Page 49 of Bred Mate
“But Baldwin makes them just the right way,” Connor protests. He’s only been here a couple of weeks and he’s already getting used to being waited on. I hate that for him. I know it’s good he gets to go to a fancy school or whatever, but I don’t see how you can become a man with someone else putting the straw in your juice box.
“You skinned a deer for the first time when you were four years old,” I remind him. “You don’t need a grown man to get you a juice.”
“I like it when he gets me juice,” Connor replies.
Kids are simply won over.
“Stop serving my brother like he’s a little king,” I tell Baldwin. “I won’t ask you twice.”
“Baldwin, can I have another PB&J, please?”
Baldwin looks like he is about to short-circuit. He’s caught between two different sets of orders. One comes from the young master he has been told to attend to by the alpha, and one comes from me, the forest witch who appeared out of nowhere and started telling him everything he is doing is wrong.
He makes his decision.
It’s the wrong one.
“I swear to god, Baldwin. That sandwich better be for you,” I growl as he reaches for the peanut butter.
The butler has the fucking audacity to ignore me. Another significant mistake he will not soon recover from.
I pick up a knife and stab it into the counter, right between the butler’s fingers. It sticks into the wood top in an intimidating manner. The butler stops making the sandwich, pivots on his heel, and glides out of the room without another look at me.
“Why did you ruin that?” Connor’s voice hits my ears in a high-pitched whine that he used to use when he was very small, and hasn’t used in a really long time.
“I didn’t ruin anything. You’ve still got the food.”
“It doesn’t taste the same when I make it. It tastes better when someone else does,” he pouts obnoxiously.
It is amazing how quickly a kid can be spoiled.
Before I can respond, Karl strolls into the kitchen with Baldwin as his shadow.
“What’s going on here?”
“Ellie won’t let me eat anything,” Connor says, betraying me instantly with the kind of drama I know I taught him. How dare he use it against me.
“Fine. Have your sammies made by a man,” I say. “But don’t come crying to me when you can’t remember how to make them yourself.”
“Ellie? Can I talk to you?” Karl snatches me out of the kitchen in the least possible aggressive way while still making it impossible for me to get away.
“What’s going on?” He asks me the question again. “Really. Because I know you didn’t nearly remove a finger from the butler for making your brother some food.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re a lot of things, but irrational is not one of them.”
“I’m not irrational. He doesn’t need to be served like he’s a little prince. He’s already getting too used to this.”
“Are you worried about how used to this he is, or how used to this you might get?”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” I snap. “I never gave permission for any of this.”
“You weren’t around,” he reminds me. “You were busy torturing a man you could easily just have killed. You disappeared into a swamp to be evil. I’m not going to apologize for taking care of your brothers, or how I did it. The boy deserves some care.”
Those are fighting words.
“I raised Connor myself. Since he was a baby. I got him everything he needed. Now you’re telling me I didn’t do enough?”
