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Desperate times call for desperate measures and if I have to betray Willow to save Willow…then that’s what I intend to do. Hopefully, when this is all over and North Star tower is still standing because of the hard choices I made, she’ll be able to understand why I did what I did.
But she’ll never forgive me.
I sense that deep in my churning stomach as I stand to pull out her chair and she lifts the pie in her hands between us. “For you,” she says, tipping the perfectly browned confection back and forth to show off the crust. “I figured you could use a little sweet after all the sour the past few days.”
My brows lift as I accept the still-warm gift. “You…made this?”
“Yeah,” she says with a self-conscious laugh. “My mom called it October Pie because it uses fruits that are ripe in the fall. And raisins,” she adds, lifting a defensive hand in the air, “but there’s dark rum and spice in the filling, too. The raisins soak it all up and taste incredible with the pears and apples. They’re doing some heavy lifting, you know? They’re not like normal, lazy raisins that just hang out in a cookie being chewy and gross.”
Fuck.
Just hearing her talk about raisins makes my chest warm and tight.
I’m falling in love with this woman. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her and tell her this pie is the best thing that’s happened to me in months, and that she’s the best thing that’s happened to me in even longer.
But saying shit like that would only make what I’m about to do even worse.
So, I simply nod and say, “Thank you. It sounds amazing. I can’t wait to try it.” I set the pie on the table and reach for her chair, “How was the lab? I heard you had a tour?”
She settles into her seat, beaming up at me as I push it in. “It was incredible. And you have some brilliant people working there. Kind and funny, too. I think I might have even made a new friend.” She bobs a shy shoulder. “I know it’s probably not the time to be thinking about things like that, with so much crazy stuff going on, but it was nice to chat with a kindred spirit.”
“It’s a perfect time to make new friends. We need all the friends we can get.” I reach for my wine glass, my heart slamming hard in my chest as I lift it into the air. “A toast to new friends and hope for the future?”
Her features soften as she reaches for her glass. “Yes. To new friends and hope. That’s…perfect.”
Oh, but it’s not, little wolf.
It’s so fucking far from perfect you have no idea.
I take a sip of the wine, my stomach turning to stone as I watch her drink over the rim of my glass. That’s it, then. I put enough Hunger powder in her glass that even a single sip should get the job done.
The fairy who sold me the powder was a stranger—I was too ashamed to ask Trix for something like this—but Sven has a tight and devoted following. I have no doubt he delivered potent product. Which means, in ten minutes or so, Willow should be all over me, begging me to fuck her like an addict after a fix. She’ll be so out of her mind with need—with Hunger—that she’ll take my dick any way she can get it.
Even without protection and with my promise to come deep inside her.
And despite how damned wrong this is, the thought makes my cock thicken, proving I’m one sick bastard and making me wonder again if I really am the “good” brother.
The only difference between Bane and me? I’m doing these shitty things to protect my people, not in a bid to rule the world.
Still, I feel…monstrous.
Monstrous, but still hard and dying to be buried balls deep in my little wolf, making her mine.
“Wow. That’s really nice,” she says, the tip of her tongue slipping out to trace the seam of her lips as she sets her glass down. “Is there a hint of pineapple in there or am I crazy? I don’t have much experience with wine. Especially good wine. My parents and I would buy a box of the pink stuff to keep in the fridge in the summer and mull a red wine for Christmas, but that was about it.”
“I’m no expert, either,” I say. “I asked Chef Mark to send up something white and not too sour that would pair well with the meal.”
She smiles. “Well, he did a great job.” She glances down at the table and back up again with an arched brow. “Shall we? I starving, even though I ate half a bowl of leftover filling while I was waiting for the pie to bake.”
“Of course. Enjoy.” I reach for the sterling silver dome covering my plate, though I doubt I’ll be able to stomach a single bite.
In theory, eating a light dinner of grilled chicken and artichokes with crusty bread and olive oil while I waited for the drugs to hit Willow’s system sounded doable. In reality, there’s a serious chance I’ll vomit over the side of the railing if I try to force food down my throat.
“So, are we sticking to small talk while we eat?” she asks, slicing into her chicken. “Or jumping straight to the big talk?”
“Medium talk, perhaps?” I suggest, working my knife across the steaming, fragrant meat, taking my time cutting it into slices I don’t intend to eat. “I don’t small talk if I can help it.”
“Small talk is the worst.” She nods as she takes a bite, doing a slow scan of the garden as she chews. Her eyes narrow as she focuses on something over my shoulder, and I know what she’s going to say before she swallows and asks, “Is that a bed over by the grape vines? Or are my eyes playing tricks on me?”
