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.

just the way Alpha always liked them. My stomach seems to have decided on hunger over

drips down my chin. It isn’t the image of an independent adult woman I wanted to portray, but at least I’ve

Or so you’d think.

shoves a piece of bacon at me. "Try this,

bacon slides between them. His storm-gray eyes fix on my mouth, intense

really summon

out low and rumbly, almost like a

body betrays me with a jolt of heat. His touch leaves a trail of fire across my skin, and my thighs clench. What is wrong with me? This man

touch, face burning. My knees snap together under the table as I try

need to see

"Enter."

now and give me space to breathe... but

for a napkin, still looming over me as if the person at the door doesn’t exist. His fingers thread through my hair, gripping the back of my head to hold me still while he dabs at

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

chin before letting go of my hair,

sounds distinctly amused, and I wonder if he’s

my mind—most of them cursing myself for being some strange style of pervert around dangerous men—and I don’t

through the pain radiating from forearm to palm. Ellie must have sprained my wrist; it hurt all the way here, but seeing the

his beta, frowning instead as his gaze lingers on my hand. I

"He’s already—"