Page 11 of Pistols & Peonies

He ignores the jab. “She’s attractive. Young. Good for bearing pups.”

“Too young,” I counter, failing to mask the sharp edge of irritation in my tone.

He waves a dismissive hand like that detail is insignificant, which somehow pisses me off even more. “She’s twenty-three, not eighteen.” He glances back at the tablet, swiping with a contemplative hum. “Someone else, then? Having someone of your rank in the Pairing could motivate more females to apply…”

Shit.

I see it, clear as day. The change in his posture, the faint spark in his eye. The moment something clicks in his mind.

He just found the missing chess piece, and he wants to move it.

I shift my weight in the chair and cross an ankle over my opposite knee, adopting a posture of lazy indifference even as my wolf bristles.

“I’m not interested in a mate,” I say flatly.

He finally looks up, giving me a long, searching look. We’ve danced around this subject before, but lately, his tone’s been different. More insistent, like he’s trying to solve a problem he hasn’t yet made me aware of.

“Why not?” he presses. “Don’t you want to get laid?”

“I get laid plenty.”

“Then don’t you want to settle down, have some pups?”

“No,” I deadpan.

Honestly, I can’t think of anything worse than bringing pups into this world. This pack, its politics, his control… not a fucking chance.

“What, you waiting for your fated mate?” Gage snorts, half-mocking, half-curious.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You know those are practically myth.”

I just shrug again, letting him think whatever he wants. Better than giving him the truth.

He huffs out a breath. “You know I could just order you to take a mate.”

The words land like a slap, a growl curling in my chest before I can stop it. It’s a primal warning, quiet but unmistakable.

His gaze immediately sharpens, something colder slipping into his expression, authoritative and pure Alpha.

My wolf surges forward, ready to meet the challenge, but I force him back down. Not quickly enough, and not without effort– my hands curl into fists atop my thighs, knuckles crackling with restraint.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how restless your wolf’s been recently,” he says, watching my every move with those assessing grey eyes. “Taking on a mate would ground you both.”

I go still.

Because he’s right. And I hate that he’s right.

My wolf has been off lately. More volatile, more reactive. More unwilling to back down, even from bullshit that shouldn’t trigger him. Orders irritate the beast. Boundaries make him bristle. He’s been pacing under my skin like something’s coming, threatening to upend the order of things.

Even so, I keep my face blank. “My wolf is fine.”

Alpha stares me down, unblinking. “You’re slipping, Kane. Maybe you don’t feel it, but the rest of us do.”

My jaw tightens. “What exactly do you think I’m slipping from?”

“Control.”