10

Was he displaying his on purpose to intimidate her? But no, displays weren’t really Max’s style. He was far too subtle for that.

“How are your headaches?” he asked without turning around.

She closed her eyes. “Fine.”

“I can smell your lie from here.”

It was impossible to reply without telling the truth—or getting caught in another lie—so she clamped her mouth shut. She had a feeling he was going to say whatever he wanted to say anyway.

“You’ve lost weight.”

She gritted her teeth. “In the human world, that’s generally considered a good thing. Women are always trying to lose weight.”

“You’re not a human.” He rolled his neck on his shoulders, the movement drawing her gaze. She’d forgotten how big he was. Even if he wasn’t an Alpha, he’d still command any room he entered, and not just because of his physical size. The fabric of his shirt stretched tight over powerful shoulders and a broad back that tapered to lean hips. Her stare sank lower…until she realized where it was headed and tore her eyes away.

What was she doing?

She must have made a sound, because he turned away from the window. She had his full attention now.

Crap, crap, crap.

She pressed her damp palms against her jeans as his denim-clad legs appeared before her. He stopped in front of his desk, his body inches from hers. A warm hand lifted her chin and kept lifting her, gently pulling her to her feet.

Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. He tipped her chin up. He’d stuffed his wolf down so deep, he appeared as a normal man—or as normal as Maxime Simard would ever get. In a blink, his demeanor changed. The wolf bled from his eyes, and his gaze dipped to her mouth. They were no longer speaking Alpha-to-subject. This was something entirely different.

She knew this Max. He was more terrifying than the Alpha.

“You want to know why I called you back.” He made it a statement.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

His eyes glittered. “That’s easy. I wanted to speak with my wife.”

4

Lizette jerked her chin out of his hand. “I’m not your wife.”

Max lowered his voice, and she felt its rumble in her belly. “Ah, petite, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Her cheeks heated, and she stumbled backwards until she felt the edge of the chair bump her legs. She shuffled sideways until she stood between the leather chairs, a clear path to the door at her back. “Don’t call me that.”

“Which one? Wife or petite?”

“We’re not mated.”

“Yet you bear my mark.”

“Not by choice.” She took a step back.

Faster than she could track, he snagged the back of her neck, circling it before she even realized what he’d done. He drew her against his body with firm but gentle pressure.

“D-don’t do that.”

The pads of his fingers grazed the skin under her hairline, tracing the sensitive skin of her nape—finding the ridges of an old wound.

She jerked away, dislodging him. “I said don’t.”

He folded his arms, his indulgent smile letting her know he’d allowed her to break his hold. It was infuriating.

“Did you pack all your things?” His light Québécois accent made things sound more like tings. In another man she might find it charming.

She crossed her arms, mirroring him. “You know I didn’t. I’m sure you already had Dom search my bag.”

He narrowed his gaze. “This insubordination is acceptable in our private meetings, but I warn you I won’t tolerate it in front of the others.”

Oh, so now they were back in Alpha-subject mode. How convenient. “That’s okay. I don’t plan on us having any other private meetings.” She blinked and he was standing behind his desk, the movement so fast she hadn’t been able to track it. It was his Gift. He also had better-than-average hearing—something that had made sneaking out of the Lodge as a teenager almost impossible.

Because one Gift wasn’t enough for the almighty Alpha.

He slid a notepad and pen across the desk and gestured to it. “Write down what you need. I’ll have Remy drive into town in the morning and pick it up.”

“For what?”

“It’ll take a couple of weeks to close up the apartment. I imagine you’ll need a few essentials until then, hein?”

“What are you saying?” But she already knew. She’d known since she scented Dominic and Remy in her apartment this morning.

His gaze was steady. “You’re staying at the Lodge—permanently. And you’ll be staying in my rooms.”

Panic tried to claw a path out of her chest. She was in the Lodge now, in the heart of his territory. There was nothing to stop him from locking her away. “Absolutely not. You can’t ask it of me.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

Tears burned her throat, which made her angry. She never cried. She hadn’t cried when her father walked into the living room, shut off her cartoons, and told her mommy was dead. She hadn’t cried when the police knocked on the door and told her he was dead, too. She hadn’t cried when Max turned her world upside down at fifteen by telling her she was a different species. She hadn’t cried when she Turned for the first time, the pain so intense she wished for death. She hadn’t cried when she made her first kill, the eyes of the deer she felled pleading with her to spare it, a cadre of wolves circling her, watching intently to determine if she had enough control over her wolf to resist the urge to give into bloodlust—and ready to execute her if she didn’t.

But she had cried the night Max betrayed her.

“You promised me,” she whispered now.

He circled the desk again, this time at normal speed. She didn’t resist when he pulled her against him. Why bother? He’d already proved he would do what he wanted regardless of her wishes. He wound one arm around her waist and used his free hand to cup the side of her head.