Page 4 of The Wolf's Appetite
The air was thick with the aroma of burning logs and aged leather, along with the distinct scent of his natural, wild musk.
He sat in a chair near the fire, his massive frame hunched over, his head bowed. The dark, short tangle of his hair fell over his scarred face, obscuring his features. He refused to let anyone trim his hair or his beard, and he now looked more like a mountain man than the prince he was.
But I didn’t need to see his face to know the harsh, jagged line of the scar that cut down his cheek and along his jaw or the smaller, twisted ones that covered his neck and chest. They were a forever brutal reminder of the battle that had nearly taken his life.
“Ye’re late,” he said without looking at me directly. His voice cut through the silence like a blade, each word deliberate and cold, the tone of a male who had grown used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.
“My apologies, My Lord,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt, the familiar dance of defiance and submission playing out in my mind as I stepped further into the room, the tray balanced carefully in my shaking hands.
Of course, that wasn’t what I’d wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that I brought him tea at the sametime every morning, afternoon, and evening, and even if I was a few minutes behind, I always had good reason.
He wasn’t the only thing that needed to be tended to in this estate.
His head snapped toward me, the full force of his gaze locking onto mine as if I’d said my snarky remark out loud. Even in the dim, flickering firelight, his eyes burned with a fierce, smoldering intensity, the stormy depths a stark contrast to the broken male I’d nursed back to health.
He didn’t say anything in response, but his expression was as biting as it was dismissive. Something inside of me rebelled against his look, like my presence in his chambers was a burden rather than a service.
I said nothing but hoped he could see my irritation as I stepped forward and placed the tray on the table near his chair. The tea was probably lukewarm by now, the fruit bread at room temperature even though it had freshly come out of the oven just moments before I came to his room. And I knew it. The thought of his annoyance of that small fact sent a flicker of satisfaction through me—a dangerous, foolish satisfaction.
The silence that followed was suffocating. His expression hardened, the shadows deepening the lines of his face making him seem even more menacing. For a long, unbearable moment, we said nothing, but hisjaw clenched, and the muscles in his neck corded tightly.
“Ye say nothing, but the look ye’re giving me is sharp. Ye should know better,” he said finally, his voice quiet but no less dangerous. He leaned back and stared at the fire once more.
I didn’t know what came over me, but before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out of my mouth. “And ye’ve got a nasty temper for someone who should be grateful that ye’re surrounded by those who care for ye and who make sure ye have everything you need tae heal.”
I felt the tension heighten in the room, and this coldness filled the bedchamber despite the fact that I was standing by the fire.
His chair creaked as he shifted forward, his broad frame imposing even from the distance. The scars on his face caught the firelight, jagged reminders of battles fought and lost.
“I’d prefer if no one came tae my room,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, threatening rumble. “But my father, the stubborn bastard he is, demands I’m looked after like a fooking child.”
I bristled at the way he spoke of his father, even though I knew Prince Lennox loved his family dearly. I knew he’d die for each and every one of them.
I should have been afraid. I should have apologizedfor running my mouth. But instead, I met his gaze, defiance simmering beneath the surface. “Then perhaps ye should ask someone else to bring yer tea, My Lord. Someone more pleasing to ye.”
The faintest flicker of something crossed his face, too brief to name—surprise, maybe, or amusement quickly buried under a mask of disdain.
“Careful,” he said again, leaning back into the shadows. He grabbed his tea and took a long drink from it.
I expected him to bitch about it being lukewarm, but he kept drinking as he stared into the flames.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it even if his wolf was silent. As was custom, I bowed respectfully and turned to leave, slipping out of his room and closing the door silently behind me.
I shouldn’t care, but I found myself doing just that for the lord of the manor who intrigued me as much as he infuriated me.
3
LENNOX
The fire in my chamber crackled and hissed, the only sound in the oppressive silence. I leaned back in the chair, staring into the flames, my fingers drumming idly on the armrest. The tea and bread sat untouched on the tray.
I couldn’t stop thinking abouther. Aisling. The servant with the sharp tongue and defiant eyes. No one dared speak to me the way she did with that sting in her voice. No one dared to because I scared the hell out of them now.
But Aisling… she maddened me.
Most of the staff tiptoed around me after I was wounded, their gazes averted whenever they brought me something. And I liked it that way. Unease keptpeople at a distance and spared me their pitying stares. But Aisling… she didn’t tremble. She didn’t cower.
She stood in front of me, chin held high as she locked her blue eyes on me and dared to speak back.
