AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I lean closer, asking in a voice too soft for anyone else to hear, “So how do you feel about that, little wolf? Being meant for a man you hate?”
“I don’t hate you,” she says stiffly.
“But you don’t want to fuck anymore,” I say, grinning over the rim of my glass as her lips tighten into a disapproving line. I take a drink, letting the liquid burn a path down my throat before I add, “Which is a shame, because I will be fucking you on our wedding night, Willow. And the morning after and as often as I have need of release. It’s the least you can do after putting such an abrupt end to my life as a single man.”
“I don’t care who you have sex with—before or after we’re married.” Her eyes narrow. “But you won’t be having sex with me until you’ve convinced me to like you again. You won’t force me. You’re not that kind of man.”
I arch a brow. “Is that right? So, which is it, little wolf—am I a monster you couldn’t trust with a conversation before you ran off to my father? Or a gentleman who will take no for an answer, even when you’re my wife and obligated to give me children? I don’t see how I can be both.”
“We all contain multitudes,” she says sweetly. “And I’m not obligated to give you anything but a chance to be a good mate. What you do with that chance is up to you.” She sets her still half-full Chardonnay on the small table behind us. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to thank your father for the lovely party before it’s over.”
She turns and leaves without waiting to be excused. I’m about to follow her and insist that she wait to be dismissed before she walks away from me—that’s pack protocol and my future wife is as obliged to honor my position as Alpha as any other wolf—when Hermione appears at my elbow.
“Trix is downstairs waiting for you in the enforcer conference room. Says she has an engagement present for you,” she says softly. “Would you like me to make her comfortable until after the party? Or send her on her way with my condolences?”
“No condolences needed. My future wife just made it clear she doesn’t care who I fuck. Now or after the wedding.” I down the last of my drink and set it beside Willow’s wine, hating that even the hint of pink lipstick on the edge of her glass makes me think about kissing her.
Trix couldn’t have shown up at a better time.
I nod toward the exit. “Let’s go. I’ll talk to Trix, and afterwards you can debrief me on any new developments in the investigation.”
Hermione hesitates. “Don’t you need to stay until the end of the reception? Or at least…say good-bye to your guests?”
“They’re my father’s guests and this is my father’s party,” I say, casting a glance to where Dad sits in his wheelchair. Willow is beside him in a folding chair, laughing at something he’s just said.
They seem to be getting along like a house on fire, but that’s temporary, too. One way or another, I’ll win my father back around to seeing things my way. I’m his son, after all. Willow is a convenient stranger, one who won’t look nearly as attractive once I make it clear this prophecy is a load of garbage.
And if I can prove she had something to do with the attack…
“Any more information on Kelley? Or who might have helped her gain access to the tower?” I ask as Hermione and I exit the bar and step into the atrium, where the scent of smoke from the explosion still lingers.
“No,” my second says. “No new developments, and it’s like she vanished off the face of the earth after she ran out of camera range at the corner of Beckett and the alley.” She hesitates a beat before adding, “But I don’t think Willow was involved, Maxim. If that’s why you’re less than excited about this engagement.”
“I’m less than excited about this engagement for many reasons, none of which I wish to discuss at the moment,” I say. “And I don’t think Willow is telling us everything she knows. Until she does, she’s a suspect.”
“And your fiancée,” Hermione says, her tone making it clear she doesn’t approve of the conflict of interests.
“My father is forcing the match,” I confess. “For now.”
Hermione exhales. “Ah. I’m sorry about that. But in case no one else has had the balls to say it—just because you’re angry with her and resenting this match doesn’t mean Willow is guilty of anything. Or a bad person. Or deserves to be treated like a contagious disease.”
I shoot her a look out of the corners of my eyes. “How much?”
“How much what?”
“How much are you willing to wager that you’re wrong?” I ask as we board the elevator leading down to the sub-basement and the enforcer offices. “I want more than the satisfaction of telling you ‘I told you so.’”
Her lips curve. “Five grand.”
“Ten,” I counter. “And you have to tell me how clever I am every time we cross paths for a month.”
“Is your ego that small?”
I grin. “I just want to savor my victory. It’s going to feel really good to be right about this. Really, really good.”
She grunts. “Fine. If you win, I give you 10k and a big brain ego stroke for a month. And if I win, I get the 10k and Friday nights off for a month.”
“Done,” I agree as we step out of the elevator, my mood already improved by the bet and the distance from both my father and my fiancée.
