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“I’m sorry, Alpha—”
“Keep your empty apologies and answer the question. Are you starving?”
Both werewolves have lost some body mass, yet Jack is less gauntly. “Yes. I am.”
“Liar.”
“Your majesty, I—”
“Insulting my intelligence isn’t in your best interest, arsehole. Don’t lie to me.” Placing my palm face down on the table, I lean forward. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know?”
He swallows hard at the underlying threat. “She’s a pup, Alpha. Just a kid worried about her brother who made a huge mistake and is paying for it. I’ll talk to her—”
“I’m not cruel to those who don’t deserve it, Jack.”
“Please don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t…” keeping my expression neutral, I drag my nails down the wood “…but I don’t do it for you.”
He exhales roughly, shoulders losing their rigidity. “Thank you for the mercy, my king.”
“You’ve brought shame and heartache to your family, Jack.” His face pinches tight at the reproach, as if in immense pain, and his scent has changed, too. Reeks of desperation; not sure if it’s to get away from me or gain my forgiveness. Neither matter, nor will it change his sentencing. “Your selfishness has put your younger sister in a difficult position, and I’ll forgive her because I understand. You do anything for those you love.”
“I’ll forever be in your debt.”
“How pathetic,” Jack and the male witch speak in unison.
“Please enlighten me.” A smile tugs at my lips as my eyes cut toward the warlock. His stench is deeper, a stomach-turning scent of burnt rubbish that the others are oblivious to. From his dirty form to the untouched breakfast, I take him in. Just like this. “Oh, wise one.”
“You’re overconfident now, but my true ruler will make you pay. Everything you love, he will take from you.”
“Is that so, Bartolo?” Surprise flashes across his face, a quick shock, but then he schools his features. The man has no idea how attuned I am to his moves and changes, the sickness running through his veins and killing him one breath at a time.
Yet, he’ll never make it that far. I’ll end his life before his time is up.
I also didn’t miss his slip. Bartolo said he, not her.
Paolo is not just protecting his wife but also the puppet master. Both are cruel and traitors.
Does Isabella know? Has she been a part of this betrayal?
Before his next labored breath, the cup of tea in front of him is smashed into the side of his head. It whips to the left, the object shattering upon impact, and I embed a sharp porcelain piece into his temple and then force the jagged piece down to his cheek. The wound opens—skin splitting under the pressure—and darkened blood rolls down the side until reaching his jaw.
Drop after drop; I watch each one with a morbid fascination. Is this how all witches bleed?
To his credit, the warlock doesn’t cry out. His scent intensifies, but not a sound.
Is my little moon as wicked?
A question that pisses me the fuck off. Anger rolls through my veins and I crack my neck, ready to rip his throat out, but then another thought comes to mind. His fear intensified the moment he realized I senses death all around him.
Something about that knowledge throws him off.
Does he know who my mate is? Is she the reason why I sense his unease?
I’m going to enjoy this.
“Tell me, Jack. What did they promise you to betray us?” Pulling the blade from my pocket, I flip it open and examine the blade. It’s a beautiful piece, shiny and sharp, and so smooth when piercing the human skin we walk around in. Jack’s scream attests to that. “Answer me.”
