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Then, I’ll make her pay for trying to steal power that doesn’t belong to her.
She’s going to be very sorry she crossed me, very sorry indeed.
Chapter Seven
Willow
Maxim wants to kill me.
Dead.
With a toothpick, a thousand tiny stab wounds, and a gallon of lemon juice, so I’ll be in as much pain as possible before I die.
I fully expected him to be pissed once he realized what I’d set in motion behind his back, but he’s more enraged than I even imagined he would be. I could feel the waves of animosity rippling off of him in his father’s study like heat from a fire, making my cheeks flush and sweat break out along the hollow of my spine.
If his dad hadn’t been sitting right there, I’m pretty sure Maxim would have crushed my bones to dust with his bare hands.
Instead, he sat down for tea and we discussed how best to announce our engagement. But the entire time his teeth were grinding together, and he was quietly plotting my demise in the dark recesses of his twisted mind.
Of course, I don’t actually know what was going on in his mind. But I’m sufficiently convinced of my future mate’s animosity toward me that I don’t intend to risk being alone with him again until we’re man and wife and pack law would require his immediate execution should he lose control of his bloodthirsty impulses and say…toss me off a balcony.
Until then, he might be able to get away with offing me, assuming he can find some way to prove I’m a danger to his pack.
I’m not, of course, but I sense Maxim’s not above planting evidence to wriggle free of the marriage noose.
My fated mate has serious control issues—he wants all of it and gets a bad case of murder eyeballs when someone shoplifts power he sees as his.
But I’m not trying to take his power, just to acquire enough of my own to have some say over my future.
I don’t want to marry Maxim, either—I don’t want to marry anyone—but it’s becoming increasingly clear I probably have no other choice. Enough people believe my womb is the secret to shifter domination that I have to marry for my own protection.
And sadly, Maxim is the least wretched candidate.
He’s an arrogant asshole, but he’s also one of the most powerful Alphas of his generation, is doing his best to be a good leader, and has the capacity to care about people, though he’ll never care about me.
Not now.
Not after I shamed him in front of his father.
In fact, I’m pretty sure Maxim will go out of his way to ensure our married life is an exercise in misery for me. So, until then, I intend to enjoy my last thirty days of freedom as much as possible.
And spend it shoring up the alliances I’ll need to rule effectively as Maxim’s queen…starting with moving out of the consort’s apartment and into the spare bedroom at Diana’s place.
The best way to keep your fiancé from dropping a piano on you before the wedding? Make sure you’re never far from the sister he loves to distraction and would do anything to protect.
“Oh my god, this is so exciting!” Diana greets me at her front door with a giddy squeal and throws her arms around my neck. “I can’t believe it! We’re going to be sisters!”
Laughing, I hug her with one arm, holding onto the handle of the suitcase I’ve been given with the other. My bodyguards wanted to carry my things, but I insisted on dragging the bag onto the elevator myself. I don’t intend to be a spoiled Alpha queen, and I want to make that clear from day one.
“I know,” I say, following her into her bright, sunny apartment with the view of the river and Brooklyn beyond. “Engagements happen fast around here.”
“When they’re my brother’s they do.” She waves me through the combination living room and kitchen and down a short hallway. “Your room is in here. It’s tiny compared to the consort’s quarters, but super cozy. And you’ll have your own bathroom, so you won’t have to share with me. I confess I’m a bit of a pig when it comes to tidying up in the loo. I shed so much every time I do my hair it feels like a losing battle, you know? Better to just leave the mess and clean it once a year or so when I can’t walk through the tangle of hairballs anymore.”
I laugh and wrinkle my nose. “Gross.”
“Thanks,” she says, opening the door to my room and extending an arm. “What do you think?”
My stomach does a happy-sad flip at the sight of the blue and pink room with pop art on the walls and a gorgeous glass bowl of flowers by the bed. Happy because I’m so grateful to Diana for setting me up with a beautiful space; sad because it’s only temporary.
