Page 21 of Of Wolves and Wives

I snort at this. I’ve been called much worse than trash. Hell, if Beatrice knew that I once curled in the trash that lines the allies of the city, she’d be horrified. She’s not far off from the truth, though, with her word.

“You should be dead,” she continues, ignoring my silence. “If it weren’t for the baby, you would be. Then I wouldn’t be forced to wait on you.”

“I never asked for you to wait on me.”

She rolls her eyes at this. “Hurry up and eat so I can tend to the rest of my duties.”

Sighing, I take my time getting from bed. I feel her glaring at me the whole time, but I don’t care. Instead, I make sure that I stretch and fix my braid before moving toward the table. The moment that my eyes land on the food there, my stomach revolts. Before I can stop myself, I lose the plums I ate last night. Beatrice hisses her disapproval at the mess I make.

I press a hand to my stomach as I turn my back on the food. None of it appeals to me. Apparently, this child means for me to simply exist on plums. Even the smell of the food does nothing to tempt me.

“You need to eat,” Beatrice hisses.

I shake my head. “I don’t have the stomach for it. Unless you want to clean more of my vomit, take the tray from here.”

“I was told that you must eat, and I’m not about to be punished over you. It doesn’t matter what you want, brat. Either eat yourself, or I’ll shove it down your throat. Your choice.”

Spinning to face her, I feel a burning rage work its way through me. She smirks, thinking that she’s won this round.

“You will do no such thing.”

She shrugs as she says, “Actually, I like the sound forcing the food down you.”

The door to the room opens, stopping my response to her. Beatrice’s anger melts into annoyance before she remembers her place. Smoothing her features, she gives a small nod to Heath. He stands in the doorway, dressed in bloody armor. My heart leaps at the sight of it, and I have to press my hands into my thighs to keep from going to him. The last person I need to know of my tenderness toward him is Beatrice. She would immediately use that to her advantage.

“Leave us,” Heath snaps at Beatrice.

She blinks, and for a moment, I think she’s going to obey. But then she shakes her head, once more crossing her arms over her chest.

“I have my orders to see to it that she’s fed,” Beatrice says.

“Leave, or do I need to report to Helena what I just heard you saying to her? I’m not sure the princess would agree with your methods.”

Beatrice pales at the mention of Helena. But she still opens her mouth to protest further, the idiot. Heath, seeing this, snarls at her. I have to hide my smile at the way her eyes widen before she runs from the room.

The moment we’re alone, he sinks into a chair at the table. I can see the exhaustion on his face as I hurry to his side. Worry pulls at me as I gently take his head in my hands. He doesn’t seem terribly injured, but there’s still so much blood coating him. My eye catches on several scratches on his arms, and I note the blood dripping from a gash above his left eye. Perhaps he’s more injured than I expected.

“They’re surface wounds, Rose,” Heath tells me, as though he’s managed to read my mind. “I’m fine.”

“They look more serious.”

I reach to touch the scratches that mar his face, but he catches my hand, our eyes meeting. Tenderness softens his gaze as he watches me.

“How are you?”

“Not well,” I admit.

But then it hits me that my nausea has passed and my stomach is currently settled. A smile tugs at my lips as I realize that I don’t feel miserable in this moment. The fog seems to have lifted. It’s hard to deny that his presence has made such a difference. Just moments ago, my stomach was revolting at the smell of the food. Now, even standing next to it, I don’t mind.

“But right now, I’m fine,” I tell him. “Actually, it seems that whenever I’m around you three, I’m not suffering.”

Heath tilts his head, his eyes watching me for a moment. His lips tug upward as he returns my smile. Then, he moves so that there’s room on his chair for me. With a gentle tug of his hand, I join him. I’m tempted to snuggle into his side and close my eyes. But, it’s hard to do that when his eyes are on me, watching.

“Would you let me try something?”

I nod. His smile grows as warmth pools in his eyes. My own smile falters as he reaches for a fork. It hits me what he intends to do. I wait for my stomach to roll as he slices into the omelet. But it never does. Heath’s eyes return to mine as the loaded fork hovers between us. It hits me that I’m suddenly nervous about overeating, that I don’t want to disappoint him by not being able to stomach the food.

“I don’t want to vomit all over you.”

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