Chapter 20 Honeyed Pheasant
❀ Maeve ❀
Note to self; do not taunt a Lycan.
I thanked the gods that somehow, Bastian had regained control before snapping my neck clean off my body.
The guy must really hate vampires.
Immediately I arose at sunrise, I hastily dressed myself in Bastian’s clothes.
After our choking incident, he’d released my neck like it burned, then spun and punched the stone wall.
My gaze slid to the spot involuntarily, it was dented like a small meteor had struck it.
He’d dressed up while I rubbed my raw throat, and left. He hadn’t returned since.
I sighed, recollecting his haunted expression after he’d released me. He’d looked… almost regretful. But then that signature scowl had slammed back in place and he was closed off once more.
Whatever.
It was my first official day in IronWolf pack. I was going to explore, hopefully run into my mate, and arrange to bring mother over.
I secured the string of Bastian’s huge pants tightly, folded the hems, and tucked in the billowing shirt.
The reflection in the metal-framed floor length mirror didn’t befit the mate of the Lycan Prince.
But then, the Prince hadn’t had a civil conversation with me for me to demand a wardrobe full of new clothes.
Maybe I’d seduce him again and ask when I saw him next. I smirked at the thought.
I took extra care with my hair, the only thing that could salvage my looks in his big clothes. Then I chewed my lips until they reddened, and slapped myself for blush.
There. Now I looked cute instead of homeless.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
I jumped.
I spun toward the doors just as the heavy knocks came again.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Get off your ass you philandering beast! The world doesn’t revolve around your cock…” the door swung open.
The man froze, his fist still in the air.
“Oh…” he looked surprised. “You’re still here.”
A thick, blond braid swung behind his back, almost to his waist. His equally blond brows creased.
Brown leather belts crisscrossed his massive chest, his trousers outfitted with too many daggers to count, plus a barbed whip.
His expression morphed from surprise to seductive in an instant.
I took a step backward just as he took a smooth one forward.
He tilted his head in respect. “The name’s Ashar, we haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Hi.” I said cautiously, my eyes roving over him to pick up the slightest threat.
His gaze roved me back, appreciatively. “You must be the mate.”
“I am. And why wouldn’t I still be here?”
“Well,” he scratched his lightly stubbled chin. “… forget about that, and please, forgive my rude entrance.”
“It’s alright. You didn’t know.” I raised my chin. He should have.
The Lycan Prince finding his mate was no doubt a big deal. Speaking of, why wasn’t there a slew of maids rolling in a princess-worthy breakfast for me?
I looked back at Ashar. He was big, almost as towering as Bastian, but this was my chambers as well as the Prince's. I had every right to be here.
And yet, he hadn’t expected me to.
Save that for later.
“Bastian is not here.” I informed him.
“Regrettably. I have information he desperately seeks. But your company wouldn’t be half as bad.” He winked.
He’d turned his voice husky, but it had little effect on me. Just looking at him and knowing the company he kept, I knew what he was. A philanderer. His words, not mine.
“Do you know where he could be? I have something to discuss with him as well.” I began—
My treacherous stomach chose that moment to rumble. Loudly.
Ashar raised a brow. I gave him my best impression of Bastian's scowl.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I was going to stop by the kitchens. I could accompany you, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, please. I’d appreciate that.” I said as regally as I could.
Another thing my mate hadn’t cared about. My feeding. It looked like I’d have to fend for myself.
Ashar stepped aside, holding the door open for me. Just then, a draft swept the heavenly scent of meat roasting in oil and spice. My stomach gave another approving wail.
Could this get any more embarrassing?
I cleared my throat as we walked down the corridor, “So, um… I take it you’re Bastian’s pal? What do you do in the pack?”
“I train the soldiers. You could say I’m a freelance trainer.” He said with pride.
I glanced up at him, noting his corded muscles and faint scars. Checks out.
“And what talents do you have, uh… you never told me your name.”
“Maeve.” I murmured. What talents did I have? I wasn’t inclined to brag about basket weaving.
“You look like a dancer, or singer. You have a pleasant voice. You could make wonderful sounds.”
Heat rushed up my ears.
I wasn’t a singer, but I’d been pretty loud last night. That surely didn’t count.
My shoulders dropped.
