Chapter 6 Zera #3
She ignored Maverick’s look of warning. She hated others speaking on her behalf, regardless of the situation, and she was certain she would regret consuming anything else this unclean, fae-forsaken dump had to offer.
“She’ll have the same, then.” He tossed his faecoin card onto the wooden surface. “Keep the tab open, and tell Quill that Dane’s here. He’ll know why.”
The snake shifter grinned, showing off rows of glistening, jagged teeth. “Coming right up.”
When the bartender was well out of earshot, Maverick wrapped a strong arm across her shoulders and leaned into her, pressing his whole body against her.
“I thought I told you to follow my lead,” he growled, his breath hot on her ear.
“I am,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she turned into him. Their eyes met. “Would anyone believe a strong, lone faeboy wolf like yourself would ever marry a pushover?”
Maverick’s eyes narrowed, a faint glimmer of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
His eyes roamed every inch of her face, as if he was both committing it to memory and searching for any signs of deception.
Zera held her breath, hating her traitorous eyes that flitted to his lips, remembering the kiss they shared.
She hated that she was drawn to this man, this werewolf, but couldn’t help it.
There was something about him that made her heart race and her pulse quicken.
It almost made her forget what he was. Who he’d grown up as despite his claims that he had never supported his birth pack to begin with.
His promise that he was, in fact, different.
Her ex had ruined her trust in werewolves, making her swear off them forever. But here she was, sitting next to one, feeling a pull toward him that she desperately tried to ignore.
The bartender’s irises flickered black before a glass materialized in front of her, a single ice cube glistening within. Amber liquid filled the glass from the bottom, as if the counter itself were the bottle.
“Who are we meeting, exactly?” Zera asked, inhaling the smoky blend of grains infused with heat from the forges off the Fire Cliffs, the land just south of the Spire Alps belonging to the dwarves.
“Someone who’ll help us get everything we need,” Maverick explained, his eyes scanning their surroundings with practiced ease. “He’s reliable and discreet, which is exactly what we need.”
She followed his gaze, looking for exits in case they needed a sudden escape. There was only one, and it was blocked now by the dragon shifter who still eyed her over the rim of his frothy beer mug.
“Sounds like we’re in good hands, then,” Zera said, her voice light as she tried to hide the nervousness that still gripped her. She took another sip of her drink, the hot liquid doing its magic in easing her tense muscles.
Maverick leaned in closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. “Don’t worry, Zera. I’ll always protect my wife,” he whispered, barking that last word in a stark reminder to get back into character as his fingers trailed circles along her fair skin.
Goose bumps swept down her arms, the touch too intimate.
Zera suppressed a rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the conflicting desires swirling like a tempest. Maverick’s words, laced with possessiveness and protection, resonated deep within her, stirring something she thought she had buried.
Something she’d only been foolish to allow herself to feel once before.
She bit her tongue until her eyes watered to keep her mind from going down that path.
Maverick was only a means to an end. She would follow him to Gareth, use whatever magic she had to end him and whatever thugs were targeting her to protect her son, and then she’d leave him like the heinous Lunar Brotherhood wolf he was, pack deserter or not.
“Kiss me,” he said huskily. His lips were too close to her ear. “Look at me, and kiss me.”
She clenched her fists under the table, fighting the urge to show her true feelings.
It was only the charade they’d agreed to, right?
She had to play his wife. A wife would kiss him now.
In front of all these fae. But it wasn’t the fact that she was forced to play his wife that tormented her.
No, it was the fact that every fiber in her being wanted to kiss him.
Wanted to put her hands on him. Wanted his hands on her.
She wanted it more than anything. She was a fool.
She should loathe the ground he walked on simply because of who his family was, what they’d done to her kind, and because he was an arrogant faeboy.
Yet he was sticking his neck out for her as much as she was for him. Both of them were risking something to gain something even more important. Their lives. Their freedom. Hadn’t he also vowed to protect her and her son? That was who she was here for. That was who she was fighting for.
Glancing around the seedy bar, with floors that stuck to her shoes with each step, she noticed it wasn’t just the dragon shifter who eyed them now. A few other curious fae patrons had taken an interest in their whispered conversation and watched them, their eyes narrowed.
Taking a deep breath, Zera turned her gaze toward him, the film of brown tenting his steely gray eyes. Her pixie dust was still low, but she had enough to keep her disguise. She hoped it would last long enough.
The hunger in Maverick’s eyes startled her.
No one had ever looked at her with such longing, and whether it was part of his cover or not, it matched her own desires.
It was a dangerous game they played, one that blurred the lines between reality and pretense.
But she had no other choice. Maverick was her only ally, the self-proclaimed lone wolf.
Her lips claimed his with a fierce desperation, the taste of urgency mingled with a bittersweet surrender. She would play the part of his wife. She’d be Charlotte until she could be Zera and be reunited with her son once again.
The taste of Maverick, a mixture of whiskey and something wild, flooded her senses, igniting a fire within her that she would never admit to.
It was only a cover. At least that was what she told herself.
His arms stroked her back, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as his tongue danced with hers.
Slowly at first but then harder as desire coiled tightly within her, threatening to consume all rational thought.
“Well, look who the troll dragged in,” a voice purred behind them, deep and velvety smooth.
It was a voice she wanted to drown out with a simple flick of her wrist, but she knew better. If she wanted to stop Gareth, bring down whoever was after her, and finally be reunited with her son, she had to follow the plan. She had to become Charlotte Brown.