“Miss her?” I snarl, forcing scorn.
“She was just a pawn.”
The lie tastes like wolfsbane.
Alice grins, hugging my waist: “Boring she-wolves like her don’t deserve you.”
Her body is soft, scented with the sweet perfume I once craved, but I stiffen.
“Wait,” she sits up.
“Why refuse the check? Has she found another mate?”
I yank free, pouring whiskey.
“Silence.”
The liquor burns , failing to quell the restlessness.
Alice nuzzles my neck: “bond break is a gift—now we’re free.”
“Alice,” I pull her hands away, “Leave me.”
After endless coaxing, she goes, and silence descends. I stare through the window, dialing my assistant: “Find Grace. Now.”
Dropping the phone, I glare at the certificate.
This was our pact—so why does my chest ache like a torn flank?
Images flood in: her 4 a.m.
