Page 36 of Claimed By the Sinful Dragon
“Look at you,” he snapped, gesturing at me with one hand. “You wouldn’t last two minutes on your own.”
Anger uncurled in me. What gave him the right to judge me? “Aside from the fact that Ididsurvive outside of these walls—perfectly well, for eighteen years—I don’tneedto be on my own, because wolves run in a pack.”
“Need I remind you that you’re not a wolf, and your pack didn’t want you?” His words were quiet, matter of fact, and somehow that made them worse. They cut through me, every word the truth, and nothing that hadn’t been said to me a thousand times before. But coming from his mouth, they tore me apart, punching through my chest to crush my heart.
I swallowed hard, averting my eyes and scanning the room, looking anywhere but him, at anything but the accusation, the disgust, in his eyes.
My attention slid over his shoes and landed on the bag at his feet. I canted my head.
“What’s with the bag?” And why was he dressed? He didn’t look like he’d just stumbled out of bed, disturbed by my screaming. He looked like he’d been awake a while, which probably meant I should have been, too.
“Nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing, or it wouldn’t be here. Would you just be straight with me?” I looked up at his closed face, met his eye, and this time, I didn’t look away.
“I was going to let you go,” he admitted after a moment. “Release you from your position, on the grounds you left this territory and told no-one of your past. But It’s clear now thatwould never work.” He shook his head in disgust. “You’d be dead within a day.”
Dead within a day? How fucking dare he? He didn’t have the first idea what I’d gone through in my pack, what I’d done to survive. Sure, I’d never been on my own, but that didn’t mean Icouldn’tbe on my own. What the fuck gave him the right to make that judgement?
“Excuse me,” I snapped, swinging my legs over the bed and glaring at him. “If you’re done telling me how useless I am, I need to start preparing your breakfast. Because despite the fact you think I wouldn’t last on my own,you’rethe one who had to drag someone here against her will to cook for you.”
He pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him, and I stared at it for a long moment, chest heaving, before I rushed into my bathroom, ducking into the shower as my tears started to flow. I turned on the hot water, and for a minute just let them fall. Let the self-pity swallow me, because fuck it, I’d earned a good cry.
And then I palmed my eyes, and swore those would be the last tears I cried over Lord Asshole, because fuck him. He didn’t get to decide what I was or wasn’t capable of. What the hell did he even know about surviving in the real world anyway? He’d spent the last however many years holed up here in his not-ivory tower, thinking he knew what it took, but he didn’t have a clue. He hadn’t lived in the heart of a pack who despised him, and he didnotget to judge me. Not now, not ever.
My eyes were dry when I stalked into the kitchen, and a smile twisted my lips as I pulled the usual ingredients from the pantry. I tossed them all into pans, turned the heat up, and then sat down and watched them burn.
My smile had become a full-on malicious smirk by the time I served the badly charred food onto two plates, and carried them into the dining hall. Rook arrived a half-minute after I did, pausing in the doorway as he scented the air. Then his eyes fell on the plate set in his place, and his lips pressed together.
He said nothing as he took his seat, but the darkness swirling in his eyes spoke volumes. Good. I schooled my expression, keeping my face blank as I looked at him from my seat—my usual one halfway down the table, not the one he’d made me move to yesterday, because I had no intention of getting that close to him again. Especially not after serving him a meal that I’d deliberately overcooked for half an hour.
“Lord Rook.” I dipped my chin in polite acknowledgement, and he returned the gesture, his chin dipping only a fraction of an inch.
“Kaylee.”
Oh, so this morning I was Kaylee, was I? Not little wolf, or Tribute, orDhoca. I should burn his food more often. I continued to watch him from the corner of my eye as he picked up his cutlery, making no comment on the state of his food, and it took everything in me not to smirk as he forced the knife through one charred sausage. But hey, at least it wasn’t raw inside this time. He should have been grateful. I was pretty sure he wasn’t grateful.
He put the food in his mouth, working his jaw and swallowing without comment. Not even a flicker of distaste reached his eyes. Not like the disgust he’d worn a couple of hours ago in my room, when he was telling me—
Fuck. I swallowed, shoving the vulnerable feeling away. His opinion didn’t matter to me, I reminded myself fiercely. He was my captor, not my friend.
“May I be excused?” I asked, pushing my plate away and getting to my feet.
“No.”
“…What?”
“Still in need of that dictionary?” he asked, but there was no amusement on his face this time, not like…that night. The one I didn’t think about. “Sit.”
I slumped back into my seat, watching him warily.
“Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” And especially not for the food I’d charred beyond recognition. Maybe I shouldn’t have burnt mine as much as his. Then again, I hadn’t been planning on eating it. It wasn’t like skipping a meal or two was any kind of unknown hardship.
Eating it, on the other hand, might be.
“You will eat every bite,” he said, enunciating each word clearly.
