JAREK
The amber liquid in my glass caught the city lights, fracturing into a thousand jagged diamonds. From the height of my penthouse, the world below looked like a cold circuit board and entirely within my grasp.
I adjusted the collar of my cashmere sweater, leaning back against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window.
I should have been focusing on the merger. I should have been calculating the interest rates of the Fae trade agreements. Instead, my mind was stuck on a storage shed, the scent of wildflowers, and the way Elowen Goldbane had tasted when I finally stopped talking and started living.
My wolf's ears perked up at the mention of that name. "Soft. She felt like the moon. We should go back. We should rip the throat out of the man who makes her smell like fear."
"Quiet, Liric," I muttered, taking a slow sip of the whiskey. "We have a plan. We don't have the luxury of a rescue mission."
"Plans are for humans," Liric growled. "Wolves take what belongs to them."
