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I glare at the back of his head.

He lifts the lid from a dish, glances inside, then takes a fork from a drawer and sets both on the island in front of one of the stools.

“Sit.”

My eyes narrow. “Do you ever say please?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like when? Because now would be a great time to start.”

His gaze moves over me, slow enough to make my stomach tighten. “Please sit, Sera.”

I should throw the food at him, but I’m pretty hungry, and it does smell good.

“I guess that’s progress,” I say, dropping my boots by the stool and climbing on to it.

The food is cold chicken, roasted vegetables, some kind of salad with herbs and oil.

When I stick my fork into a bunch of leaves, he turns away, opens a cupboard near the back door and takes out a tin.

“Have ya got a dog?”

“No.”

“A cat?”

“No.”

The lid comes free with a soft metallic snap.

I lower my fork. “Then who the hell is Megan?”

“A fox.”

For a second, I stare over at his muscular shoulders as he spoons meat into a shallow bowl.

“Megan…the fox?”

“Yes.”

“Are you for real?”

“I was nineteen and didn’t expect her to live long enough to be embarrassed by it.”

I look at the chicken in front of me, then back at him, needing to know more but knowing I shouldn’t want to ask.

“How come?” I ask despite myself.

Fionn carries the bowl to the back door. “I found her in the lower field. Wire had torn her open. My father told Graves to shoot her.”

Of course, the bastard did.

“I told Graves I’d take her to the vet instead.” He unlocks the back door and pulls it open to allow the night air to roll in. “Graves drove me.”

I take a bite of chicken and watch him step outside onto the stone and set the dish near the edge of the dark before he comes back in.

“She comes every night?” I ask.