Page 64 of Twisted Ties

“Who was it? Was it …”

The image of Renzo Barone glows in her mind and my hands clench into fists.

“Renzo Barone is not a werebeast.”

“But that creature was sent by the Wolves Of Night. Another assassin from Marcus Lowsky.”

“The beast said that?”

She frowns. “No, but it attacked me.”

I land my hand on her shoulder and tilt her head to one side, examining the scratches on her throat. They aren’t deep, but they glow red in the dim light of my office.

“Are there more?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“This was a werebeast. Any wounds need treatment and healing.”

“I can go to the infirmary.”

“No.”

“Or Azlan can–”

“Show me. Stop wasting my time.”

She gives me another of those scowls, all furrowed brow and spitting eyes. The kind of bratty look that has my guts spinning and my cock – fuck.

“Fine,” she huffs, shaking off my grip and reaching for the hem of her shirt. Carefully she pulls it over her head and then she’s standing in my office in only her denim shorts and her fucking bra.

I swallow. There are puncture wounds across her chest, over her collarbone and her rib cage. One by her right shoulder. A shoulder that lifts and falls with her breath, her fucking tits doing the same.

I try my damn hardest not to look. But, fuck it, even Azlan fell. A man one hundred times more respectable and restrained than me.

And so my gaze trails down her form, over the perfect curves of her breasts. The bra she’s wearing is white and lacy and see-through, the pink of her nipples clear through the material.

I drag my eyes away and stride towards the far cupboard in my office.

I can hear her breath loud in the space between us as I search through bottles on the shelf, finding were-weed and tugging off the stopper. Then I search for cotton wool,finding some in an old first aid kit I suspect the previous owner of this office left behind.

“It’s going to hurt,” I tell her, tipping the bottle right over, so that the vivid green liquid sinks into the waiting cotton bud.

“What is that?”

“Were-weed to ensure the werebeast curse does not enter your bloodstream.”

“What?! What curse?”

Her eyes widen with shock, and I shake my head making her feel small and stupid again.

Shit, I don’t like doing that, my stomach aches every goddamn time. But it’s necessary. For the best. It’s better if she hates me. We don’t belong together. Fate is cruel. It would end in disaster.

“Werebeasts were normal humans once, until they were cursed, cursed to live their lives half human, half beast. The curse can pass from generation to generation or it can afflict a magical if it enters the bloodstream.”