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“I’m Pax Darius’s mate,” the damp wolf says. “Or…I was.”
I arch a brow at Hermione, who nods subtly, confirming she’s already verified the story with our intelligence team. “And you came here because…?”
“Because I had nowhere else to go,” the woman says. “And because I’m hoping the enemy of my enemy will be my friend? I’m Willow, by the way.”
“I don’t care. I don’t need friends. And I don’t have any use for Pax Darius’s rejected mate.”
“He didn’t reject me, I rejected him,” she says, heat in her voice, and in those extraordinary eyes. “He’s a monster, a drunk, and the worst thing that ever happened to my pack, aside from his father and the rest of the Darius family.”
I agree with the bedraggled thing there, but the fact remains that she’s of no use to me. If she’d stayed with Pax and played the obedient mate for a few months, maybe we could have worked together.
But now…
“Is there any chance he’ll take you back?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
She gulps again. “Um, no. No chance. I hit him over the head with a statue, tied him up, and ran. If he catches me, he’ll kill me.”
“That’s unfortunate, for both of us. More unfortunate for you, however.” I motion to Hermione. “Get her dry clothes, give her some pocket money, and put her on a bus somewhere, then bring me the—”
“I can’t leave alone,” the girl—Willow, a name that’s vaguely familiar for some reason—says. “If I leave town without protection, I’m as good as dead. Pax probably already has his assassin team looking for me. And unlike him, they’re smart, sober, and very good at their jobs.”
I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “Not my problem, and you’ve already taken up enough of my time. Next time you come begging for protection, make sure you have something to bargain with.”
She rolls her shoulders back, standing her ground when Hermione puts a hand on her back. “What about Pax Darius’s child?” she challenges. “Any interest in that? Because I can’t think of anything Pax and his father would hate more than knowing Maxim Thorn is raising his son.”
I can’t think of anything they’d hate more, either.
And this ragamuffin just got a lot more interesting…
Chapter 3
Willow
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
I gulp and force my thoughts back to the conversation at hand instead of the insanity of my encounter with the North Star Alpha.
“Really? Mold?” the tall blond asks.
“Yes, several species of mold have psychotropic properties.” I tail her through a maze of hallways, presumably bound for a place where I can be “cleaned up,” in accordance with Maxim’s orders.
Maxim, who is so insanely gorgeous it should be illegal. Maxim, who also seems as heartless and arrogant as every other Alpha I’ve had the displeasure to meet.
Not true, he was going to give you dry clothes and money before he threw you out. Most Alphas wouldn’t have bothered.
I ignore the inner voice—I’m not in the mood to think even semi-kind thoughts about that devil-eyed, too-pretty-for-his-own-good man—and add, “And fungus, too. And not just mushrooms. There are others that looked promising in my early trials, and I know I could replicate those experiments in your facility. I could go to work right away. Tomorrow if you’d like.”
“There’s no need for you to work,” the woman says. “You’re here as our guest.”
Right…their guest, until they find out I’m not pregnant and toss me out on my ass.
I have one month, maybe five weeks if I push the angle that some women won’t test positive for a week or more after missing their period, to convince these wolves to keep me around. I don’t have a moment to waste. I need to get in that lab and show them how valuable I can be to the street drug side of their business—ASAP.
“But I’d love to be helpful,” I say. “Show the Alpha how grateful I am for his protection and good will.”
