Page 20 of Pistols & Peonies

I immediately shove him back, grinding my molars as I stalk down the long entry hall. My footsteps echo off the barren walls, steady and restrained despite the wildfire smoldering underneath my skin. When I reach the door, I pause to draw a deep, steadying breath before flipping the deadbolt and pulling it open.

Mate.

The word reverberates in my skull like a battle cry the instant I lay eyes on Violet, my wolf’s instincts rising despite my best efforts to keep him at bay.

She somehow looks even more tempting than she did last night. Her dark hair is yanked back in a tight ponytail that accentuates her high cheekbones, blue eyes bright and wild like a storm barely contained.

I clamp down on my reaction and force my expression neutral, dipping my chin in acknowledgement. “Mate,” I greet gruffly.

Her glare is glacial. “It’s Violet,” she snaps, pushing inside like she owns the place and shoulder-checking me on her way past.

“More like violent,” I mutter as I kick the door shut, pivoting to follow her down the hall.

She breezes right past the neatly stacked boxes lining the wall, walking the length of the corridor and stopping at the end.

“Hm,” she hums, taking in the open-concept layout of my apartment with a slow, sweeping glance.

“It’s a two bedroom,” I say, coming up behind her and gesturing left. “Yours is through there.”

“Thank fuck,” she mumbles under her breath, spinning to face me.

It’s a mistake.

The moment our eyes lock, both our wolves surge to the surface. Molten silver bleeds into her irises, swirling like smoke, while my own beast claws his way through my defenses to peer back at her. Every instinct screams for me to reach out, to touch her skin, to pull her in close and make damn sure she knows exactly who she belongs to.

This is so much worse than I thought.

I break the stare like it’s a chokehold, quickly moving past her and crossing the living room in long, controlled strides toward the bar cart in the far corner. “I don’t stay here often,” I toss over my shoulder as I snatch up a bottle and pour myself a whiskey– just enough to dull the edges my wolf keeps sharpening. “So you’ll have the place to yourself most of the time.”

Her footsteps trail after me, my pulse spiking higher with every one she takes. It’s ridiculous how tuned-in I am to this girl. It’s as if she’s the only signal in a world full of static. Even when I’m not looking at her, I can feel her movements, the gravitational pull etched into my biology.

“Where do you stay?” she asks, tone edged with suspicion.

“I’ve got a lake house,” I murmur, throwing back the whiskey in one swallow. The burn barely registers as I pivot to face her, wiping my mouth with my forearm before adding, “It’s outside the city. Quiet.”

Her gaze flicks to the glass in my hand. “Got one of those for me?”

I jerk a nod, turning back to the bar cart and grabbing another glass. I pour her a drink and refill my own. When I pass hers over, our fingers brush, and my wolf lunges so hard I have to lock my jaw to keep from reacting.

So. Much. Worse.

She takes a tentative sip, watching me over the rim of her glass. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and I unconsciously track the movement, fingers twitching with the urge to wrap around that delicate column.

“You know why I did this,” she murmurs, eyes narrowing with razor intent. “But why did you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Pairing,” she clarifies. “You seem pissed about it. Or is that just your default setting?”

I throw back my whiskey, letting the burn buy me a second to think.

I could dodge. Lie. Shrug it off and pretend none of this touches me.

Or I could give her something real. It’s the least she deserves in this shitshow.

“Alpha thought it’d be good for pack optics,” I say finally. “Boost morale, reignite interest in the Pairing.”

Her mouth actually drops open for a split second, shock widening those blue eyes before she snaps it all back under control. Then she downs the rest of her whiskey in one hard swallow and holds out her empty glass in silent demand.