Page 80 of Savage Blood
Marcel had already laid out the platter of barbecue chicken, roasted vegetables, and macaroni and cheese on the white marble counter. My stomach gave an angry growl, loud enough for the shifters in the next room to hear, and he grinned.
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” I muttered.
At least my appetite had returned, probably thanks to Saint.
My gut twisted, wishing Fane was the one responsible. But then I remembered he’d tossed my best friend into my father’s psycho clutches,andhe thought hanging with my fated mate just to heal was a good idea.
Saint was a great guy, obviously, but he wasn’t my actual mate. And he never would be.
“What else do you want?” Saint grabbed two plates from a rich mahogany cabinet and started filling them.
“I can make my own.” When I tried to grab one, he used his elbow to block me.
The young alpha winked and jerked his chin toward a stool at the other end of the island. “Just take a seat.”
Marcel raised his eyebrow at Saint’s very mate-like behavior. Male shifters—good ones—were always concerned with their mates’ well-being and overall comfort.
“So, Tate, did I thank you for saving my ass that night?” Marcel loaded his plate and turned his back to pop it into the microwave above the counter.
Instead of sitting, I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice. “Just a couple dozen times, Marcel. I got it. You’re welcome.”
He shrugged as his dark gaze fell to the floor. “I want you to know how grateful I am. And that I’m sorry for how I acted before—you know, with Torin.”
I was surprised they were friends, considering Marcel was a bitten shifter. How much had Wes influenced his son? Did Torin even want to be in the Underworld with The Collective Nosterium?
“It’s water under the bridge.”
“So, about Torin, he’s pretty much gone off the deep end, right?” Marcel grabbed his food from the microwave, set it on the island, and lifted the chicken leg.
“You could say that.” The guy went way past the deep end.
I poured lemonade into my glass—I’d never be able to kick the habit—and fruit juice into Saint’s.
“Here you go.” Saint set the plate in front of a stool for me. “Eat up.”
Before I could sit, a familiar, masculine voice, one I hadn’t heard in over a year, sounded through the kitchen.
“You look a lot different without that orange jumpsuit.”
My head rose as Knox cast a broad grin in my direction.
“No way.” I strode across the kitchen to hit Knox’s fist as he held it out. “Seeing you outside of prison is wild.”
He chuckled and brushed back thick strands of his sable hair. “Being outside of prison is wild.”
Alicia appeared and wrapped her arm around his. “Wild or not, I’m just glad you’re here.”
I almost hugged her, but my arms remained at my sides. “Glad to see you without all those cuts and bruises.”
“You too.”
Saint crossed the kitchen, hugged her, and then shook Knox’s hand. “Have you decided to return to Silver Ridge for good?”
Alicia shrugged, tossing her golden-brown curls around. “Not yet.”
Knox’s penetrating green gaze roamed over me, taking inevery detail, every freckle. “I can see Tamara, but Barric is nowhere to be found.”
“Thank God for that,” I muttered.
