Page 14 of Bound to the Guard

Damien gestures to the chair. “Please, sit. Eat.”

On reflex, I obey, perching on the seat. My fingers twitch with the urge to grab the bread and cram it into my mouth, but I resist. Nothing in my life has ever come without a price.

Damien misunderstands my unease and gives me an apologetic smile. “It’s not much, but the doctor said to stick to simple foods for now, after being unconscious for so long.”

Two days, he said earlier. I lost two whole days that I can’t remember.

When I still don’t come closer, Damien taste tests each dish, chewing and swallowing before he speaks again. “See? No tricks.”

Tears threaten at the gesture. No one has ever gone out of their way to reassure me like this. With a shaking hand, I lift the spoon, and Damien nods in encouragement.

The rich aroma of chicken soup fills my nose as I dip the spoon into the bowl with trembling fingers. I bring it to my lips, the salty warmth coating my tongue and gliding down my throat. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

Hunger takes over, and I attack the food like a starving animal. The soup vanishes in seconds, and I tear into the soft bread, stuffing piece after piece into my mouth, hardly bothering to chew.

“Whoa, easy there,” Damien cautions, but I can’t listen over the pounding need to eat before the food disappears.

Not until my stomach cramps with pain, and I lurch to my feet. Nausea crashes over me in a dizzying wave. I stumble away from the table, leaving the blanket behind as I search for a trash can, a sink,anything.

Too late, my gut heaves, and I double over, vomiting onto the hardwood floor. Shame burns through me as I retch again and again, my body rejecting the only real food I’ve eaten in over a year.

“Sorry,” I rasp when the convulsions stop, humiliation and self-loathing coursing through my veins. “Didn’t mean to. I’ll clean it up, I swear.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Damien appears at my side, and I flinch away, but he doesn’t touch me, doesn’t strike me. “You don’t have to apologize. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Confused and stumbling from his kindness, I let him guide me back to the bathroom. He hands me a damp cloth, and I wipe my mouth with shaking hands, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

When we return to the front room, the mess is gone, as if by magic. Only a damp spot on the floor shows that anything happened. Is this what it means to be rich?

Damien coaxes me back to the table, lifting the blanket from my chair and wrapping it around me without touching. “Let’s try the oatmeal instead. Slower this time, okay? Little bites.”

Meekly, I lift the spoon, embarrassed and exhausted and so grateful I could cry. This time, I force myself to eat with deliberate care, savoring each small bite. The thick, creamy oatmeal holds a light sweetness with hints of cinnamon.

“That’s it. You’re doing great.” Pride warms Damien’s voice, and something flutters in my chest, light and unfamiliar. “Stop when you’re full. We can always order more food when you’re hungry again.”

I don’t understand what’s happening, why he’s being so patient with me, so gentle. My thoughts spin in dazed circles as I lift the spoon to my mouth again and again until my stomach tightens in protest.

Half the oatmeal remains, and leaving it is a waste. But I’m full and set aside the spoon.

Damien rumbles in approval, and a strange, giddy tingle rushes through my veins, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I peek up at Damien, wanting to please this Alpha, to be good for him.

And it terrifies me. What if I trust, and he turns on me?

Head dropping, I fidget with the blanket. “Can I… May I brush my teeth again?”

“Of course. You don’t need to ask for something like that,” he says, still soothing, still soft. “The toothbrush is yours, and you can use it whenever you want.”

Relief rushes through me, followed by a swell of panic when Damien reaches for the half-empty bowl. I half-rise from my chair. “Let me do it!”

He smiles as he collects the dishes. “It’s all right. I’m only setting these out in the hall for the staff to pick up. Go ahead and brush your teeth.”

My legs shake beneath me as I follow his instructions and stumble to the bathroom. I fumble for the toothpaste, squirting too much on the bristles. The mint, cool and sharp on my tongue, helps ground me.

A light tap on the doorframe startles me, and toothpaste dribbles down my chin.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” Damien asks from the doorway. “Figured I might as well brush mine, too.”

Afraid that I took too long, I hastily cover my mouth and spit into the sink, mortified he’ll see the blood.

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