Ronin leaned a hip against a shelf,arms crossed, and watched Mireille wipe down her mortar and pestle with a white cloth.
Her confession hung like a poisonous fog between them, gathering in the shadowed corners, ready to strike.
“Need help with anything?” he asked, trying to keep his tone bored. Disinterested. Nonchalant.
He hoped she couldn’t sense his pounding heartbeat.
Focus glued to her cleaning, Mireille jutted her chin toward an iron pot at the end of her work table. “That’s cooled and ready for bottling. Vials and corks are in the cabinet behind you.”
He nodded, then turned around and opened a wooden door to reveal a gleaming row of glass bottles. “How many?”
Mireille assessed the liquid in the pot. “Ten should do it.”
Ronin grabbed his supplies, then settled in beside her. The table was small, barely enough space for one person. As they worked, their elbows bumped, heat simmering his veins at each and every touch.
He ignored it as he ladled the liquid into a funnel. Once the vial was full, he brought it to his nose and sniffed. Lavender. “What does this one do?”
“Calming draught.” Mireille didn’t look up, but she didn’t move away from him either.
“Where do you get the ingredients to make all this?”
Mireille’s eyes glazed over, and his protective instincts flared. “The Brethren put in special requests with the Koenig for me.”
Ronin went preternaturally still, his fingers stilling on the vials. “Like Jonas? That dark-haired Brethren who was bothering you on Harvest Night?” He failed to keep the bite out of his tone.
So much for nonchalance.
She slammed down her pestle. “You have no interest in me anymore. So I don’t know why you care.”
He steeled his spine. He didn’t care. Ofcoursehe didn’t fucking care. He’d had plenty of females since they’d parted. It would be hypocritical of him to assume she’d been celibate while he hadn’t.
Still, he couldn’t stop the surge of intense jealousy. The thought of that disgusting beast—fuckingJonas—putting his meaty paws on Mireille, rutting into her, using the body she’d taunted Ronin with today…
The body that had once belonged to him.
He smothered his possessiveness. If he involuntarily shifted right now, his wolf would wreak havoc through Mireille’s tiny shop. The creature was already howling and scratching at his insides. He attempted a few deep breaths to calm him.
He reached across the table and clasped her hand in a silent apology. He ran his thumb across the back of her knuckles, and she shuddered, then pulled away and gave him her back. He could’ve sworn he heard a small hiccup. Like she was choking back a sob.
“Don’t,” she whimpered.
“Don’t what?” He stepped up behind her. Not touching, but close enough to feel her heat through the black silk of her robe. Close enough to lean down and sniff her hair. His eye nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet, floral scent.
“You ran out of that training room today like you were on fire,” she whispered, seething.
“Mireille, I?—”
“I don’t need your fuckingpity, Ronin!” she roared, rounding on him. “I didn’t say Iwantedto still love you. It’s been the worst burden of my fucking life. If I could claw this feeling out of my chest, I would have done so two centuries ago.”
She charged forward, backing him into the work table and clattering the vials. His wolf was a howling cyclone within him, and he clenched the edge of the table to keep himself under control.
She dipped in closer, and the table edge groaned under his hold. “Or better yet,” she crooned, her petal-soft lips ghostingover his flesh, “I never would have made the mistake ofyouin the first place.”
He couldn’t handle it. He wanted to bend her over the table, rip up her robe, smack his palm across her perfect ass. One blow for every single lie she’d just thrown at him and a few more for good measure.
He was about to snap when the shop bell jingled and Silas and Cassandra barreled in.
Ronin and Mireille careened away from each other and Cassandra gave them a knowing look before Mireille barked out a sharp, “What?”
