I bit back another scoff. “Nothing,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Unlike some people. I simply enjoy peace and quiet. It’s divine. You should try it.”
Azul stepped forward to begin serving the food while Jeffery retrieved the wine and uncorked it with a practiced twist.
Draven didn’t look away. “I’d like to,” he said softly, “but unlike some people, I’m busy. I have a duty. A commitment to our race.”
A subtle jab. I felt it land like a slap. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.
“Good for you,” I muttered, reaching for the wine glass Jeffery had just filled.
I wasn’t drinking it for the taste. Quenching my anger was more important, so I lifted the glass and downed it in one go.
By the time I set the glass back down, I could feel the stares.
Jeffery had frozen mid-pour, the wine bottle hovering. Azul’s lashes fluttered faintly as she placed a chicken thigh on my plate. Draven smirked and looked away, shaking his head slightly like he was amused.
He was enjoying this. Enjoying my deflated pride to his sharp retorts.
Jeffery refilled my glass once again and returned the bottle to the center of the table before moving away. At the same time, Azul moved quickly, serving the side dishes, then stepped back.
Draven picked up his glass and swirled the red liquid inside, watching me from over the rim. “What are you angry about?”
“I’m not,” I answered flatly, sparing him a glance.
He smiled. “You’re sitting next to a werewolf with a wolf, Meredith. I can smell your rage.”
I gritted my teeth. ‘You can smell it,’ I thought bitterly, ‘but you can’t tell you are the cause?’
He was still watching me. Waiting. But I said nothing.
“If something or something is bothering you,” he added, lifting the glass to his lips, “you’re free to tell me.”
I looked at Jeffery. At Azul. I couldn’t say what I wanted to-not with them here. Not when Madame Beatrice’s warning still echoed in my head about disrespecting their Alpha.
Instead, I simply nodded, offering nothing more.
Draven was already slicing into a roasted cherry tomato, slow and neat, chewing without concern.
I picked up my fork, grateful for the silence at last. The greens on my plate blurred slightly. I went for the chicken instead, cutting a small piece and lifting it to my mouth.
But just before I could take a bite, He stabbed another piece of tomato, glanced sideways at me, and spoke with casual ease.
“How did you get that scar on your face?”
I froze, the fork in my hand, stopping mid-air.
Slowly, I lowered the fork back to the plate and shut my eyes as my appetite vanished like a snuffed-out flame.
And for one quiet moment, I pictured pulling Draven’s tongue out of his mouth and immediately liked that idea.
Meredith.
“You don’t want to answer the question?” Draven asked, casually spearing a large chunk of grilled chicken. “Did I touch a soft spot?”
He popped the meat into his mouth and began chewing slowly-methodically-like he had all night to sit here and peel me open.
I stared at him, saying nothing. My lips pressed into a hard line. My silence was my last line of defense, and I wasn’t ready to let it fall.
But he didn’t back off.
“I’m guessing here,” Draven continued, his voice calm, almost curious. “Given the depth, shape and direction, I would say it was a claw. Not a blade. And from the way it curves at the edge-it wasn’t a full swipe. One claw. Likely the index finger of a werewolf.”
I blinked. My chest tightened.
His guesses were too close. Too exact.
He chewed slowly, swallowed, and lifted a spoonful of salad to his lips. I stared, stunned, as he continued without waiting for me to recover.
“Your father hates you. That much is obvious. But he wouldn’t have touched your face. He would have left the mark somewhere hidden. Where it wouldn’t bring shame to the family name.”
He swallowed again, unbothered. Unapologetic.
“Your brother wouldn’t dare. Not even in a fit of rage. Your sisters? Your mother? Out of the question.”
He tilted his head and finally asked, “So, who did this to you?”
The air felt tight in my lungs.
I tried to keep my face blank. I tried. But I could feel the faint twitch in my brow, the way my breath subtly shifted.
He hadn’t been wrong. Not once.
I looked away, gripping my fork as a rush of memories slammed into me.
The Academy’s tiled restroom. The stink of bleach. My wild pheromones spiking without warning. The bastard classmate who cornered me, eyes red and fists clenched. He wanted more than just a sniff. He wanted to take. When I screamed, he panicked and slashed. His claw ripped down my left cheek before he bolted. Coward.
I still remember the burn. The blood. The humiliation.
I had wished him a slow death every day since. But that wasn’t something I was going to share, especially with him.
My thoughts snapped when Draven knocked lightly on the table with his knuckles.
“Little wolf,” he said, voice low, “what are you thinking about?”
I snapped my eyes up to meet his as my grip tightened on the cutlery. “You.” He had unearthed something I had chosen to keep buried.
His brow lifted slightly.
“You can’t read the room,” I said through gritted teeth. “So how about this-you stay out of my matters, and I will stay out of yours.”
Draven hummed thoughtfully as he cut into his chicken, dipped it into a creamy sauce, and placed it into his mouth with a deliberate calmness that made me want to scream.
He chewed, swallowed, then looked at me.
“You don’t tell me what to do, Meredith.”
I glared at him, the words burning in my chest. I could feel them rising, pressure building like a volcano just before the rupture.
“Why did you marry me?” I asked, my voice cold and sharp.
The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Draven didn’t look away. He picked up another piece of chicken, chewed it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I watched his throat move as he swallowed.
Arrogant busybody.
He leaned back slightly, lips curling into the faintest smirk. “I will answer that question,” he said. “When you’ve earned the right to hear it.”
The audacity.
I saw red.
Earned?
The word rang in my ears like a slap.
My heart thundered. How was this place-his house-any better than the one I left?
At least in my father’s home, I knew what I was. Unwanted, yes. Broken, sure. But there, I was invisible. And the worst part? Draven’s house wasn’t any better. Here, I was constantly dissected. Poked. Torn open.
“I’m not yours to dissect,” I snapped, my voice rising. Then I looked him dead in the eye and asked, “Who do you think you are, giving me orders like you own me?”
His Beta, Jeffrey, stiffened while Azul dipped her head.
More Kickass Werewolf Reads
Dive into our collection of free werewolf romance novels—where fierce Alphas, daring heroines, and heart-stopping twists await. Every story burns with forbidden desire, loyalty, and destiny. Don’t wait—here’s a world where love bites hard and nothing is stronger than the call of the mate.
Leave a Reply