Page 40 of The Cursed Wolf King

20

EVE

The grand dining room of the alpha mansion was an overwhelming expanse of polished mahogany and gilt, every surface gleaming, the space marked by opulence and purpose. Crystal chandeliers cast a diffused light that seemed almost too delicate for a room this large, yet each fixture was deliberate, as if placed to remind anyone here of their smallness. The ceiling arched high above, painted with scenes of wolves hunting under moonlight.

Yet another display of Heraclid strength and lineage, and it made me want to gag.

Long, velvet drapes hung around towering windows, but every curtain was drawn, sealing off any sign of the outside world. The walls were lined with portraits of alphas and powerful wolves who had once ruled here, their expressions stern, eyes haunting, as if they knew every Heraclid secret and demand. At the end of the room was a grand, throne-like chair—Grayson’s seat.

So far, it was empty.

I sat at the far end of the table, separated from the throne by what felt like an eternity. I was aware of every inch between me and that chair, as that was my only protection from whatever was coming next. I couldn’t move.

I was chained to my chair.

Chains wrapped around my wrists, biting into my skin where it was cuffed to the chair. The cold metal links coiled on the floor beside me like a serpent.

The door creaked open. Grayson stepped in, his gait slow, measured, a strange detachment in his movements. There was something about his lips, the way they were slightly downturned, that was decidedly not like him. He said nothing. His eyes swept over the table, over the silverware, the gleaming dishes arranged in perfect rows, as if it was all meant to impress someone other than me.

He walked past the table and each place setting slowly, his fingers skimming along the edge of the polished wood. He was close enough I could feel his pulsing alpha presence through my veins. Power emanated from him like an electrical current.

Finally, he stopped next to me, reaching down to touch the chain.

His fingers brushed the metal, lifting it as high as it could go. The sound of the links shifting under his touch felt like nails on a chalkboard, and my heart pounded faster.

“Sorry about this,” he murmured, letting the chain fall heavily into my lap. The cold metal links pressed against my legs, sending a shiver up my spine. “But you have become famously difficult to manage of late.”

Grayson continued around the table, settling into thegrand chair at the far end as if this were a meal on any other night. I felt like I was suffocating, drowning in the air of this massive dining room.

His fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop until there was a quiet knock at the door. A shifter girl entered, carrying two steaming plates. Her hands trembled as she approached the table, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. I caught her scent—frightened and nervous. She placed a plate in front of Grayson, then one in front of me, careful not to look directly at either of us. Her hands shook as she adjusted the silverware, making the final adjustments with quick, jittery motions.

Grayson watched her the entire time, his expression unreadable. He finally reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her cheek. She flinched when his touch lingered a moment too long. “Thank you, Deirdre,” he said smoothly with a strange kind of fondness.

Her relief was palpable as she backed away, but her shoulders tightened as Grayson watched her all the way out. The door clicked shut behind her, and his attention shifted back to me, a thin smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Bon appétit,” he murmured, lifting his fork and beginning to eat with careful, measured bites.

The aroma of my food wafted up with teasing notes, but I didn’t move. My hands remained chained to the chair.

The clinking of his silverware against the fine china echoed in the silence. My silver fork sat beside the plate, polished and glinting under the chandelier’s light. I gripped the edge of my chair, my knuckles white as I willed myself to stay calm, to stay silent.

He set down his fork. “I told you to eat.”

His voice held the alpha command, an undeniable force that rooted me to the spot, made my limbs go weak as my own body betrayed me.

My head dipped forward, and before I knew it, I was bending over the table, forced to eat the food like an animal. My mind screamed, but my body obeyed, my face an inch from the plate as I took a bite, the rich flavors suddenly making my stomach turn.

He watched me with a satisfied smirk, taking another bite of his meal with an infuriating calm. “There’s my obedient oracle,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

When I finally managed to lift my head, my face burning with humiliation, he was still watching me.

“Damian is gone,” he began in a conversational tone, a chilling contrast to the alpha command of moments before. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Of course, I know you were not responsible. But it’s awfully strange, isn’t it, that you should find yourself in the middle of a challenge?”

My hands clenched the edge of my seat, the chain rattling faintly. Grayson tilted his head at the sound.

He picked up his glass and took a long drink, a swirl of amber liquid disappearing as he downed it. I recognized the scent—it was Damian’s favorite too, a sharp, burning liquor that always left the sting of his presence in the air.

When Grayson lowered the glass, his eyes gleamed with the flash of his wolf, a dangerous glint that sent chills down my spine.

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