His nostrils flare.
Does he think he’ll smell the guy on me?
Maybe. Wolves are weird like that. But I showered Cory off of me for the last time months ago.
“He told you what he was, but you didn’t become mates?” Roderick asks, his voice stiff, eyes flicking to my low neckline to the skin on my left breast, where a mating mark would reside if I’d ever gone through with the ceremony.
My snort might sound like a laugh, but there’s no true humor in it.
“Believe me, he wanted to. I politely declined.” More like I fought tooth and nail to maintain the one bit of control I had over my life.
Even with my constant avoidance, Cory might have been able to force the matter if his pack leader was fully on board.
But Mick Sullivan, leader of the Bear Valley pack, was pulled in two directions on the issue. On the one hand, Cory was his second-in-command. A guy he’d like to keep happy. On the other hand, his daughter, Janeen Sullivan, had been in love with Cory since she had been a teen and clearly held out hope he’d drop me and choose her for his life partner.
So, Mick withheld his blessing. Maybe I should have been grateful for that. But the guy could just have easily ordered Cory to stop laying hands on me, and yet he never did. Mick never bound me to my hellish situation, but he let me live in it for years.
“What happened between you two?” Roderick asks, sharp eyes on me.
I frown, not liking this potential deep dive into off-limits territory.
“Is this an interrogation pie? Because I thought it was an apology pie.”
Roderick continues to stare at me. Hard. Like he can dig around in my brain for answers.
As far as I know, that’s not one of his supernatural abilities, so I just glare back at him.
After a moment, his intensity fades, and he offers a contrite twist to his mouth. “You’re right.”
I wait.
His eyes flick to the pie, then back to me. “Can we eat while I apologize? It’s strawberry rhubarb, and it might help your opinion of me.”
I bite my lips to stave off the sudden, surprising urge to smile. “Sure.”
After slicing two pieces, placing them on my new blue flowery plates, and setting one on the kitchen table for each of us, I wave for Roderick to sit across from me. When he settles in the chair, the old wood groans under his dense weight. I pray the thing won’t break, no matter how funny it would be to see the alpha sprawled on my kitchen floor, surrounded by splintered bits of furniture.
Before whatever half-assed apology he doles out can ruin the taste, I fork up a huge bite of the pie, the rich red filling glinting in the warm kitchen lighting. Once the pastry passes my lips, all thoughts drain from my mind as my focus goes entirely to my tongue.
The taste is orgasmic. Sweet, and tart, and buttery.
“My gods,” I moan while my mouth is still full. Barely allowing myself time to swallow the first bite, I’m already shoveling in a second. “This is decadent!” The words are garbled as they pass through my mouthful of pie. “Where did you get it from?”
Roderick watches me, unflinching, probably shocked by my gluttonous behavior.
But since I don’t care about his opinion, I don’t bother to restrain myself.
“I made it,” he says, voice low.
I freeze. “You?” I wave my crumb-covered fork at him. “You—electricity-fixing, biker-riding wolfman—made this pie?Thisone?”
His lips twitch. “Yes.”
“Hell,” I sigh, shoulders drooping. “I didn’t realize I was giving my pathetic attempt at an apology pie to a professional. I thought you’d just be like,Sugar! Nom, nom, nom.”
That earns me a full-sized smile, which softens his normally hard face.
“I did eat the entire thing in one sitting,” Roderick admits.
