Page 57 of Grace of a Wolf 1
Then again, he made it oh-so-clear I'm his prisoner, so can I really complain?
He kicks the door closed with his heel without looking, his gaze never leaving my face. "Are you comfortable?" he asks, setting the tray on my bed.
I eye him suspiciously. Personally delivering food and asking about my comfort? His behavior is on a rollercoaster again.
"I'm fantastic, thank you."
His jaw tightens. "You're not."
"I just said I am, though?"
He grunts. "Your boyfriend will be instated as Alpha tonight."
I already know that, thanks to Andrew. "I'm sure he's happy about it."
Another grunt, and he hasn't moved from the side of my bed, effectively cutting me off from the food.
My stomach begs me to dive for it, but I wring my hands together, digging my nails into my skin to keep my composure. "Did you need something else?"
His eyes land on my linked hands. "How is your wrist?"
"It's fine." It's not, but as long as I'm not using it much, the pain is bearable. It's the hunger killing me now, but it's being gatekept by a Lycan with a questionable grasp on sanity.
His hand reaches out so quickly I don't have time to flinch. My breath catches as his fingers capture a strand of my hair, letting it slide through them with unsettling fascination.
There are no nerve endings in my hair, but the action sends shivers down my spine regardless.
The lasagna's rich aroma taunts me while my captor plays with my hair, and I'm struck again by the strangeness of this situation. Thankfully, Andrew's coming tonight. Just a little longer and I'll be free. For real this time.
"When were you first brought to the Blue Mountain Pack?"
I barely suppress a groan. He brings me food—which I'm dying to devour—but of course it comes with a cost. I guess I won't be allowed to eat if I don't answer.
He probably doesn't remember any of what I said before, but it's still annoying to repeat it.
"Six years ago," I answer crisply, fighting the urge to step away. Any sudden movement might upset him, and I'm not risking him taking away my food or something in retaliation.
His fingers continue their exploration, twining around the strand. "Six," he repeats, as if testing the word. "And your parents?"
"Dead," I snap. He might not remember the details of what I told him, but he should at least remember I'm an orphan, damn it.
"And he claimed you as his daughter?"
"Yes." My hands clench at my sides. "Until he didn't, the night of the Mate Hunt."
Caine's eyes narrow, his fingers still absently toying with my hair. "Yes, explain that again."
My patience fractures. The lasagna is right there, its cheese congealing while he plays twenty questions. "Could I maybe eat while you interrogate me? Since you brought dinner?"
His eyebrows rise, but he releases my hair and steps aside with a gesture toward the bed. "By all means."
I move cautiously, as if approaching a sleeping predator, and perch on the edge of the mattress. The first bite of lasagna hits my tongue, and I have to stifle a moan. It's perfect—rich tomato sauce, seasoned beef, and cheese that stretches in satisfying strings. Heaven wrapped in pasta layers.
The Blue Mountain Pack is no longer home, but the chef is great.
Caine stands uncomfortably close, looming over me as his eyes follow my fork. "Continue."
I swallow, forcing myself to eat slowly despite my hunger. "Not much to tell. I must have been drugged, because I woke up practically naked in the forest during the Mate Hunt. I guess he was trying to force me to shift. He thought I was his biological daughter and found out I wasn't." I shrug. "Then he tossed me to the omegas."
