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“Tonight,” I echo, my skin prickling all over again.
I shouldn’t like that diminutive moniker, but when he says it like that, all husky and…hopeful, I can’t help myself.
I don’t mind the nickname, and I wouldn’t mind being his “little wolf.”
In fact, I imagine it would be a pretty incredible thing, to be under his protection.
Or just…under him. Period.
“Trouble,” I mutter to myself as Maxim walks away, leaving me with the stern-faced Christof.
Thoughts like that are asking for trouble, but I’m not sure I can help myself.
My hormones have a mind of their own when it comes to that Alpha, but as long as I keep my body under control, everything will be fine.
Right?
Chapter 10
Maxim
It’s been years since I’ve been to a pack performance. When I was a kid, I never missed a concert or play, but as Alpha training with Dad got more intense, there wasn’t much time for entertainment.
And then I took over the grittier side of our pack business at eighteen—overseeing the creation and distribution of street drugs—and play time was a thing of the past. I’ve devoted myself to my area of expertise, pushing for more addictive drugs with less intense side effects, ensuring passionate, repeat customers who manage to live long, healthy lives.
As long as they don’t overdo it, of course.
Even our drugs can be dangerous if taken in large enough quantities, but so can milk. Or water.
I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for what I do, only pride that I’ve managed to increase our bottom line ten-fold and fund things like the modernization of the pack theater, bringing the sound and lighting systems up to snuff with any Broadway space uptown.
But as I dress in a gray pin-striped suit and a silver tie that will complement the cocktail dress I had sent over for Willow, it’s strange to realize it’s been twelve years since I’ve been to a live performance. Our pack is chock-full of talented-as-hell actors, singers, and musicians. As a musician himself, arts education has always been important to my father. And even though my brother and I emerged without a lick of artistic ability—that all landed in Diana’s genetic code—I’ve always been proud of this side of our people.
We’re not just clever and capable and tough as fucking nails—we’re artists. We think and feel and create things that make others think and feel, too. This is what really separates us from the thug packs in The Parallel—we believe in fostering curiosity as well as loyalty.
Our humanity and our wolf.
But you were awfully quick to remind Willow that we aren’t human last night.
I narrow my eyes at my reflection.
Last night wasn’t my finest hour, but the inner voice has a point. Since becoming Alpha in the wake of the attack on my father, I’ve become laser focused on security. But if I let the threats to the pack turn me into a thug, then I’ll be no better than the Neanderthals in The Parallel.
Tonight isn’t just a chance to get to know Willow.
It’s a chance to show my pack that their Alpha values art and beauty as much as money and power.
I’m actually looking forward to the evening.
And then I open Willow’s front door to find her standing on the other side, waiting for me in a short, sparkling silver gown that clings to her curves and lightly applied make-up that emphasizes her plush mouth, and my anticipation grows teeth. And claws.
Instantly, my primal side wants to rip the gown off of her and haul her off to the bed in the other room, where I’ll make her berry-stained mouth moan for me.
But unlike her shit stain of a mate, I have control over my animal side.
And if I did lose control and drag her in for a kiss, I’m positive she’d return it. I’d bet last month’s profits she’s every bit as interested in getting me out of my clothes as I am in ripping off hers.
I can see it in her eyes, in the way her gaze skims up and down my body, her lips parting and a soft sound of appreciation slipping out as I offer her my arm.
