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Dinner is as awkward as I thought it would be.
I’m used to eating in a communal space. That’s how I’ve had every meal since arriving in Darkwoods, though I did grab my plate and scurry back to my cabin to eat alone if Rafael was available to sit with me. Whether on purpose or not—and I’m leaning towardyes—West ate at a different time from me. Fair enough. But when Rafael tells me that the three of us are going to eat together in the den, I panic just a little.
It’s easier when I see that the spread is still laid out buffet-style. It’s traditionally how shifters get around the idea of food having meaning. It’s not easy to accept a meal as a proposition to mate when we’re each responsible for plating our own food.
For a heartbeat, I’m afraid that West will try to serve me. At least once a week back in Hickory he would, trying to catch my attention any way he could. I always refused, and I’d have to if he tried serving me in front of Rafael.
He didn’t—but neither did my intended.
Once we piled up as much food on our plate to satisfy our wolves, we took our seats at a small rectangular table in the den. Unlike at home, where the Sylvan Pack den is more like an office, Gravetail has their den styled like a living room. It’s off of a kitchen, has carpet beneath our feet, and a small dining area.
I sat first. No one offered me a seat, so I just took the first one I reached. Rafael sat to my right, West my left. The two males ended up across from each other, placing chicken with eye contact as we all dug in.
After we’ve had our fill, before we return to the kitchen for seconds, Rafael decides to strike up a conversation.
I should’ve been expecting this.
“Omega.” I jump at my title. The rising moon was already making me twitchy, but his voice had me nearly jumping out of my skin. “I see that you keep stroking that mark on your neck. I hope it isn’t bothering you.”
I didn’t even realize it. While one hand was holding onto my fork, the other was absently stroking West’s bite.
Immediately, I drop my hand to the table. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course. Though… I do wonder. Beta? Would you mind showing me your fangs?”
Oh my Luna. He didn’t just ask that, did he?
“I would actually,” West responds, keeping his voice just as falsely pleasant as Rafael. “Only my enemies and my future mate get a close up on my fangs.”
“I see.”
I’m sure he does.
West sets down his fork and knife. Folding his fingers in front of him, subtly flashing his claws, he says, “If you want to know if that bite’s mine, you can just ask. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”
Rafael tilts his head in West’s direction. Honestly, I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten all about me as he asks, “Our packs have an alliance, so yes. And there’s no need for me to ask about the Omega’s bite.” Nope. Not when he knows that West’s fangs would be a perfect match to that mark. “Though I do have a question. You mention your future mate. You don’t have one?”
A smart ass would point out that, if he did, he would be with her on the night of the full moon.
A shifter with a death wish might taunt the Alpha that the female he considers his mate is sitting at this very table.
But West… he just meets Rafael’s curious expression with an icy stare of his own.
“I had one once. Or I thought I did.”
“Is that so?”
West nods. “The Luna gave me a feisty delta she-wolf, but it wasn’t meant to be. She rejected me for her chosen mate.”
“That’s not very usual,” Rafael muses. “Most shifters are happy to find and claim their fated mate.”
He’s right.Mostshifters are… so why isn’t he? Because, my entire time in Gravetail, as muted as his emotions are around me, not once have I sensed any happiness coming from this male. In fact, bating West like he’s doing right now… that’s the most enjoyment he’s had.
I frown.
West notices. Keeping his gaze still on Rafael, he nudges my foot with his under the table, a silent show of support.
“That’s true,” he says, agreeing with Rafael. “But it happens. I’d much rather have a female who wants me, whochoseme, than one who’s just doing her duty.”
