Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 22

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.

The sausage hovers between us. It’s spicy, just the way Alpha always liked them. My stomach seems to have decided on hunger over nausea, and rumbles, begging me for sustenance.

"I can feed myself." Snatching the fork out of his 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 independent adult woman I wanted to portray, but at least I’ve successfully gained control of feeding myself.

Or so you’d think.

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

I chew as fast 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 alone in his suite.

Did he really summon me here to—

"You’re making a mess." His voice comes out low and rumbly, almost like a purr.

The rough pad of his thumb swipes across my chin, wiping away grease, and my 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 murdered Alpha. He’s holding me captive. He’s dangerous and clearly unhinged and—

I jerk my head away from his touch, face burning. My knees snap together under the table as I try to get myself under control.

A knock echoes through the suite, interrupting the strangely sexual moment. Thank you, God. I think I need to see a priest and confess all my sins, but very few shifter packs allow a church onto their territory.

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