C3

Evelyn Carter POV

"Step away from the stone hearth, human girl," Edith commands, her hand cutting through the air to block my path as I reach for the iron ladle. "The Wolfhart Alpha Council covers our rations to feed the master. If Alpha Alaric discovers you are burning raw grain in this kitchen like a common field thrall, our necks are on the chopping block."

I pull my short, thick arms back against my chest, my plus-size frame freezing near the heat of the fire. My dark skin feels tight under the sharp glare of the older werewolf cook. "I only wanted to make sure he had warm nourishment before the winter mist rolls off Frostfang Ridge."

"June and I manage the throat-cutting diet of this pack lodge, human," Simon breaks in, his wolf ears twitching with irritation as he takes the wooden bowl from my small fingers. "You are fresh meat from the lower valley. You know nothing of a high-born alpha's raw meat requirements or the blood-broth he drinks after a mating night. Do you honestly think the lord of Moonshadow Valley eats mushy swamp oats like a starving human peasant?"

A stinging heat hits my face. I cast my eyes down toward my bare toes on the cold stone, my four-foot-two height making me feel even smaller against their looming shadows. "The master is a warrior. I assumed he needed sustenance."

Of course the powerful wolves have blood-spoiled appetites. Back in Pine Hollow Village, the merchants who traded with the northern packs always carried massive slabs of red meat, turning their noses up at our root vegetables and simple porridges. I am a fool to think my human hands can satisfy a monster's gut.

"Take the mess away," I tell Simon, forcing a tight, quick smile onto my lips. "Dump it in the refuse pit for the wild dogs."

Edith looks at the golden, fried griddle cakes and the thick, spiced oatmeal sitting on the table, her nose twisting as she sniffs the sweet vanilla and wild honey I used. A small shred of pity softens her harsh face. "It is a sin to waste fat and honey, even if it is human garbage. Mistress Evelyn, leave the platters. Simon and I will consume the starch before our patrol shift, but do not touch the iron stove again."

"Understood," I choke out, the words catching like dry bone in my throat.

I turn on my heel and rush back toward the grand stone staircase, my chest squeezing. They treat me like a disease in this house.

Upstairs, the massive alpha is sprawled out across the black furs of the bed, his white skin gleaming like polished ice in the morning light. I crawl up onto the mattress on my knees, creeping close to his sharp, heavy jawline.

"You savage northern beasts are too damn particular," I hiss under my breath, my voice shaking with raw heat as I look at his closed, blindfolded eyes. "Who needs fresh stag blood and raw marrow every single morning? I have survived on parched corn and river water my entire life. How am I supposed to know how to feed a six-foot-eight killer?"

Before my uncle Nathan pushed me past the pack borders, he locked me in the cellar of Carter Cottage and told me a human wife must either split her thighs wide enough to keep an alpha wild or keep his stomach so full of meat that his teeth never turn on her family. Remembering the cold, unfinished business of last night makes my blood run boiling hot. I am stranded in this den of wolves, and I refuse to let them destroy me.

Last night, Alaric bit my neck, tasted my human blood, and stopped before his knot could tear me apart. I feared his blind eyes and old battle wounds made him too weak to take me whole, so I thought my kitchen skills would save my skin. Now, even my bread is treated like poison.

If I cannot feed the beast, I will have to use my flesh.

"Wake up, you massive bastard, or I am going to ride your chest until you choke," I whisper, my eyes tracing the single red cufflink still glittering on his discarded shirt near the pillows.

Alaric’s long, white eyelashes twitch against his cheeks, but the black silk tied around his head does not move. My pulse dances in my veins as I look down at his cruel, perfect mouth. I lean my face down, my heavy breasts pressing against the furs, wanting to sink my teeth into his lips, but my courage fails. I pull back, deflated, and slide off the high bed.

Maybe the village elders are wrong. Maybe a human girl cannot hold a werewolf's loyalty with simple lust.

