Page 107 of Oathbreaker

We sold our souls, and now it’s time to pay up.

Our dinner is well-appointed, but I don’t taste the flavors. We’ve held up our end of the bargain, so things should be straightforward now.

This should be it, but it’s clear that I’m getting set up to be Misha Hroshko’s bitch boy.

Absolutely fucking not.

I turn when the server is about to pour more wine into Winter’s glass, and I put my hand over it to halt the server’s progress.

Winter looks at me with suppressed annoyance. “One glass is enough,” I say to her in a low voice. A glance at the server has him shuffling away quickly.

“Hunter,” she says with a low hiss only for my ears, “I’m not drunk or sloppy. I can handle my alcohol.”

I put my hand on her cheek, which only further annoys her. “That’s not why, Sunbeam,” I murmur.

“Enlighten me,” she deadpans.

“One glass is acceptable according to many studies backed by the ACOG.”

“The what?”

“The American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology.”

She coughs, choking on her spit. “Hunter James Brigham,” she wheezes.

“Fight me about it later?” I smile, kissing her hand.

“No.I want another glass of wine. I’m not—” She looks around the table, but Leo, Misha, and Luna appear wrapped up in their conversation.

“I’m not pregnant,” she says in an even lower voice.

My eyes flick down to her stomach.

“You are insufferable,” she adds.

“Sure. You’re still not getting more alcohol, though.” Then, because I clearly have a death wish, I push her water glass closer to her. “Drink your water and eat your vegetables. You need more calcium in your diet.”

The low growl she emits is adorable. As a reward, I snake my hand in my pocket to tap my phone screen. I don’t look at Winter when, a few seconds later, a tiny squeak pops from her mouth.

Pulsing the butt plug from the app on my phone while Misha and Luna laugh at something Leo says, I stop when her hands slap on the table.

I give her a reprieve and look at her while I sip my wine.

Based on her flushed, annoyed look, I will thoroughly enjoy the tongue-lashing she’s set to give me when we get home.

We finish our meal with silence between us, and I suppress a laugh when Winter spears a piece of broccolini.

“Luna, moya lyubov,” Misha says. “Would you like to show Winter our garden? I hear she has quite the interest in flowers.” Misha’s presence right now is beyond confusing. He’s cold and dangerous in every interaction I’ve had with him. But he’s affectionate beyond what anyone would expect with his wife—with “his love,” as he calls her.

Luna’s eyes light up. “Oh, me too! Let me show you. Our garden is insane.”

Winter gives her a genuine smile. She likes her. And I’m glad because the relationship with Misha Hroshko is set to be “long and fruitful.”

Fuck.

When the women walk off, Misha raises his hands toward me and Leo. “Let’s go to the cigar room. Leo, you’re a cigar man,” he says innocuously. But it’s not innocuous because how the fuck does he know that? He’s had us followed or tapped or?—

“Have you ever had Mayan Sicars?” Misha continues as if he isn’t verbally flopping his dick out on the table.

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