Page 6 of To Tame An Angel

“I ordered the cook to prepare a variety of meals. I wasn’t certain what you preferred.”

He remained unmoved. My patience was running thin, and I could hear the clock ticking. My mother expected that by now I had him whimpering at least.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied my back and set my hands on my knees. “I’m myself partial to fish, but I know in the pits mutton is common. I ordered some in case you enjoyed a more familiar flare.”

He slowly shook his head. “Why are you doing this? All this talk, all these niceties?”

I’m deeply grateful for my skin color, for he wouldn’t notice the flush of shame. He expected something from me. A violent task master and here I was, making conversation about mutton.

“I wanted to get to know you,” I said with a steady voice. “Feels odd to beat you when I know nothing about you. It does little for me when I don’t know you. How am I to know what you enjoy and prefer?”

He leaned forward with flared nostrils. “You want to know what I want? Freedom.”

His words were scandalous at best.

“That’s treasonous.”

He smiled tightly. “So kill me. Punish me.”

Fire erupts over my skin, and I felt myself enraging. “Again, if you wished for a punishment, all you have to do is ask. I may sit here in a fine blue dress, but I can assure you, number Seventy-four, that I’m quite capable of reducing you to tears and whimpers. Don’t test me.”

Magic sparked from my fingers, and it wasn’t lost on him.

He slowly backed away. “Chicken. I enjoy chicken, my lady. And let me assure you, it will take all the magic in your body to reduce me to tears and whimpers. I may cry, but you’ll be dead.”

A knock interrupted our staring game, and I sniffed, lifting my chin. “Come in.”

Perhaps I ordered a little too much for dinner. Tray upon tray is brought and set on the table. Hens cooked in sage, fragrant turtle soup, chilled cucumber jelly, a savory mutton stew, poached fish in orange marmalade, and so much that it covered the entire space. I chanced a glance at my angel-man to find him opened-mouthed with eyes speared on the food.

Good. He’s hungry.

A man his size likely consumed a lot and I wouldn’t be surprised if they stopped feeding them once purchased.

“Thank you,” I said to the servants as they left. Standing, I walked to the table.

His eyes are once more on me, but this time there was no hate. He leaned forward slightly.

“You must be hungry. Why don’t you come and join me?”

He sneered. “So you can feed me?”

I paused and looked him over. “If you would like.”

This placed him in a conundrum. He took a moment, then he stood, the chains rattling. With small steps, he walked to the table. He looked over the food, and I hoped he’d finally realize that I wasn’t trying to kill him.

I moved to take a seat when, to my surprise, he pulled back a chair for me. I paused and stared at him, uncertain of his angle.

He sighed, annoyed. “You purchased a trained slave, didn’t you?”

Yes. I did. Despite the harsh conditions of the pits, the men are trained for many things, like manners, language, etiquette, eating out a woman.

Important things.

I startled when he pushed the chair in, sliding me neatly against the table. His strength sent a shiver of desire through my belly, and I wondered how much he could withstand. The thought of having such a beast of a man rigid between my legs heated my neck and nipples.

Clearing my throat, I grabbed a napkin and laid it on my lap. He walked around me to take his own seat.

“I think you’ll enjoy the roasted lamb -”

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