Buzz.

My phone vibrates inside my apron pocket. I run into the adjacent washroom and slide the heavy oak door shut, though I leave it cracked an inch so I can keep watch on the bedroom.

"Evelyn, did the beast take your maidenhood last night or did he throw your fat carcass out to the guards?" Nathan's rough voice barks through the receiver the moment I answer.

"We are bounded," I lie, my knuckles turning white against the plastic case.

"Did he knot you? Did he put his seed inside your belly? The Wolfhart Alpha Council is watching the Pinebrook Medical Center. If there is no pup growing in your womb within the next two seasons, they stop the medicine for Margaret!"

"I know the contract, Uncle," I snap, my teeth grinding together. "I am a woman of my word. I will give him a hybrid child."

Nathan lets out a rough grunt. "Good. Call him your lord. Submit to his teeth."

My dark skin turns a deep, burning crimson. "I will."

I kill the connection and slide the phone back into my pocket. A heavy, sliding sound echoes from the bedroom. Thinking the cooks are coming up to clean the sheets, I hurry out into the main room.

The bed is empty. The heavy wooden chair Alaric uses is gone, and the scent of fresh cigarette smoke trails down the hallway.

I scramble down the stairs and find the giant male sitting at the head of the long dining table. He is dressed in pure black velvet, the midnight silk tied tight over his eyes, looking like a dark god waiting for a sacrifice.

"Good morning, Luna Evelyn!" Edith calls out with a broad, beaming smile, rushing toward me with a silver tray. "We have prepared the morning blood-feast and fresh white loaves for your pleasure. Please, take your seat!"

Her sudden kindness feels like a silver blade hidden in the dark. I step toward the table, looking at the raw, salted meats and strange kidney broths laid out before me. My human stomach turns at the smell.

I remember the leftover oatmeal I hid in the cool stone larder this morning. Alaric thinks it is garbage, but it is the only thing that won't make me sick. I slip into the kitchen, retrieve my small clay bowl of salted oats, and take my seat at the far end of the long table, swallowing the food in quick, angry bites.

From across the wide expanse of oak, Alaric tilts his head, his nostrils expanding. "What is that foul, starchy odor?"

"Something too basic for an alpha's tongue," I mutter, shoving another spoonful into my mouth.

Alaric’s lips curve into a slow, terrifying smile. "And how does a little human girl know what pleases my tongue?"

I look up, my round face turning fierce. "Simon told me my cooking was fit for wild dogs."

A sharp gasp echoes from the corner of the room. Simon freezes, his wolf ears pinning flat against his skull.

Alaric raises his glass of thick, creamy milk, taking a slow, elegant swallow while the cigarette burns between his bare fingers. "Simon decides the menu for the Wolfhart Pack now?"

"He said you would never touch simple valley grains," I say.

"Is that so?" Alaric sets the glass down. The heavy crystal hits the oak with a sharp, echoing crack that makes Simon drop to his knees on the floor boards.

The alpha's voice turns to absolute frost. "I do not recall giving my servants permission to speak for my palate."

Before I can blink, Alaric reaches across the table, his massive arm stretching out to slide my clay bowl straight into his space. He takes a silver spoon, taps the rim of the bowl to find the center, and takes a large, dripping mouthful of the salted oats.

He chews slowly. The silence in the hall is suffocating.

"Savory," Alaric rumbles, setting the spoon down with perfect grace. "It has the salt of the valley. Tell me, Simon, how did you acquire the wisdom to know I would loathe my wife’s touch?"

He knows I was whispering to his bedpost this morning. He knows the servants insulted my birthright.

Simon is trembling so violently his leather boots click against the stone. He tries to crawl behind Edith's skirt to hide from the alpha's blind fury.

Alaric leans forward, the black silk over his eyes catching the firelight. "Why are you silent, dog? Do you think a blind wolf cannot smell the sweat of a traitor?"