Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 22: Grace: Eat

There’s food heaped onto the plate in front of me, turning into a small mountain of breakfast. I was starving, but now the egregious stack of food—enough to feed three people—leaves me nauseated.

"I’m not hungry," I lie, even though I’ll regret it later.

"Eat," the overbearing monarch says, his voice so cold I swear there’s an icy breeze in my ear.

But who can eat when there’s a strange man standing over them, arms crossed, watching with a death glare? Nope. Not happening. My stomach roils and rebels, even though it was begging me for food just a while ago.

I must not move fast enough for his liking, because he takes back the fork he’d given me and stabs a large bite of egg, shoving it at my face like I’m a child. "You haven’t eaten. You need to."

He’s still waiting, acting as if he can wait all day for me to eat what he’s offering. It’s awkward—beyond weird, really—but I lean forward and open my mouth. Cold metal clinks against my teeth as I try to manage the massive portion of scrambled eggs. Half of it falls back to the plate while I struggle to chew what made it in, heat rising in my cheeks over the mess I’m making.

His pupils dilate as he watches me, and he spears a thick sausage link next, bringing it toward my lips.

No way. Once was enough.

"Wait." I hold up my hands to fend him off, though the effort feels futile. "I can feed myself."

"Your mouth’s too small." His voice comes out rough, yet his face betrays nothing but clinical observation.

My cheeks burn hotter. I grab a napkin and wipe away bits of egg from the corners of my mouth. "It’s not that my mouth is small. That bite was just too big."

"You just need practice." He doesn’t lower the fork.

always liked them. My stomach seems to have decided on hunger over

hand, I take a defiant bite of sausage, a little flustered when grease spurts out and drips down my chin. It isn’t the image of an

Or so you’d think.

of bacon at me. "Try

as I can, wanting to tell him to back off. The moment my lips part, crispy bacon slides between them. His storm-gray eyes fix on my mouth, intense enough to send warning signals down my spine. The bedroom door stands open behind him, and my stomach drops as I remember we’re

he really summon me here

out low

me with a jolt of heat. His touch leaves a trail of fire

snap together under the table as I try

to see a priest and confess all my sins, but very few

"Enter."

give me space to breathe...

the person at the door doesn’t exist. His fingers thread through my hair, gripping the back of my

voice says from the doorway, and I recognize the red-haired

Caine squints at my chin before letting go of my hair,

wonder if he’s smiling

at a small, fluffy cloud of egg. A thousand thoughts race through my mind—most of them cursing myself for being

my plate in haphazard fashion, and I take a deep breath through the pain radiating from forearm to palm. Ellie must have sprained my

around to talk to his beta, frowning instead as his gaze lingers

"He’s already—"