Page 47 of Grace of a Wolf 1
It takes me a few seconds to process what he's saying and understand he's explaining himself. Meanwhile, his finger jabs through the air—at me, then himself, then back to me.
"You. You'remyprisoner." Each word is firm, with clear enunciation as he emphasizes every syllable. "No one else can lay their hand on you until my investigation is complete."
His chair scrapes against the ground. Before I can form a response, he storms out, the door slamming behind him with enough force to rattle the plates.
I sit frozen, fork suspended in mid-air, bits of egg dropping back to my plate. What kind of captor gets territorial over their prisoner's well-being?
No. I decided not to try and apply basic logic to the man's words or actions. The man is a lunatic, and nothing he does isever going to make sense. Better to accept he's crazy and move on.
At least he didn't hurt me.
I stare at the door he just slammed. For all his intimidating presence and penchant for murder, the Lycan King seems more frustrated with me than homicidal. That's a good thing, I think.
My shoulders droop a little, my upper back tense from holding into my fear from the moment I walked into this room. The constant terror of imminent death ebbs, replaced by a dull sort of acceptance. If he wanted to kill me, he'd have done it already. Instead, he's oddly fixated on protecting me, I think. At least from others.
I reach for one of the golden-brown scones. Taking a small bite, I savor the subtle sweetness as it crumbles in my mouth.
The door crashes open again and the pastry slips from my hands, mashing itself against the floor. My heart leaps into my throat as I stare at the Lycan King's broad frame filling the doorway, his expression stormy. My spine crawls.
"Er... did you forget something?"
"No." But he doesn't move from the door.
My neck itches, probably from all the stress, and I reach up to scratch it without thinking. Pain shoots through my wrist at the movement, making me wince.
Caine's boots thunder across the floor. One moment he's at the door, the next his fingers wrap around my upper arm. His touch burns against my bare skin, and more touch burns through the fabric of my shirt.
"Get up." The words come out as a rough growl.
I have no idea what he wants, but I have no intention of pissing him off. It kind of feels like I've used up all my luck for the day already, so I stand immediately, following as he herds me to the other side of the room, where a couch sits across from a simple brick fireplace.
"Sit," he commands, and I do so, wondering if I look as confused as I feel.
Chapter twenty-four
Caine: Can I Have My Hand Back?
CAINE
The girl's wrist is so thin and fragile, I'm reasonably certain it would break under the pressure of lifting a gallon of milk.
She's not that weak.
The bruises on her skin say otherwise, perfectly spaced. Four fingers and a thumb.
Hmm. How many fingers does a Luna need? She can probably get by with none. In fact, the Blue Mountain Pack has gone yearswithout a Luna; I'm sure they would be just fine without one now…
Oh?Fenris perks up, his mental presence a little stronger.Are we killing her, then?
It's a tempting thought.
I take a deep breath of blueberry muffin-scented air, recalling the unknown scent all over her when we first met. My upper lip curls back in a snarl. Better to keep that vicious little Luna alive; she'll keep her mate in line.
Fenris hums in the back of my head.Good idea. Or we can kill both of them?His hopeful question is another temptation, but it would only bring forth more headaches in the long run.
At least without cause.
"Um…" Her sweet voice interrupts my vengeful train of thought. "…Caine?"
