Page 83 of Pistols & Peonies

Are they for someone else?

Something ugly coils in my chest at the thought, my inner wolf surging forward territorially. Before I can stop it, an image forms in my mind– another woman in this house, in this kitchen, spending time with my mate.

We never had the exclusivity talk. I just… assumed.

“They’re for me,” he replies simply.

“Bullshit,” I snap, sliding off the counter. “Who is she?”

He lets out an infuriating chuckle, turning away. “Trust me, there’s no one else,” he says as he moves to the grocery bag and pulls out a can of coffee grounds.

“Then why the fuck do you have them?” I demand, anger building fast. “Tell me the truth, Kane. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

That’s a lie.

I’m not sure I can.

There’s something jagged and fragile twisting inside my chest, something I don’t want to look at too closely for fear it’ll break open.

He sets the coffee down and braces his hands on the counter for a moment before turning around to lean back against it, folding his arms across his chest.

“It’s the scent,” he murmurs, eyes lowered. “It… reminds me of you.” His gaze lifts, colliding with mine. “When you were in the city and I was here, I couldn’t sleep worth a shit. I thought if I filled the house with your scent, maybe it’d trick my wolf into shutting the fuck up long enough to let me rest.”

My stomach flips, mouth running dry.

Another image materializes in my mind– him all alone out here in this silent house, drowning in flowers because his wolf was keening for mine.

It’s tragically romantic, and so un-Kane that it upends everything I thought I knew about the man.

“It didn’t work, for the record,” he adds after a beat, dragging a hand through his hair as his gaze flicks away again.

I just stand there staring at him, feeling like a complete asshole.

A minute ago, I was ready to punch him in the face over imagined competition. Now, I’m staring at a man who bought out half a florist because he couldn’t sleep without my scent in the air.

“So, the peony you left on the counter in the apartment…” I say slowly, voice strained. “What was that? A decoy?”

He glances back at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. “That one was for you.”

My pulse skips. “Why?” I whisper.

“You had a shitty night,” he replies with a shrug. “Thought you should wake up to something better.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just stare down at my hands, at the faint pink line where the glass sliced my palm minutes ago. The skin is smooth now, the mark barely visible. I trace it with my thumb as Kane goes through the motions of starting the coffee, moving with that same efficient calm he wears like armor. He sets it to brew, then comes back to the counter to unpack the rest of the groceries.

I force myself to speak, because the silence feels oppressive.

“Don’t you have work today?”

He shakes his head without looking up. “Taking the day off.”

My brows lift. “What about last night? Don’t you have to, like, report it or something?”

“I’m not reporting it.”

I blink. “Why not?”

He meets my gaze, dark eyes steady and unyielding. “Because you could be implicated.” His jaw flexes. “I’ll handle it privately.”