"I didn't fall for him until I saw he matched wits with me."
Mei Ling turned, her expression suddenly sharp. The matriarch mask slid into place as she looked me dead in the eye.
"Your brother was dumb but smart. I know you are smart, Addie O’Shea. I’m just hoping you aren't dumb." Her eyes held mine for one beat longer than was comfortable. Whatever she was looking for, I couldn't tell if she'd found it. "Go. Feed your wolf."
I turned to face the wolves gathered around the island. Their predatory energy was a physical hum in the small space. It was a tactical map of power. There was Vidar, my future husband; his gaze anchored on me like a hunter watching a snare. To his left sat Magnus, the heir-apparent, calm and immovable. Then there was Gunnar, the muscle, still nursing the jaw I’d bruised, his eyes glinting with a dark mirth. At the end of the island sat young Ivar with a genuine smile; the only wolf I actually liked in the room.
I knew the protocol. This wasn't just dinner; it was the final round of the interview. I had to choose where to place the firstbowl. In this house, there was only one correct answer if I wanted to survive the night.
I bypassed Vidar. I bypassed his brothers. I made my way directly to the head of the island, to Fenrir. He was the sun this entire system orbited around. He was my new Alpha.
I set the bowl of steaming soup in front of him. Instinctively, I lowered my gaze. It was a reflex born from years of surviving the Vane pack; you never looked a monster in the eye while you were serving him. You watched his hands to see if your throat would be torn out.
A thick, scarred index finger hooked under my chin. Fenrir tilted my face upward until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His skin was like weathered leather, warm and sand-papery against my jaw.
"No daughter of mine lowers her gaze."
I blinked, completely caught off guard, the breath hitching in my throat. A strange, confusing sensation shot through my chest. My own father would have never said such a thing. To Adolphus, a lowered gaze was the only acceptable posture for a woman. To be told to stand tall by the man who held my brother’s life was a glitch in my reality.
I looked at Fenrir, really looked at him, and I saw it. Beneath the silver-backed brutality and the scars, there was a sharp, piercing intelligence. It was the mind that had finally won over Mei-Ling.
Vidar had the same eyes. That same terrifying, deep-seated brilliance that saw right through me.
No, I thought, my heart thudding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. There was no way I could fall for a man like Vidar. He was the architect of my ruin. He was the one who had bought me.
But as he watched me from his stool, his posture coiled like a spring, I realized that the "Safety School" in New Haven had never prepared me for a curriculum this dangerous.
After the bowls were placed, the dynamic shifted again. I expected the men to fall upon the food like the animals they were. They remained still. Fenrir rose, his heavy chair scraping against the hardwood, and pulled out the seat for Mei Ling. Beside me, Vidar stood with a silent, fluid grace and did the same for me. Something told me to wait until Mei Ling was seated before I arranged myself on the barstool.
The brothers waited. No one touched their spoons. They sat like statues of stone and muscle, their eyes fixed on the head of the table. Fenrir took a single, deliberate sip of the soup, his eyes closing as a look of pure bliss smoothed the hard lines of his face. He turned to Mei Ling and kissed her. Nope, not a chaste peck. Hekissedher; a deep, proprietary, passionate press of his lips that spoke of decades of hunger.
"Gross," Ivar muttered.
The other brothers groaned in a practiced chorus.
Only after Mei Ling picked up her spoon and began to eat did the brothers finally descend on their bowls. I had never seen wolves treat their alpha females with such public, unashamed devotion. In the Vane house, my mother had been a ghost, a shadow meant to be managed or ignored. Here, Mei Ling was the sun, and they were all orbiting her warmth.
I took a sip of the soup. The flavor hit me like a revelation. The broth was rich, complex, and earthy. It was so good I nearly forgot my own name. I felt a ridiculous urge to prostrate myself at Mei Ling’s feet and beg for the recipe. Not that I wouldn't burn the water if I tried to replicate it.
I caught Vidar watching me. A knowing grin played on his lips as he witnessed the internal battle between my corporate stoicism and the sheer joy of the meal. He knew. He’d grown up on this magic in a bowl.
"I hope that you aren't expecting this level of skill in our marriage. I can barely toast bread."
"We can hire a chef."
I looked back at Fenrir and Mei Ling. They were eating, but their hands were constantly finding each other: a brush of fingers, a palm on a shoulder. They couldn't keep their eyes off one another. I didn’t have that skill—the ability to make a man that devoted, that anchored. But then I remembered Mei Ling’s words: she fell for the mind.
"I eat most of my meals here," Vidar continued, pulling my attention back. "Or at the family restaurant in the city. When I’m not out on a hunt."
The word hunt vibrated through me, reaching down into the part of me I’d kept locked in a lead-lined box. My wolf paced behind its bars, its ears pricking at the thought of cold air, the scent of pine, and the thrum of a heartbeat underfoot. I hadn't let her out to hunt in… I couldn't remember the last time. It was usually quick runs in the dead of night in a nearby park, just to keep her on a leash.
Vidar noticed my stillness. He didn't ask, and he didn't push. He just sipped his soup, those dark, intelligent eyes of his seeing far too much. He was reading the hunger in me that had nothing to do with food.
The soup was only the opening act. What followed was a synchronized demolition of two meat courses. Venison tartare that tasted of wild iron, followed by thick, salt-crusted ribeyes that had barely seen the heat of the stove.
"Ivar, if you touch that last marrow bone, I’m cutting off…" Gunnar held his fork hovering like a weapon. "Your access to your Crunchy Roll subscription."
"Mom, he's already had three. I need the calories for my growing brain."