I didn’t have any talents. Was this what Bastian had meant when he asked what else I had to offer?
An idea bloomed.
“Ashar, I’ve always wanted to learn to fight. Would you train me? Do I look like I could handle a weapon?”
We paused in the corridor. We were close enough to the kitchens that I could hear the meat sizzling. Saliva pooled in my mouth. My teeth began to itch.
“As long as you have life in you, you can fight, love. But why would you ever need to? You’re mated to a Lycan. Trust me, you don’t want to see what a Lycan protecting his mate looks like. One word. Vicious.”
Sure. If the Lycan was in love with me and actually wanted to preserve my life.
The lycan hadn’t even concerned himself with feeding me!
“I know. I just… I’ve been powerless for so long. I’d like to feel that rush. And to be honest, I don’t have any skills. I think fighting could be just the thing.” My blood thrummed at the thought of wielding a weapon. I’d be able to protect myself and mother, maybe even from a certain Lycan.
“And scar this pretty flesh? I beg you, Maeve, reconsider.”
I glared at him.
He sighed. “Bastian won’t like this.”
“He’ll get over it. So will you train me? Yes! Thank you!”
I couldn’t resist it. In my excitement, I whirled and punched Ashar's arm.
I froze.
The sound of sizzling meat filled the silence.
I first looked at my fist, wondering why a dilapidating pain was crawling up my arm.
Then I looked up at Ashar.
His honey brown eyes sparked. His jaw clenched. His chest began to shake.
Oh gods. Why always me?
Ashar burst out laughing.
He laughed so hard he bent and slapped his knees.
When he stood back up, looking down at my bewildered, lost expression, he wheezed—
“That was the weakest, most amusing punch I have ever seen. On the bright side, you could escape while your enemy laughed their ass out.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.” I tried to make a fist. I winced. “We should probably visit a healer.”
Ashar wiped tears from his eyes, “You didn’t hurt me.”
Then he saw me cradling my rapidly swelling wrist.
“Fucking hell! Your wrist!” He bellowed, grabbing my arm. “Bastian will have my head for this!”
“Yea,” I winced at his grip. I almost told him not to worry about Bastian, he wouldn’t care.
He first tugged me left, then right, looking conflicted.
He peered at me, his eyes wild. “You’re starving. Food or healers?”
“It’s no big deal. And I’d prefer food first. My belly hurts worse.”
He dragged me further down the way we were already headed, his jaw clenched with purpose.
Warmth bloomed in my chest.
It was always nice to have someone fretting over you. It reminded me of my mother. I needed to go get her as soon as possible.
If only my mate showed me this sort of care.
I shook off the creeping hurt. I didn’t need him to love me. As long as he claimed me and I could remain in IronWolf with my mother, I’d be more than content.
The heat hit us first.
We were in the kitchens.
My eyes widened. I’d never seen this much meat in my life.
The open space was wide, sunlight filtering in from so many windows it was as bright as outdoors.
Large males with aprons tied around their fronts seared different sizes and kinds of meat over open fires with grates, and in ovens.
A few women in another section further down washed and cooked vegetables, though it was small compared to the volume of meat cooking.
My stomach bellowed for attention. Thankfully, the kitchen was loud enough to drown it.
Meat could replace bloodmeal, right?
One more reason I missed my mother. Despite our hardships, she’d never let me go without a meal.
Ashar barked orders to a cluster of women in the corner.
“Venison, beef, pheasant stuffed with berries. Heaps of it. Mead, both flavors. Yes. To my best eating spot. Now!”
I didn’t miss the longing looks some of the young women gave him.
I wondered how many of them he’d lain with.
I was admiring the synchronicity in the impressive kitchen when Ashar turned to me.
“Have an appetizer,” he pushed a wide bowl into my arms.
Appetizer?!
A large, steaming slab of meat, glazed with honey and herbs glistened before my eyes.
Heavenly chords played in my ears.
I think I slobbered.
Then I heard a familiar voice.
“Oh Ashar, it’s youuu!”
I spun so fast my neck cricked.
Ashar was trying, and failing, to pry a woman off him.
Her black wavy hair looked crusty, her grey dress stained from kitchen work.
“Mmh Carmela. Wherever have you been?” Ashar rolled his eyes at me over her head as if to say ‘women, right?’
I scowled. Irritated.