Page 206 of The Poison Daughter
Gaven isn’t waiting in the hall outside her room. Either she’s out, or she sent him away to snoop.
When I step into Harlow’s bedroom, she’s not reading in a chair by the window where I left her. My heart pounds as I check her closet. She’s not in there or the connecting bathroom. I walk through my closet and into my bedroom. Kyrin perks up from where he’s lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. I finally spot Harlow.
Wearing a dark lace bustier and matching underwear, she props a foot on the windowsill as she fastens the stays on her garter belt to the top of her stockings.
My relief mixes with lust.
“You seem to be back to yourself,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“It’s dark green,” she says without looking up.
“Hmm?” I’m incapable of forming intelligent words.
“You like to know what color I’m wearing. This lace is dark green, like the forest at dusk.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded, as she turns to face me. “It’s very nice.”
“Nice?” She scoffs. “Careful. You’re looking at me like you’re forgetting to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
She laughs and turns back to the mirror to adjust the cups of the bustier. “Whatever you say.”
When I don’t offer a clever comeback, her gaze snaps to mine, something like apprehension on her face.
I don’t know how to meet this version of her. Not with what I now know. For so long, revenge has been the driving force in my life—but the concept of payback was abstract at a distance. It’s different to look someone in the eye while you take something from them.
The thought of vengeance on the Carrenwells has been the anchor holding me fast through all the chaos of the last ten years. This is the first time I feel apprehension about seeing it through.
“I made you something. It’s on your bed,” she says.
I cross the room to the large bed and notice her gift immediately. A new white throw pillow stands out against the black sheets. The thread stitching on it reads, “Disembowelment?”
“Well?” When I spin to face her, she’s grinning broadly. “The thread is red. I know that’s your favorite. It took me quite a long time, so I’m hoping I finally got it right.”
My wife stitched her next guess at a way to murder me into a throw pillow. I laugh, a real laugh from the sheer shock and absurdity of her relentless commitment to offing me.
She bites her lip. “Does that mean I’m right?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, lovely. I don’t have a definitive on that one. You would have to ensure that was the thing to actually kill me because you’d be risking blood loss first.”
She frowns and blows out a labored sigh. “It sounds exceptionally messy, so it’s probably for the best.”
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the fact that she’s nearly naked. “I know you didn’t listen last time I told you this, but tonight is hunt night.”
“How often do you have them?” she asks.
“Hunt nights? Every fifteen days, but when the weather is bad like last night, we move them back to the next clear night for safety. Please stay in our room until I come back to get you.”
She pushes her lower lip into a pout. “Are we not participating, my wolf? It seems the sort of thing that newlyweds would be into.”
The thought of chasing her through the woods and fucking her into submission is very appealing, especially when she’s standing there in nothing but some strategically placed lace.
“No, we’re not participating. Unless you’d like to have an audience for the second time I fuck you.”
She smiles wickedly.
“Harlow, I’m serious. Given the rumors that you started about yourself, I don’t know how people will react, and Stefan could very well be participating. I have a quick errand to run right now. I should be back just after dinner. Poke around as much as you want, but don’t leave the house.”
