Chapter 23
Elle's POV
The business discussion had shifted to more casual territory when Sophia suddenly raised her glass, signaling for a toast. The servers immediately rushed to fill everyone's crystal flutes with amber liquid. My heart rate quickened as a glass was placed before me too.
I stared at the glass, my stomach knotting with anxiety.
"A toast," she said, her silver-gray hair catching the light as she tilted her head.
I hesitated, my hand frozen halfway to the glass. What was the proper protocol here? Would refusing her toast be considered an insult? I'd researched werewolf etiquette frantically before this meeting, but nothing had prepared me for this moment.
"Tell me, Ms. West," Sophia continued, her voice musical yet somehow threatening, "how does it feel to be the Alpha Brad's mate?"
My mouth went dry. Everyone at the table was watching me now. I could feel sweat beading at my hairline.
"She's carrying my heir," Brad interjected before I could fumble through an answer. "That's all anyone needs to know." His voice was cold, matter-of-fact, as if dismissing both Sophia's question and me in one breath.
I flinched slightly, though I should have been used to his bluntness by now.
"We have the Council meeting this afternoon," Brad continued, glancing at his watch. "She's not drinking alcohol in her condition."
Brad nodded to Alex, who immediately appeared at my side, replacing my untouched glass with something that looked like cranberry juice. "Stone heath berry juice," Alex whispered.
I mouthed a silent "thank you" to Alex, grateful for his discretion. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly as Sophia smiled and raised her glass anyway.
"To the Rayne heir, then," she amended smoothly.
The negotiation continued around me as I picked at my food—a carefully prepared human-friendly version of the mostly raw meat the werewolves were consuming. Brad kept glancing at my plate, occasionally pushing certain dishes closer to me.
"The salmon has omega-3s," he said quietly during a lull in the conversation. "Good for the baby's brain development."
I nodded and took a bite, though my appetite had fled under the scrutiny of so many werewolf eyes. Every time I looked up, someone seemed to be watching me, assessing, judging. I found myself eating more than I wanted just to have something to do with my hands and eyes.
"Regarding the timber rights," Sophia was saying, her voice all business now, "we're prepared to accept a two percent reduction in our harvesting quota."
Brad's expression didn't change. "Five percent maintains the balance of sustainable forest use for both our territories. Anything less would compromise the long-term viability of the ecosystem."
I kept my eyes down, focusing on cutting my food into increasingly smaller pieces. This was their world—territorial negotiations, pack politics, resource management. I was just an awkward human spectator, useful only for carrying the next generation.
When the meeting finally ended, I nearly collapsed with relief. Brad and Sophia exchanged formal goodbyes, with promises of future collaboration and invitations to visit territories.
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Back at Brad's office, I spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through reports and preparing materials for his evening meetings.
By the time five o'clock rolled around, my head was pounding and my feet were swollen in my new shoes.
I reached the company's front entrance, my feet were killing me. I was planning to catch a cab back to Brad's house—my house now, I supposed, though it didn't feel like mine—when I spotted his black Range Rover idling at the curb.
"You're driving me?" I asked, surprised.
Brad opened the passenger door without answering. "Get in."
The interior smelled of leather and his distinctive scent—pine and something wild that I couldn't name. As soon as we pulled away from the curb, Brad accelerated hard, sending me back against the seat.
"Jesus Christ!" I gasped, one hand instinctively going to my stomach. "Slow down! I'm carrying your child, remember?"
He eased off the gas slightly. The rest of the drive passed in silence, the gleaming buildings of the werewolf district flashing by outside my window.
When we arrived at his—our—home, I stepped inside to find it eerily quiet. The human staff that had been there this morning were nowhere to be seen.
"Where is everyone?" I asked, slipping off my shoes and reaching for Brad's slippers.
"The morning staff were temporary," Brad explained, removing his suit jacket. "New permanent human staff will start tomorrow."
He walked toward the living room, loosening his tie.
I stood in the entryway, still holding his slippers, and felt a bitter laugh bubble up inside me.
Brad paused, turning to look at me with an unreadable expression, but said nothing.
My stomach growled loudly in the silence. I hadn't eaten much at lunch, too nervous under all those gazes. I headed for the kitchen, opening the massive refrigerator to find it stocked with an overwhelming variety of food.
I decided on pasta—simple comfort food that I could prepare without thinking too much.
"Would you like some dinner?" I called out, not sure if werewolves even ate pasta. "I'm making spaghetti."
No response. I shrugged and started chopping onions and garlic, the familiar motions calming my frayed nerves. The kitchen knife felt good in my hand—solid, purposeful. At least cooking was something I understood, something I could control.
I heard Brad's footsteps behind me as I was stirring the sauce. He stood in the doorway, watching me with those intense amber eyes.
"Dinner's ready," I said, setting two plates on the counter. I'd added a small portion of cooked ground beef to his pasta, unsure if he'd eat it otherwise.
Brad sat at the table, eyeing the simple meal with obvious distaste. I pushed his plate toward him, suddenly feeling defensive about my cooking.
He took one careful bite, chewed slowly, and set down his fork.
"It's awful," he declared flatly.
I stared at him, a hot flush of embarrassment and anger washing over me.
Of course it wasn't up to his standards. Nothing about me was.