His enemy suddenly became that much more interesting. Mayhap that’s what drew him to stalk the wolf in the first place.
“To the contest, then,” he mutters and smiles. He would go and gather his resources in preparation to woo Adele. She would be safe with Lightfoot. And it would give him time enough to arrange a display of his immense wealth and all he has to offer a mate.
It will be easy to win the female. Lightfoot cannot compare.
Adele would come to him. Choose him.
If not, then he would burn the whole world to ash and lay it at her feet.
8
Rafe
A pig roast.
The female is driving me mad.
That’s nothing new, but each day that passes having her enter and leave our compound without my sinking my teeth into her shoulder to forever claim her as mine makes me more and more aggressive, more on edge.
I swear, despite her agreeing that we can’t be a couple, Adele is trying to drive me insane. Today it’s a pig roast, or as she called it, cochon de lait. A taunt at me for insisting she serve more meat.
It means she’s been here since early morning pit roasting three pigs. The entire property smells of delicious, mouth-watering meat, and it’s drawing prey animals to our territory. I had to growl at a pack of coyotes slinking through the trees, and now I just caught the scent of an opportunistic bobcat.
I scan the boulders to locate it. A twitch of an ear betrays its presence beside an outcropping. “Go home,” I toss out. “We’re not sharing.” I glance up in the sky at a circling hawk. “Not with you, either.”
I’ve been patrolling along the property all day. I can’t very well leave Adele unattended out here where there are wild animals lurking. This is exactly the reason I can’t claim her. My need to keep her safe is a widening pit of terror inside me.
It’s hard to imagine anything that could soothe it, and taking her as my mate would have to intensify that need. An alpha wolf protects his own female and pups over all else.
Fuck.
Without asking me, unconsciously–or perhaps consciously–taking the role of female alpha, Adele issued invites to guests of her own choosing for the pig roast. I’ve monitored their arrival from afar, not trusting myself to be civil to anyone in my current state.
But then I hear the sultry notes of Adele’s voice, and the irrational rage over her flirting with Channing sends my boots crunching through the snow at a run. Before I arrive, Channing gives a piercing whistle in two short bursts, a non-urgent signal to gather.
Food is ready. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is just setting. I don’t mind an early dinner.
I slow my run and draw a couple deep breaths. There will be civilians present. I need to act like a fucking human not a wolf on the brink of moon madness.
I stop at the glass sliding doors, catching my breath at the sight of Adele holding court in my castle. She’s in another one of those Goddamn dresses–as beautiful as they are impractical. This one is emerald, with cut-outs at the shoulders and across the chest to show her gleaming brown skin. Her hair cascades in a waterfall of curls across her shoulders, a matching emerald strip of fabric holding it back from her face. The color brings out the green in her hazel eyes.
When I step in and take a plate to serve myself from the steaming heaps of meat and vegetables, Adele’s lips curl in a satisfied smile, like she knows how badly she’s torturing me. It makes me want to carry her off to my bedroom and spank that gorgeous ass red again.
…and that thought gets me so hard, I have to turn away and adjust myself.
“Smells delicious,” I mutter when I walk up to her with my plate piled high.
She gives an exaggerated gasp, her fingertips on her chest. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”
“Your cooking is fine.” I try not to look at her because just standing this close has me sweating. Her scent wraps around me like a warm embrace, dragging me under.
“Just fine?” She puts her hands on her hips and purses her pouty lips.
“It’s good,” I admit. “It’s…” –I can’t tear my gaze away from her mouth– “...perfect.”
A layer of protection slides off her, and she relaxes. “You do like it, then?”
I want to punch my own face for making her believe I didn’t. Have I really been such an ass? I already know the answer.
I mold my palm lightly around her upper arm and lower my head. I don’t know what confidence I was about to spill–that her food is as taunting and tempting as she is? That I’m refusing the deliciousness of it because I’m afraid it will ruin all other food for me? That she ensnared me with her skills the first time I set foot in The Chocolatier? Whatever it was, I’m spared from the confession because Lance interrupts.