Chapter 5:The first dinner

The dinner is my mother's idea.

She sends the maid three times. The first time I say no. The second time I say no. The third time she comes herself.

"You will sit at the table," my mother says. "You will eat. You will smile. You will not wear black."

I look at my dress. Black. The only color I own now.

"I don't have anything else."

She throws a dress on the bed. Green. Dark green. Low cut. Not mine.

"Wear this."

"Where did you get it."

"It was mine. It will fit."

I look at the dress. Then at her.

"You want me to look nice for your husband."

She doesn't answer. She just leaves.

I stand there for a long time.

My wolf pushes at me. She wants me to wear the dress. She wants me to go downstairs. She wants to see him.

I hate that she wants that.

But I put the dress on.

It fits too well. It shows too much. My collarbone. My shoulders. The top of my chest.

I leave my hair down. No makeup. No shoes.

I go downstairs.

The dining room is different now. They changed it. New candles. New tablecloth. Flowers everywhere.

My mother sits at one end. Her chair is big. Too big. Like a throne.

Darius sits at the other end.

The table is long. Too long. I could sit anywhere.

My mother points to a chair. In the middle. Between them.

I sit.

No one speaks.

A maid brings soup. I stare at it.

My mother clears her throat.

"We are family now," she says. "We should act like it."

Darius says nothing. He is looking at his soup.

I say nothing. I am looking at my soup.

My mother tries again.

"Kiera, tell Alpha Darius about your training. He heard you are skilled with a blade."

"I'm not skilled."

"She's modest," my mother says.

Darius looks up. His eyes find mine.

"Are you modest," he says.

"No."

His mouth twitches.

My mother looks between us. Her eyes narrow.

"Kiera. Manners."

I pick up my spoon. I eat the soup. It tastes like nothing.

Darius eats too. Slow. Quiet.

His hands are big. His fingers are long. I watch them hold the spoon.

I look away.

My mother talks. About the pack. About the wedding. About the future.

I stop listening.

The soup is gone. The maid takes the bowl. Brings meat. Bread. Vegetables.

I cut my meat. Small pieces. I don't eat.

Darius watches me. I feel his eyes.

I don't look up.

Under the table.

Something touches my foot.

I freeze.

It's his foot. His boot. Against my bare foot.

I don't wear shoes. He wears boots.

His boot presses against my toes.

I stop breathing.

He doesn't look at me. He cuts his meat. He talks to my mother.

"The northern border needs more patrols," he says.

"I agree," my mother says. "Toren can lead them."

"Toren is loyal to the old Beta."

"Toren is loyal to me."

Darius says nothing. His foot moves against mine.

Just a little. A small press.

My hand shakes.

I drop my fork.

It hits the plate. Loud. Too loud.

My mother stops talking.

"Kiera. Are you all right."

I pick up the fork. My face is hot.

"Fine. It slipped."

Darius looks at me. His face is blank. But his eyes. His eyes are not blank.

His foot is still against mine.

I try to pull my foot away.

He follows.

I pull again.

He follows again.

My mother is talking about flowers. About the ceremony. About the dress she will wear.

I hear nothing.

His foot is warm through the boot. My foot is cold. He presses harder.

I look at him.

He is looking at my mother. Nodding at something she said.

But his foot.

His foot is drawing circles on my skin.

I grab my glass. Drink water. Too fast. I choke.

My mother sighs.

"Kiera. Please."

"Sorry."

I put the glass down. My hand is wet. I wipe it on my dress.

His foot moves up. From my toes to the arch. From the arch to my heel.

I grip my fork so hard my knuckles hurt.

"You look pale," my mother says. "Are you sick."

"No."

"Then eat."

I pick up my fork. I stab a piece of meat. I put it in my mouth. I chew.

I taste nothing.

His foot slides higher. To my ankle.

I stop chewing.

He is still talking to my mother. About the wedding. About the guests.

"Fifty wolves from the eastern packs," he says. "They'll need lodging."

"I'll prepare the guest house," my mother says.

His foot wraps around my ankle.

My whole leg goes tight.

I put my fork down.

"May I be excused."

My mother stares at me.

"You haven't eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

"You said you were fine."

"I lied."

My mother's face goes red. She looks at Darius. He shrugs.

"Let her go," he says.

My mother presses her lips together.

"Fine. Go."

I stand up. My legs are weak. I walk to the door.

His foot follows me. Just for a second. Then it's gone.

I walk down the hall. Fast. My heart is pounding.

I get to the stairs.

His voice behind me.

"Kiera."

I stop.

Don't turn around.

"Kiera. Look at me."

I turn.

He is standing in the hallway. Ten feet away. His hands in his pockets.

"What," I say.

"You dropped this."

He holds out my face cloth.

I don't remember dropping it. But it's in his hand. I must have dropped it when I stood.

I walk back to him. Take the face cloth.

Our fingers touch.

I pull away.

"Thank you."

"Your hands are shaking," he says.

"It's cold."

"It's not cold."

We stand there. The hallway is dark. One candle. His face is half in shadow.

"You did that on purpose," I say.

"Did what."

"Your foot. Under the table."

His mouth curves.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

He steps closer.

I step back.

"You called me a liar first," he says. "Now I'm even."

"You're not even. You're not anything."

He steps closer again.

I don't step back.

"We're in the hallway," I say. "Anyone could see."

"Let them."

"Your wedding is in two days."

"I know."

"To my mother."

"I know."

"Then why."

He looks at my mouth. At the green dress. At my bare feet.

"Because you're standing in front of me," he says. "And I can't think about anything else."

My chest hurts.

"This is wrong."

"I know."

"Then stop."

"I can't."

He says it like a fact. Like the sky is blue. Like the moon rises.

I believe him.

And that scares me more than anything.

"I'm going to bed," I say.

"Run away again."

"It's not running. It's surviving."

He tilts his head.

"Surviving what."

"Surviving you."

Something crosses his face. Pain. Or want. I can't tell.

"Go," he says. Quiet.

I turn.

"Kiera."

I stop.

"The face cloth. You dropped it on purpose."

I look down at the face cloth in my hand.

"No," I say. "I dropped it because you touched me."

His eyes go dark.

"Then don't drop it next time," he says. "Hold on tighter."

I walk up the stairs.

My legs shake.

My hands shake.

My wolf is quiet.

But she is smiling.

I can feel her smiling.

I get to my room. I close the door. I lean against it.

The face cloth is still in my hand.

I look at it.

He touched this. His fingers were on this.

I put it on my nightstand.

I don't know why.

I take off the green dress. I put on my black one. I lie on the bed.

I stare at the ceiling.

His foot on mine. His boot on my bare skin.

The way he said my name in the hallway.

The way he said he couldn't think about anything else.

My mother is downstairs. Sitting at the table. Eating dinner with her future husband.

Her husband who touches me under the table.

Her husband who follows me into dark hallways.

Her husband who looks at me like he wants to eat me alive.

I should hate him.

I should tell her.

I should leave.

But I don't.

Because when his foot touched mine.

I didn't pull away fast enough.

I let it stay.

For one second. Two seconds. Three.

I let it stay.

And that is the worst part.

I close my eyes.

His face is there. Behind my eyelids.

I open my eyes.

His face is still there.

I press my hands over my face.

"Father," I whisper. "What is wrong with me."

No answer.

There is never an answer.

But downstairs.

I hear his voice.

Laughing at something my mother said.

And my wolf.

My wolf listens.

And my wolf sighs.