Page 29 of Pistols & Peonies

Groaning, I drop the pillow and stare up at the ceiling.

My wolf paces inside me, restless and sharp-edged. It’s not hunger– more of a gnawing, bottomless ache that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with the man who refuses to answer my texts. The same one I’ve been shackled to for the rest of my miserable life.

Then, as if I summoned him through sheer spite, there’s a sound at the door. A soft scrape as the lock turns, the hush of careful footsteps crossing the entryway.

My wolf surges forward. Even before he comes into view, I feel it– the bond snapping tight, an invisible tether pulling taut. When Kane emerges at the end of the hallway, the sight of him steals my breath… and not in a good way.

I’m sure I look like hell, but Kane looks like he’s on death’s doorstep. Dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes, his face sunken and pale. His hair’s a mess, and not in the sexy, deliberate way– more like he’s forgotten brushes exist. A thick layer of stubble coats his jaw, and his movements are stiff, like he’s running on pure muscle memory.

He comes to a stop, flickering a glance toward the row of empty energy drink cans littering the coffee table. Evidence of several failed attempts to combat my exhaustion, which did nothing except intensify the tremors in my hands. He exhales shallowly as his eyes lift to mine, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and leaning a shoulder against the wall.

“Got your message.”

Adrenaline snaps through me. I sit up fast, tossing off the blanket and shoving my phone in his direction, headline blazing on the screen. “Did you know about this?” I demand.

He doesn’t even glance at it. He doesn’t have to. I know he’s seen it– probably approved it himself, hit publish, and was awarded a gold star by his precious Alpha.

“Of course,” he replies evenly, dark eyes pinning me in place.

My mouth drops open with an indignant huff. “What the actual fuck, Kane?”

His brow lifts. “Problem?”

“Yeah, there’s a fucking problem,” I snarl, tossing my phone down on the sofa. “I was told this would be a simple announcement, not some sick manifesto designed to brainwash the pack into believing in the Pairing. Why would you do this?”

“Me?” he scoffs, folding his arms. “You think I want my business spread around the pack like tabloid fodder?”

I narrow my eyes on him, searching for the lie.

“This is what Alpha does,” he mutters, eyes gone cold. “Finds an angle, spins things to his advantage. You didn’t really expect him to put the truth out there, did you?”

“I sure as hell didn’t expect for him to turn this into some kind of Cinderella story for the masses,” I snap, lips twisting in a scowl. “I never signed up to be the damn poster child for the Pairing. What if girls actually believe this bullshit and run to sign up next quarter?”

“Pretty sure that’s the whole point,” he grumbles.

“And you’re just okay with that?” I spit.

He averts his gaze, shrugging.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me,” I huff, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “You don’t see anything wrong in deceiving people. You actually like being a cog in the machine.”

His eyes flick back to me, something shuttering behind them as he pushes off from the wall and strides in my direction. The closer he gets, the more my wolf loses her damn mind, clawing toward the surface as he lowers himself to rest on the arm of the sofa.

Too close.

Not close enough.

“We all do what we have to,” he grits out.

I look at him– really look, as if I’ll find something worthwhile hidden beneath the hard exterior. Some flicker of actual humanity lurking inside the mindless soldier. But the more I look, the more I realize how run down he seems, like he’s suffering from the same thing I am.

“Are you sick?” I ask quietly.

He crosses his arms, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “You could call it that.”

“So it’s not just me,” I murmur, a strange mix of guilt and vindication swirling in my chest.

His eyes flick to mine, and I swear I see relief flash in them. “Trouble sleeping?”