He handed me a wine glass, his eyes cold. “Don’t make a scene in front of the Werewolf King’s council, Debbie. Just drink.”
The rim of the glass touched my lips. A scent. Sweet. Overripe berries. My stomach twisted with dread.
“Darrell, I—”
“Drink it,” he hissed without meeting my eyes, already turning back to Carla. She laughed softly beside him, the sound grating like broken glass.
Berries. He knew they could kill me. I’d told him, years ago. He didn’t forget. He simply didn’t care. Or maybe... she liked that wine, and that was enough.
I drank it anyway.
For love. For a loyalty he didn’t deserve. For a place I no longer belonged to.
Fire slid down my throat, followed by pain sharp enough to make my knees buckle. My lips began to blister, my breath shortened into strangled gasps. The music kept playing—Carla’s favorite songs filling the air as my vision blurred.
I stumbled forward.
“Darrell,” I rasped.
He didn’t look at me. He was too busy letting Carla cling to him, her dainty fingers wrapped around his arm like vines.
Then he said it—soft and sweet, the way he used to speak to me.
“No more wine, Carla. You’re already tipsy.”
And my heart shattered.