Page 47 of Pistols & Peonies

My mate.

My goddamn demise.

What happened back in that exam room should’ve scared her. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier if it had. Instead, she looked fucking delighted watching the doc squirm, like the threat of violence is her favorite flavor of foreplay.

Mine too.

I tear my gaze away from her to stare up at the digital numbers above the elevator, trying to shake off the last shreds of adrenaline still fizzing through my veins. The stench of Aspen’s fear still clings to the inside of my nose, my wolf alert and pacing. The bastard should be grateful I didn’t rip his throat out.

I could’ve.

Would’ve easily gotten away with it, too.

But then I’d have a barrage of questions from Alpha and a mountain of paperwork to deal with, so it seemed like less of a hassle to leave the man breathing. For now. But if he tries to go behind my back again and pull any shit, it’ll be the last thing he does.

I shift my stance, rolling my shoulders back. “The fuck is taking so long?” I grumble under my breath.

“Must be on the fritz,” Violet replies mildly, tapping her foot against the floor. “Maybe when it opens, it’ll swallow you whole.”

“It’d choke,” I mutter. “I’m hard to digest.”

She laughs– too bright, too loud. It does something to my chest I can’t fucking stand, the sound pumping me full of both oxygen and poison.

The elevator finally dings to announce its arrival, the metal doors sliding open. We both step inside the vacant box quickly like we’re diving for cover, but when the doors glide shut behind us, the space shrinks instantly. It’s a hell of a lot more dangerous being trapped in here together than it was waiting outside.

“So,” Violet says casually, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms. “Is issuing threats part of your daily routine? Or am I just special?”

I don’t look at her. I don’t trust myself to. “You’re special, alright,” I grunt, eyes fixed on the number panel as the elevator starts to move. “You compromise my better judgment.”

She huffs out a little chuckle of amusement. “Careful, Commander. You’re starting to sound like you’re actually invested in this whole mate thing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I reply, but my voice comes out thick, the words sticking to my tongue.

Her scent has flooded the space now. It’s all around me– not just her signature peony and citrus, but something richer, tinged with sweetness.

She’s turned on.

And not just a little, either. The unmistakable scent of her arousal slams into me like a hammer to the base of my skull, spiking every nerve in my body until I’m practically vibrating with restraint. When I risk a glance at her reflection in the mirrored wall, her cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, teeth pinning her lower lip hard enough to bruise.

And she’s staring right back, completely unapologetic, those baby blues slicing through me like a blade.

She’s tempting the beast. Daring me to be the first to break.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I growl, folding my arms tightly across my chest so I don’t do something stupid like reach for her.

She raises her chin defiantly. “Like what, exactly?”

Irritation spikes beneath my skin, those words too cool, too sharp. Like she’s the one holding the reins.

“Like you want to get fucked,” I bite out.

Her lips curve, slow and wicked. “Don’t flatter yourself, Commander.”

The way she says Commander does it. Not as a title, but as an accusation. Like she’s stripping it of authority and daring me to prove it still means something.

“Don’t bait me, mate,” I snarl, anger boiling hot and fast.

She smiles, infuriatingly pleased with herself, and something in me snaps. I lunge forward, hand darting out to slam the emergency stop button.