Page 21 of Shaken Knot Stirred

“You wouldn’t be the first alpha to start a pack of convenience. We will draw up an iron-clad pre-bond agreement.”

“Win, we’ve been over this. I don’t want a pack.” I aggressively fluffed another pillow one-handed.

“When Pay started his pack…”

“Yeah, and how’d that turn out for him?”

“Okay, bad example. Regardless, the will…”

“For fuck’s sake, I know what the will says and I don’t care.” That fucking document had chased me since the day my aura presented. I tossed the last pillow onto the bed and stalked to the sofa. I set the phone on the coffee table and tapped the speakerphone button.

“We just need to buy some time for you. If you could just go through the motions of this year’s season, everyone else would back off. You never know, a scent match might be at one of the mixers.”

I made a disgusted noise, almost shocked that Win would play the scent match card. He was the last to believe in fated mate bullshit. I slumped back on the sofa and flung my forearm over my eyes. In the darkness, I willed the image of Moxie back onto the bed. This time, she was raven-haired. She wore wigs, a different one every day, and I fucking loved it.

“Alistair.”

“Fine. I’ll do the stupid race. I’ll hit a few events. But I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I need to borrow your security guy.”

“Why?”

I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees. I stared at the bed. Win waited for an answer that he probably knew would never come. Our birth pack was raised on secrets and putting on a show for society. You never asked why in our family.

“Alright. I’ll have Houston come round tomorrow.”

“Great.”

“You need a tux?”

“Fuck you, Win,” I said and hung up the phone. I slid down on the sofa and curled my knees up.

I had only ever fucked one person in this bed, and that would never happen again. That was the main reason I didn’t want a pack, not Win’s false impression I was saving myself for a scent match. If you couldn’t have the one that you wanted, everything else was hollow and meaningless. A scent match didn’t hold a candle to that.

I could have Moxie here, though, lost among the pillows. I closed my eyes, and she was there again but in a pale peach wig cut short to frame her face. As sleep hit me, I let myself imagine she tasted like peaches.

Chapter 12

Moxie

“What kind of nameis Moxie?”

I jerked to attention and winced as the cable tie pinched my skin. My arm was sore and exhausted from the death grip I had to keep on the chicken strap that Beg had zip tied me to. I wiggled my finger under the sharp plastic, hoping for a little relief from the weight of my arm.

“What kind of name is Beg?” I responded.

He’d been silent for the entire drive so far. And this was his burning question?

“See, what I want to know,” I said, shifting in my seat to get more comfortable, “what kind of narcissistic douchebag with a superiority complex do you have to be to name yourself ‘Beg’?”

The corner of his lip ticked up.

“Or did your mommy name you that, giving you all sorts of delicious Oedipal issues?”

Beg’s aura flared into sandpaper, all rough and grating. So yup. Mommy issues. He cracked his knuckles around the steering wheel.

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