I don’t answer. I just tear into it. Juices drip down my chin as I shovel forkfuls into my mouth, barely chewing. Real meat, cooked with actual seasoning. Potatoes that are creamy, hot, and salted. My eyes are watering, and I don’t know if it’s from the heat of the food or something else entirely.
“Slow down,” Darius barks, yanking the plate away. I snarl at him, teeth bared. “You’ll make yourself sick eating that fast. Now, what’s your full name?”
“Bluebelle O’Reilly,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Give me the plate back.”
He slides it over, and I force myself to eat slower, even though my stomach is screaming for more. “How long have you been out in those woods, Blue?”
“Three years,” I say around a mouthful of the creamiest mashed potatoes I’ve ever tasted. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business.” I didn’t mean to answer him, but the food is so fucking delicious, I forgot where I was for a minute. I groan involuntarily.
“And why were you out there all alone?” His eyes bore into me, prying.
I clamp my mouth shut and glare at him, chewing furiously. He doesn’t get that answer. Not now, not ever. I’d rather starve than spill those secrets to this pack of entitled pricks.
The alpha pheromones thicken in the air around the table. Their eyes roam over my tattered clothes and unwashed skin. I can practically feel them sizing me up. But this omega bites back. And if Darius thinks he can break me with scraps of food and empty threats, he’s got another thing coming.
I take another bite and let out a moan that I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.
Fuck, this food is beyond good.
I finish my plate and lick it clean while all four of them stare at me, as if they’ve never seen a female eat before.
I hold Darius’s stare, refusing to back down. I’ve faced worse than a few overconfident alphas. When I move on to Archer, there’s something in his eyes. Not pity. Not hunger. Something steadier than that. Like he can see past the snarling and the cursing, right down to the girl underneath who hasn’t had a real meal or a kind word in three years.
I look away first.
And I hate myself for it.
9
Mo
They lead me into a room off the living room, and that’s when I see it.
A thick iron chain bolted to the wall, connected to a cuff lined with a dark material. The kind of chain that won’t allow me to shift.
Shit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I plant my feet and jerk backward, but Darius has a grip on my arm that might as well be a vice. “Is this your thing? Chain up every female who walks through the door? Got a real system going, huh?”
Darius’s jaw tightens. “We put that in just for you.”
“Oh, I’m flattered. Really. Top-notch hospitality.”
“It’s temporary,” he says. “Until we know you won’t bolt or slit our throats in our sleep.”
“Then you’d better get comfortable, because both of those are at the top of my to-do list.”
Elias shifts in the doorway. “I’m not sure about this, Darius. She’s not a dog.”
“She bit you only hours ago,” Darius says flatly.
“And I’ll do it again,” I snarl, thrashing against his hold. I get one arm free and swing for his face, but he catches my wrist and forces it toward the cuff. I kick, driving my heel into his shin. He grunts but doesn’t let go.
Archer steps forward. “We wanted to bring her in, not cage her.”
“She’ll gut us the second she’s loose,” Darius says. “You want to wake up with a kitchen knife in your neck?”
“I’d aim lower,” I hiss, still fighting. Silas moves behind me, and his huge hands close gently around my shoulders, holding me still. I thrash against him, but it’s like trying to move a wall. “Get off me, you overgrown—”