The Wolf Prince's Fated Heart - Page 62

“That’s not fair, considering I was the one who drank,” I argue.

“I would gladly join you if alcohol had any effect on me,” he replies and sighs. “It would be the easiest way to cool down.”

“That’s why you didn’t bother to drink more than one glass the other night,” I comment, my eyes widening in realization.

Graham chuckles. “There’s no point in wasting good alcohol on me when it has such a lovely effect on you.”

“Alright,” I say and hold my hand out, refusing another shot. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll try to answer. But since you’re not playing the game, I reserve the right to refuse answering you.”

His eyes light up. He leans back against his seat.

“Do you regret our night together?” he asks, his gaze on me.

God. Even his penetrating stare makes me uncomfortable. It makes me hot, bothered, and even turned on. There’s a very thin line between attraction and hatred, and I feel like this entire affair is crossing it.

I hate how vulnerable he makes me feel. How weak I am to resist his touch. I hate that, despite not knowing him, he’s the object of my most desired desires. And of my deepest nightmares.

“It depends on your definition of regret,” I start, choosing my words carefully. I’m grateful that I’m only on my second glass because otherwise, I would’ve already let it slip my tongue that I liked what he’s done to me. But was I enough to fully satisfy him?

My heart clenches in my chest at the thought. “I regret that you went through my computer in private. I regret the way you talked to me. I regret the way you made me feel cheap afterward.”

A flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice so low that I can barely hear it.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting his apology. For some reason, it was exactly what I needed. I clear my throat. “Okay, my turn again.” He hands me another glass but I shake my head. “I’ve already drank two, but you only answered one question.”

“Alright,” he agrees. “Hit me.”

“Would you really kill me?” I ask. The second those words are out of my mouth, I want to catch them and stuff them all the way back in.

I don’t want to hear the truth, but at the same time, I want to.

“I like to test your loyalty,” he tells me. “What do you want me to say, Cassidy? Would I do anything to protect my species? Yes. Would I regret hurting you? Now that I know you, I would absolutely hate it. Satisfied?”

Now it’s my turn to be ashamed of my behavior. I don’t know him all that well, and I’ve yet to see him in action to help him with this current catastrophe, but he truly is unlike other powerful men I’ve encountered.

There’s something bigger than just money and status weighing on his shoulders. Something dangerous. And I suspect that I’ll learn far more about it very soon.

“I didn’t ask to be a part of this,” I murmur. “I just wanted to live a normal life. That’s all.”

“You became a part of it the moment you took the elevator up to my office,” Graham reminds me, but his tone is gentle. “I wish I could shield you from my world, but I can’t. I can’t because I need your help.”

There’s something about his unexpected vulnerability that makes me lose all my senses. Instead of taking another sip of a drink, I get off the sofa and walk around the table, taking a seat on the chair next to his.

We look at each other, and I try to decipher the unspoken words behind his dark eyes.

“Tell me what you need,” I say as I turn on the computers, he had set up for me. “I think it’s time we really get to work. No more stalling.”

Graham fills up my glass again and puts it down next to my keyboard. I take another small sip of vodka. Enough to take the edge off.

“Did you find anything in your department’s files?” he asks.

“None so far,” I reply. “At this rate, it’ll take me a year to get through everyone’s records. Not to mention the fact that after every new person I put on the list of cleared suspects, a few more always seem to pop up.”

“I might have something that will help us narrow the search,” he says, starting to work on his own computer. A few moments later, he turns the screen toward me and points to it. There’s a picture of an older guy on it with sandy blond hair and brown eyes. “Run him through F-Rec and try to find out everything you can about him.”

“Who is he?” I ask as I open the email where he sent me the picture.

“I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me that,” he replies. “If we’re right, he’s one of the radical leaders. I’m going to take a deep dive into his mother, Jasmine White. She was a powerful witch with a coven of her own.”