Page 23 of Alpha Hunger

The mayor sighs and lifts her hand for Christy, who comes and pours whiskey over ice. “Forspar knows who in the Alliance went live with the Betaren distribution.”

“You’re welcome to question him.”

“He’ll say nothing because he knows he’ll die anyway.”

“He will say everything, because I’m coming for his family next.”

Oh my God.That’s my family too. Hunger captures my hand and squeezes, holds it. I don’t know what that means. Is he just saying this in front of the mayor? I want to remind him the man he’s strapped to a pole is my uncle, my mother’s brother.

The mayor’s gaze lands on our joined hands but doesn’t linger. Quickly, she gets back to business. “We agreed not to let anyone know we are aware of Betaren.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“My personal assistant took Betaren. I don’t like it.”

“You compromised the entire mission.”

What mission? There’s a mission?

“I’m aware of that.”

The mayor growls. “Impulse control. You need some.”

“Mouth filter. Get one.”

She pinches her lips.

“Wine.” I lift my glass.

Christy appears with a bottle, but before pouring, he bends and whispers at my ear, “I happen to know wine helps us go into heat.” He pours me a glass and waggles his eyebrows. “Lord knows the prince’s gonna jump right on that.”

“I think the prince took a vacation. Hunger is here. You know, his other crazy personality, which won’t be doing any jumping on me.”

Christy laughs as he walks away.

“Compliments are just flying my way this evening,” Hunger deadpans.

“You earned it. Why didn’t you tell me about the wine?” I ask.

“I attempted to order for you, but you interrupted.” He wiggles his nose. “Bread and butter.”

A basket filled with steaming bread lands on the table. Plates with little scoops of butter surround it. I salivate and reach for it before anyone else. Hunger slaps my hand.Ouch.I rub it. “Jerk.”

The table goes silent. Mouths gaping, everyone stares at me.

Hunger gets the hot bread roll, slices it with his claw, and stacks six butter balls inside. He closes the roll and takes a bite. I salivate more, watching him eat and moan. He passes me the bitten roll.

I guess we’re sharing food. Which is fine. I’m ravenous. Like a lady, I pick at the bread, eating one small piece at a time when I really want to dump the entire basket into a pound of butter and shove it into my face. Hunger repeats the ritual where he makes the roll for me and then bites off a piece first before letting me eat the rest.

The mayor leans in. “I’m offended you’d think I’d poison you or the girl.”

I stare at my roll.

“One never knows,” he says.

“You should know better.”

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