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I want to strangle her right now, but I also want to put a collar on her neck and drag her with me everywhere I go so she will always be close and ready to mount. I’m going to crave her body like nothing else, until the day they put me in the damned ground.
And that pisses me off, too.
“Get dressed.” I pull on my clothes beside the bed with rough jerks of my arms. “I’ll send Hermione up to take you back to your room.”
“No,” she whispers, her eyes still closed. “I don’t want her to see me. Just send a guard. Any guard.”
“Fine,” I snap, stalking across the patio.
I pass our dinner, then stop and turn back, grabbing her glass of wine and tossing the contents over the edge of the railing before slamming it back onto the table. It doesn’t shatter, and for a moment I’m tempted to hurl it onto the paving stones just to hear the satisfying smash of the glass.
But my staff have enough on their hands without cleaning up unnecessary messes.
Unnecessary messes…
Necessary messes…
Who the fuck knows what tonight is? I only know that as I bring my ring to the sensor by the elevator and punch the down button, I can’t bring myself to look back at that damned bed.
I can’t look back and I have no idea how we move forward from here.
Hopefully, she’s pregnant, and I can tuck her away in a guarded room for nine months while I take care of other business.
Nine months might be enough to get my head on straight where Willow is concerned.
Maybe.
Chapter Eighteen
Maxim
I wait until I’m in my apartment and have the water running for a shower before I call Hermione and tell her to send a guard to take Willow back to her rooms. Willow won’t be able to summon the elevator on her own—that floor can only be accessed with a special key card or my ring—so there’s no rush.
It’s probably best to let her sober up for a while, in fact.
“Give her an hour,” I tell Hermione. “And then send someone. Someone female,” I add, not wanting another man to smell my little wolf’s addictive post-sex scent. “And tell Willow to be ready for a meeting by seven a.m. tomorrow. I need to get some answers once she’s in her right mind.”
“Why isn’t she in her right mind now? If I may ask?” Hermione says, a cautious note in her voice.
“We had some wine,” I say. It’s close enough to the truth. “And a disagreement and that’s all I have to say about it. Any word from the scouts?”
“Not yet,” she says, “but I’m by the phone. I expect to hear from them tonight or first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Keep me posted. Call as soon as you have information. I won’t be sleeping.”
“You should,” she says. “You need rest. Sleep and I’ll wake you as soon as I have news.”
“I’ll try,” I grumble, but I don’t expect sleep to come easy tonight.
I shower, doing my best not to think of Willow as I wash her scent off my skin. Then I change into a pair of thick cotton pajamas pants and a T-shirt and settle at the couch with my tablet to read the transcript of Christopher’s interview with one of my chief enforcers earlier today.
But there’s nothing new in the file and shockingly I find my head nodding toward my chest before I’ve finished the last page.
Setting the tablet aside, I rub the tops of my closed eyes.
I’m exhausted, but strangely my thoughts aren’t racing. As much as what happened with Willow stirred up questions and fresh frustration, it also…eased my mind.
And my body.
