Page 40 of To Carve A Wolf

“I thought you didn’t drink with enemies.”

“I don’t,” she said, sipping again. “But tonight, I’m makingan exception.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

She looked up from her glass, eyes like green fire under frost.

“Maybe I’m curious,” she said. “Maybe I’m tired of fighting.” A pause. Then, with that wicked smile: “Or maybe I’m just here to see how long you can keep your hands to yourself.”

She was baiting me. Every word, every glance, every flick of her fingers along the rim of her wine glass was designed to provoke. And gods, she was good at it.

But I had teeth, too.

She leaned forward slightly, the fire casting golden light across her bare shoulders, her voice light and careless—too careless.

“I heard whispers,” she said, swirling the wine lazily. “That your little hunt was a success.”

I didn’t answer.

“So that makes me curious.” She tilted her head. “Why summon me to celebrate? Why not…” a pause, deliberate and full of venom, “that bitch Tanya?”

The word slid from her tongue like a blade laced with sugar.I smiled. Slow. Sharp. And cut into the first piece of meat on my plate, dragging the knife through the flesh like it had wronged me.

“Because the hunt was less than satisfying,” I said. “Boring, even.” I took a bite, chewed, and let the silence stretch. “I needed something more… challenging.” I looked at her, eyes burning into hers. “Something worth my attention.”

Lexa’s lips curled into a smile. Not sweet. Not grateful. A wolf baring her teeth in return.

“How flattering,” she murmured. “To be hand-picked as your post-massacre entertainment.”

“I never said it was a compliment,” I replied, sipping mywine. “Just the truth.”

She laughed then, quiet and dark, leaning back in her chair, the slit in her dress sliding a little higher. My wolf snarled again—hungry, restless, but still cautious. Watching.

We danced like that for a while. Words laced with venom and wine, traded like weapons. But toward the end of the meal, when most of the food had gone cold, I mentioned it.

“I saw your boy in the yard today,” I said, refilling her glass without asking. “Training with the pups.”

She didn’t move.

“Quite brave for a human,” I added. “Took a few hits and got right back up. Reminded me of one of mine when he was that age.”

And that’s when it happened. The change. It was like a mask slipped. Just for a second—but long enough.

The muscles in her jaw tightened. Her hand gripped the stem of the glass a little too hard. And across her face—just a flicker—was rage.

There she was. The woman who spat in my face and didn’t blink. The one who would rather burn alive than kneel. She set the glass down, slowly.

“You stay away from my son.”

There was no tremble in her voice. No plea, no desperation. Just a still, razor-sharp command that sliced through the air between us and buried itself in my chest.

Nowthatwas her. Not the temptress in red. Not the silken words or the soft, deliberate way she sipped her wine. This was the real Lexa—the wolf beneath the bone. The fury stitched into flesh.

My wolf went still. Silent. Watching. We both understood in that moment—this woman wasn’t ours.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “Why the mask, then? The game?” I let my gaze drop, slow and deliberate,over the length of her body. “You dress yourself up like a fantasy and then bare your fangs like a curse. What do you really want, Lexa?”

She didn’t answer. Not with words.

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