite movie, proof that we belong exactly where we ended up.

I hate her for it.

Hate myself for it, too.

Because if I give into this, even a little, then it’s like I’m accepting the punishment Alpha handed down with a smile. If I let myself want Kane, then I stop being a victim of circumstance and instead become a willing participant in the injustice of the Pairing. And once I cross that line, I’m not sure there’s a way back.

The one thing I’ve always been sure of is who I am and what I stand for. This pack is an efficient, relentless machine, grinding up weird little outliers like me and spitting out good little soldiers for the cause. If I embrace my bond with Kane, then that’s exactly what I become– another compliant cog in the system I’ve spent my entire life pushing back against. I become the daughter my mom always wanted; the vapid, smiling, naïve girl who believes everything happens for a reason and that authority always knows best. The girl I’ve always sworn I’d never be.

So yeah, I wake up angry.

My sheets are a twisted mess, the blanket half-shoved to the floor. I roll onto my back and stretch until my spine cracks. The movement sends a flash of yesterday’s bruises through my ribs and hips, but it’s more of an echo than real pain. My shifter healing has already done its job, so I’m practically good as new.

I swing my legs off the bed, plant my feet on the cold floor, and sit there for a minute with my head in my hands, breathing through the lingering fog in my brain.