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And for a moment, she almost indulged him.
Before suddenly, she heard someone’s throat clear.
Frankie tore herself away from Jace so fast, she realized her swiftness likely only made her look guiltier.
At the edge of the bar, Henrik, Amarok’s second in command, a white wolf who’d found his way to Toronto by way of Denmark, watched them. He had made it more than clear over the past several days that he was no fan of hers, of her association with Jace in particular.
Despite that, until now they’d been nothing but discreet.
Not that there was anything to worry about in that regard.
Considering there was nothing intimate happening between them as of late.
At least since Amarok’s arrival.
And she refused to apologize for the time before. Monogamy before their mating ceremony hadn’t been part of their agreement. An agreement that she was all too eager to remind Henrik was purely political.
Amarok meant nothing to her.
And likewise, she meant nothing to him.
Other than what their union could mean for the benefit of both their packs.
Henrik gave another rough clear of his throat. “A word, packmaster,” he said, using the honorary title in deference to the fact that he was in her territory—and a less than subtle reminder of who she’d become to the white wolves, given time, should she fulfill her duty.
Should she…Am I really considering breaking the deal?
No. She couldn’t. Her pack needed this. She and Amarok planned to rule side-by-side.
Frankie glanced toward Jace quickly, all too aware of every harsh line and tense muscle. He’d seen the way she’d torn away from him and from the disappointment in his eyes, she couldn’t continue to keep rejecting him and expect him to go on fighting for her like this.
Eventually, he was bound to take no for an answer.
In an instant, it struck her how keenly she should want that.
For both their sake’s. But she couldn’t make herself want it.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered lamely at Jace. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me for doing what’s best for you, Frankie. Or anyone else for that matter.” Jace’s gaze shot toward Henrik or not. “Packmaster or not, your choices are your own,” he said, clearly speaking about more than Henrik’s sudden interruption. “When I told you I’d wait, I meant it, so whenever you’re ready I’ll be right here.” His features softened and the longing in his eyes tore through her. “Just try to make a decision before it kills me.”
It was hours later.Well past nightfall, and still Frankie couldn’t get Jace’s haunted look out of her eyes. What was she even doing? Playing these kinds of games with him? The roar of the club surged around her. The music rising to an ear-splitting apex. It was the Friday night crowd, heading into the promise of weekend, and the club was always the wildest on Fridays and Saturdays. She drummed her fingers in time with the music.
This wasn’t like her, warring with herself in a constant battle of indecision. She’d always been the kind of woman who’d claimed all she could want, made no apologies. Just like when she’d been in that interrogation room with Chet, she wouldn’t lessen herself or make herself small. Not for anyone else’s convenience.
She was strong and stubborn and proud.
Exactly as her parents had raised her to be.
But lately, she felt less and less like she fit that description.
She sat at the edge of the bar, trying not to let her eyes wander over the sea of patrons. Jace and David were here. After Henrik’s pointless interruption—a tedious question about some of the finer logistics of moving up her and Rock’s mating date, and what that meant for the training schedule of the warriors and bodyguards for both packs—she’d given Jace the night off from attempting to shift.
They’d been pushing and working non-stop for days, and continuing to push until the point they were both burnt out would only get them nowhere.
She struggled not to lift her gaze to where the wolf hunter and demon exorcist drank.
“Can I get you something, boss?” Allyson shouted to her from overtop the music. Her voice muffled, but audible.
