Page 24 of Dark Wolf Soul
He doesn’t answer, which, even without words, tells me this isn’t his plan. It also explains why he’s not locking me in a room or tying me to a chair.
“Here,” he says, handing me a plate of eggs and a fork. “Eat.”
I take the fork, but I also continue watching him as he pours coffee and juice, offering them both to me. The longer I’m around this guy, the more I wonder how he came to be someone who’d kidnap another human. Because beneath his grouchy exterior, he doesn’t seem like a bad guy.
Or maybe I just have Stockholm’s Syndrome already.
“What?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been openly staring for way too long.
“I’m just wondering why you really brought me here.”
“Believe me, I’m wondering the same thing. I had no idea you wouldn’t have an off switch.”
I smile at that. “I’ve been told I could talk a hole in your head.”
“A deadly weapon,” he mutters, and for some reason, knowing I’m annoying him makes me feel better. If I can’t fight my way out, maybe I can talk him to death.
“Seriously,” I push. “You don’t seem like the kidnapping type.”
“You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me, but you keep calling me princess as if I’ve somehow lived a life of luxury despite being orphaned, broke, and alone my entire life.”
He scowls. “You don’t know how lucky—”
The elevator dings, and he breaks off, his head swiveling toward the entrance. When he looks back at me, there’s mild panic reflected in his gaze.
“I thought you said it only takes your fingerprint,” I say, confused.
“Mine or my father’s.” His voice is grim enough to send a ripple of unease down my spine. “Go to your room. Don’t come out until I tell you.”
I slide off my stool and do as he says, some instinct telling me not to argue with him on this one. Just as I slip into my room, the elevator dings again, and I hear the hum of the doors sliding open. Leaving my door cracked, I hover in the opening, listening.
In the main living area, another male voice says, “Where is she?”
“In the spare room,” Grey says. His voice is different now, more guarded than he was with me.
“What? You’re not going to offer me a drink?”
“What would you like?”
Grey’s voice is strained, and it piques my curiosity. After how dominating he’s been with me, I can’t help but wonder why he’s suddenly being so different.
Out in the living area, I hear the man say, “Club soda.”
The fridge opens, and I use the sound of a glass clinking to ease open my bedroom door and pad into the hall.
The ice machine goes off, cubes clinking into the glass, and I inch forward, easing down the hall so I can peek around toward the visitors. The water dispenser runs, and then footsteps sound. I wait until Grey’s out of the kitchen and then take another step.
There’s a pause, and then the visitor snaps, “You let her eat out here?”
The harshness of his tone makes me jump.
“What does it matter?” Grey says in that same strained tone as before. “She can’t leave.”
The visitor snorts at that, ice clinking again as the glass moves. “Just as well. There’s a change in plans. It might be good to spend a bit of time with her.”
I ease forward another inch, and the stranger’s shoulder comes into view. He’s sitting on the couch, his back to me. Same color hair as Grey with a few gray streaks. It’s shorter than Grey’s, slicked back and shiny. The suit he wears hugs his broad shoulders and wide torso like it’s custom-made for him. He’s leaning forward slightly, the water glass on the coffee table between him and his son.
