Page 32 of The Wolf and the Chimera
Under Lyall’s watchful eye, I brought the glass to my lips and prepared my best poker face. The few times I had tried alcohol, I had coughed and sputtered. When this wine touched my tongue, however, its sweet and bitter flavor sent pleasant heat traveling down my spine.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s really good.”
Lyall grinned. “Told you.”
As dinner continued, I poured myself a couple more glasses. Heat relaxed my tense muscles and made the smile I kept poised on my face easier to maintain. Eventually, Ryder tried it and interrupted Kieran’s and Lyall’s conversation about an upcoming bonfire.
“Whatisthis?” he asked.
I didn’t understand his anger. The wine was liquid joy.
“It’s good,” I said.
Ryder glared at me.
“It’s specially imported,” Lyall repeated and smiled. “From a winery that specializes in fermentation that will offer a buzz to those with supernatural metabolisms.”
My mind struggled to process his words.
“Alcohol doesn’t effect werewolves and witches and…”What am I again?“Chimeras.”
Even without access to my powers, my metabolism, like my ability to heal, was faster than the average human’s. It made getting drunk nearly impossible.
“You didn’t think to tell her this before she drank almost an entire bottle?” Ryder demanded.
I glanced at the bottle in front of us and started at how much of it was empty.
“Shit,” Kieran muttered.
Lyall shrugged. “I assumed she could recognize its effects.”
“He meant no harm,” Kalli promised.
“Are you really sober enough to make that assessment?” Ryder snarked.
His sharp tone cut through the pleasant warmth in my body. I frowned and laid my hand on his.
“I’m fine, Wolfie,” I promised.
Kieran snickered. “Wolfie?”
I wondered if the nickname was offensive. I hoped not. The cuteness of the nickname compared to the ferocity of Ryder’s wolf made me chuckle.
Why had I never thought of calling him that before?
Ryder’s jaw clenched. “Elle, did you get enough to eat?”
My stomach was bursting at the seams. I nodded, and Ryder rose to his feet.
“Then we’re leaving,” he said and held out his hand.
“We haven’t eaten dessert,” Lyall protested.
Wanting to avoid an argument, I stood. The room spun, and I leaned against Ryder for support.
“I really am sleepy,” I said. Against my will, my words rolled together. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s best if we go.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Ryder muttered.
