Carmen downed another glass of wine in one gulp, sneering at its apple sweetness. She didn’t know why, but the smell and taste of apples was bearing something of an irritation, though it had never bothered her before. What she really wanted was something stronger. It wouldn’t make her drunk, but the burn in her throat would be relished.
“Don’t you think you should slow down?”
She stiffened at the deep voice as her wolf shivered. It was always like this when her mate was close despite the bond she rejected. Why couldn’t their wolves just let it go?
“What? It’s not as if I can get drunk off this stuff,” she sneered.
Werewolves had developed an aconite-alcohol blend that was effective in making them drunk, but it wasn’t something their King allowed, especially at large gatherings. The las
