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My belly is growling loudly, and fatigue from hunger and exerting myself by standing and walking a few steps to the door is starting to make me sway on my feet.
Seith keeps tossing the orange from one hand to the other.
I keep standing at the door.
He puts the orange back in his pocket and opens the large box sitting on the tray. From it, he pulls out plates, and soon, the table is covered with so much food, it takes me a moment to comprehend that he intends not only to feed me, but to share breakfast with me. Something about it feels intimate and almost as if I crave his company more than the food.
I do not. I most certainly do not.
The smell of a steaming fresh-cooked omelet whisks over to me, and I whine in the back of my throat. Seith’s wearing his jerk smirk that I’d like to wipe off his face as he sits down at the table, with the tray on his lap.
“Come.” He puts the plate of omelet on the tray.
“No.”
“Marybell, if you’re testing to see which of us is more stubborn, you will win.”
“That’s right.”
“But if you’re testing me on when I’ll give up trying to feed you, you will lose. Stubbornness, in this case, is stupidity.”
I gasp. “You win the jerk-of-the-turn award.”
“All I’m saying is that this rebellion of yours is a futile pursuit, I assure you. You must eat and you will eat now. Come. I made you an omelet with cheese and tomatoes. You like tomatoes, I hear.”
“From whom? Nobody knows what I like.”
“Philippa.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“She knows people who know you, and those people said you used to eat tomatoes the way one would eat apples.”
True. “Traitors often lie.”
He forks a piece of omelet and picks it up, but the melted yellow cheese oozes out and makes a long string. Seith swipes his tongue to break the string of cheese, then twirls the thread on the tip of his tongue before swallowing.
I flush with heat and glance at the fireplace. “Too hot in here.”
“It’s not the burning wood,” he says, then pops a cherry into his mouth, along with the stem. In a few moments, he spits out the stem. It has two knots he tied with his tongue. “Come here, pup.”
I swallow, and since I’m feeling hot and I’m not thinking clearly, I walk over and sit across from him on the couch.
“That’s a good girl.” He cuts a piece of omelet and twirls the melted cheese around the fork until the piece he cut separates from the rest of the omelet. He offers me a bite.
Mouth full of saliva, I stare at the eggy goodness.
“You must let go of the McMars and whomever you served there and accept your new reality. You’re under the false impression that you get to choose if you will breed with one of my clan mates. You’re wrong. The choice is which of us you will breed with. I promised them all they would get a chance, and you refused them. By default, you chose me.”
I lean back. “Did not.”
“You did, Marybell. You do. I see how you look at me.”
I roll my eyes. “I look at most lycans the same way, trust me.” Not quite, but whatever. He’s an arrogant jerk.
His jaw twitches.
Got him. He dislikes hearing that I look at other males the same way. I smile, feeling like I have the upper hand now.
