Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Absolutely not.” I set down my fork with a clunk. She’s not the alpha here. I am. “I told you meat. Red meat. Like steak and potatoes, hold the potatoes.”
“Noted,” she says in a tone cold as the winter wind. “I guess you don’t like red beans?”
I shrug. “It’s not meat.” I don’t mean this as an insult, but she takes it as one. She bares her teeth like a wolf before gritting out, “This is my mémère’s recipe.” Lightning flashes from her eyes. She’s so gorgeous, it takes my breath away.
“Yeah, Sarge. What's the big deal?” Channing asks around a mouth of red beans. “It’s her mémère’s recipe.”
I have the insane urge to crush his skull like I did the kitchen trash can. But Adele steps close, blocking him from view.
“You want meat? That's fine.” Before I know what’s happening, she leans in and whisks away my plate. A few quick steps, and she’s dumped it in the new kitchen trash can.
Everyone at the table goes still.
Adele marches over to the fridge, yanks the door open. She returns with a plate and slams down in front of me. “I made these just for you.”
It's a pile of boiled hot dogs. At least I think they've been cooked. They’re chilled from being in the fridge.
“Ketchup?” She holds up a giant bottle.
I look her right in the eye. She's not going to win this round. “Please.”
She squirts ketchup all over the mountain of cold hot dogs. It looks awful, but Adele’s raised eyebrow is too much of a dare. I can’t back down.
I fork the top dog and start chewing like it’s delicious. The first bite sticks in my craw. I have to gulp water to get it down, but down it finally goes. A cold, hard knot that tastes like mangled pride.
Adele stands over me, her fist propped on her hip. Her green eyes are frosty. “Well?”
I raise a second awful forkful and meet her eyes. “Yum.”
“Good. Glad I could accommodate you.” She flounces back into the kitchen.
A coughing sound that sounds a lot like a strangled laugh comes from Deke’s direction, but when I glare at him, his face is smooth, and he’s focused on his plate.
“Well, I love these red beans.” Channing breaks the awkward silence. “I’ll eat Sarge’s portion.”
“Oh, there’s plenty.” Adele’s tone is back to sugar and spice.
Channing starts to rise, plate in hand, and Adele waves him to sit.
“You don't have to stay and serve us, you know,” Channing says before I can say it. I’m too busy trying to swallow another bite of hot dog.
“Oh, this is the fun part.” She ladles more red beans onto his plate. “The best part of cooking is watching people enjoy it. Where I come from, food is love.” And she smiles. At Channing.
And he smiles back.
The only thing keeping my wolf from leaping over the table and destroying him is years of control.
I throw down my fork. “Patrol,” I snap at Channing. “Now.”
Channing gives the red beans on his plate a sorrowful look, but he shoves his chair back and strides out without another word. He knows how close I am to losing it.
I’m never close to losing it. What the fuck is wrong with me?
An exasperated huff makes me turn. Adele is wrapping Channing’s plate up in tin foil. Her heels strike the floor with enough force to leave sparks as she goes to the fridge to put the leftovers up, saving Channing’s food for when he returns.
“Ms. Fabre, can I have a word with you in my office?”
“Absolutely,” she replies immediately. Her voice is so saccharine sweet, I know she’s fucking pissed at me. She whirls on her heel and sashays away in the direction of my office. Her hips sway, and my entire body tenses to keep my wolf leaping after her.
As soon as Adele disappears, I stretch leisurely, cracking my spine. My wolf thinks I’m on a hunt, and my prey is neatly cornered, in my private office.
I have got to get a grip.
Deke mops up the rest of his red beans with his last piece of cornbread. “Well, that was fun.”
“Patrol for you, too,” I snap.
“Yeah, I figured.” He gets up unhurriedly and scrapes off his empty plate into the trash before putting it in the dishwasher. “Make sure you’re in control before you go and talk to her.”
“I’m always in control.” My snarl echoes through the kitchen.
“Sure. Here,” Deke snags the new metal trash can and hands it to me on his way out the door. “While you wait for your wolf to calm down, you can make another art sculpture.”
Adele
Rafe’s office is a compact space with no windows, with no view to distract from total focus. Clean. Spare. Practical. Like the man himself. His desk is huge and empty except for a laptop and a pen holder with no pens. The only thing out of place is a crumpled piece of clothing in the corner. I nudge it with the toe of my shoe. It’s a discarded Henley.