Page 58 of Bonds of Hate

“Did you eat?”

I don’t realize that Ares is standing directly behind the still open apartment door until he slams it shut loud enough to make me nearly jump out of my skin.

It takes a few seconds to realize he is asking me a question with the expectation of an answer.

He regards me with an annoyed expression, prompting again. “I said, did you eat?”

It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone would care what or when I ate. Sensing I’m suddenly on uncertain ground, I decide to avoid the truth or a lie.

“Perkins sent me a breakfast tray,” I hedge.

“How interesting,” Ares drawls, raising an eyebrow over stormy green eyes. He stalks around me with predatory grace. “But that’s not what I asked. Did. You. Eat?”

I take an involuntary step back. “I...had a few bites.”

His nostrils flare as he scents the air. “You’re still learning how this works, so I’ll give you one more chance not to lie to me.”

“I had a cappuccino with no sugar and two pieces of cantaloupe.”

“Your blood sugar is low enough that I can practically smell it.” He crowds into my personal space, forcing me to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “Why didn’t you eat?”

My stomach makes a nauseous flip. “I wasn’t hungry.”

The tip of his tongue traces the outline of his full lower lip. “That tastes too much like a lie. Try again.”

“I was too nervous to eat,” I snap, unable to conceal my annoyance at his persistent prodding. “If I’d eaten that lumberjack’s breakfast this morning, it would be all over your shoes right now after I vomited it all back up.”

As soon as the waspish retort escapes me, I immediately regret reacting. I don’t understand how these men so quickly undo years’ worth of Enclave training. Overnight, Iseem to have lost every inch of social grace that was beaten into me.

Wincing, I spare a single glance at his grim expression before dropping my gaze to the floor that is at least thankfully free of partially consumed breakfast.

I hate the way my muscles painfully tense in anticipation of his reaction.

But he surprises me with a bland response.

“Fair enough,” he says neutrally. “We’ll let it go for today. But you’re underfed. No more skipping meals or therewillbe consequences.”

I nod too fast and the movement makes me lightheaded.

He takes my arm in an unyielding grip, though gentle enough not to hurt. “Come on. The others are waiting.”

Ares steers me into the opulent dining area where the rest of the pack sits around a massive oak table. Its rich mahogany surface gleaming in the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Logan sprawls at the head like he owns the place — which, I suppose, he technically does — absorbed in reading something on his tablet, his golden eyes reflecting the blue glow of the screen.

Poe and Cillian flank him on either side, both focused on their own devices with an intensity that makes me wonder if they’re actually working or just avoiding eye contact. None of them so much as glance up as we enter, though I can feel the weight of their presence like a physical thing pressing against my skin.

Three Alphas practically sweating pheromones and a whipcord-taut beta with an attitude problem.

The knot in my chest loosens slightly as their apparentdisinterest continues when I approach. I catch the brief flick of Poe’s gaze as I reach the table, but it’s so quick that I could have imagined it. I can handle being ignored. If anything, I preferthat to the alternative.

Until I realize that there are only four chairs.

The table is long enough to seat at least twelve people comfortably. My mind might have been elsewhere when Ares practically force fed me at this same table, but I definitely remember there being plenty of places to sit.

Ares quirks the smallest smile when I hesitate. His overly large hand at the small of my back presses me forward with enough force to make me stumble.

He catches me easily around the waist, lifting and spinning my body around like it weighs nothing at all. In one disorientating move, he plants himself in the empty chair and settles me across his knees.

I perch as stiffly as I can on his legs. My back arches to keep from resting against his massive chest, but the move forces my weight to shift downward on his lap. He isn’t hard yet, but the soft bulge beneath my thighs is still massive enough that it compels a squeak of surprise from my throat at feeling it.

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