Chapter 11 The Carnivore's Table
Fennigan didn't let her go after she left the room. He slid his hand down her arm and interlaced his fingers with hers. His grip was firm, warm and claiming.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As I'll ever be," Leela breathed.
They walked down the grand staircase and back through the foyer. The sound was a fork hitting china. This was a roar. It was laughter, shouting, the clattering of heavy platters, and the deep rumble of conversations happening all at once.
It was loud, but it wasn't chaotic. It was warm. It felt like a heartbeat.
They entered the Dining Hall.
The centerpiece of the room was a table that looked like it had been carved from a single sequoia. It stretched the length of the room, crowded with people.
Elana and Damon sat at the head of the table, ruling the roost. Damon looked relaxed, leaning back with a drink, while Elana watched the table with the sharp gze of a general surveying her troops.
Jax was seated to Damon's right, already tearing into a roll. On Elana;s left, there were two empty high back chairs waiting
Fennigan led Leela around the table. He pulled out the chair furthest from Elana for Leela, settling her in, and then took his seat between her and his mother.
"Eat," Elana commanded, gesturing to the spread as soon as they were seated.
Leela looked at the table and her eyes widened.
It was a feast, but it was a predator's feast.
There were large ceramic platters heaped high with roast chickens--skin golden and crispy. There were slabs of roast beef swimming in gravy. There wasa a tray of what looked like venison steaks, seared rare and smelling of rosemary and iron.
Meat was the undisputed king of this table.
There were sides, of course, but even the vegetables seemed designed to bulk up a linebacker. The baked potatoes were almost the size of footballs, split open and buried under mountains of bacon, cheese and sour cream. There were bowls of green beans glistening with butter, corn on the cob, and mounds of rice.
They were passing the venison.
Leela reached for the nearest platter. She felt self-conscious. Every movement she made felt ampliefied. She took a pair of tongs and served herself a slice of roast beef. She took a small scoop of potatoes and green beans.
She arranged it neatly on her plate, trying to be polite, trying to look less like the runaway she was.
Across the table, Jax stopped chewing. He held a chicken leg in one hand, pointing it at her plate like an accusation.
He looked at the small pile of food, then up at Leela. He let out a sharp, derisive snort.
"Seriously?" Jax asked, his voice cutting through the chatter
The nearby conversations died down.
"She's never gonna make it around here if she eats like a bird," Jax announced to the table, shaking his head. "Look at that. That's a snack for a hamster, not a meal for a wolf."
He looked at Fennigan.
"You better force-feed her, Fen, if she shifts with that little fuel in the tank, she's going to pass out before she grows a tail."
Leela's cheeks didn't just turn pink; they flamed a brilliant, mortified shade of red that matched the beets on the end of the table.
She opened her mouth to defend herself, to say that she was just being polite, or that she wasn't used to seeing this much protein in one place before."
GROWWWL.
It wasn't a rumble. It was a roar.
Her stomach let out a sound so loud, so prolonged, and so undeniably desperate that it sounded like a disgruntled bear had crawled under the table and died. The vibration actually rattled the silverware on her plate.
The chatter at the end of the table stopped. Everyone looked at her.
Leela squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, the same stomach that had betrayed her.
"I rest my case," Jax said, leaning back and crossing his arms with a smug grin. "The bird is hungry. The bird is lying to herself."
Fennigan chuckled low in his throat, nudging her shoulder with his. "He's annoying, but he's not wrong, Sparky. Your body is running on fumes."
Before Leela could reach for the serving spoon again, a massive hand reached across the table.
"Give me that," Damon rumbled, kindly.
He didn't wait for her to pass the plate; he just reached over and took it.
"You can't be polite here. Leela,"Damon said, grabbing the tongs. "In this house, being polite means you starve. If you want something, take it. And right now your body wants iron."
He dropped a second slab of roast beef onto her plater. Then a chicken leg. Then, for good measure, he added a scoop of cheesy, bacon covered potatoes.
He slid the plate back to her. It was heavy now, piled high like a mountain.
"Eat," Damon ordered gently, "Ignore the idiot across from you but listern to your gut. It knows what it needs."
Leela looked at the mountain of food. The smell of the rosemary and the roasting juices hit her nose, and suddenly, the embarrassment vanished, replaced by a primal, ravenous hunger.
She picked up her fork. She cut a piece of the beef. She put it in her mouth.
It melted. It was salty, savory, and perfect.
She didn't look up again. She ate. She didn't eat like a bird; she ate like some one who had been running for two days. She finished the beef. She tore into the chicken. She devoured the potatoes.
Jax watched for a minute, he nodded, satisfied.
"Okay," he said, picking up his fork again. "Maybe she'll make it."
Elana, who had been silently obseving the entire exchange while cutting her strak, finally spoke.
"Good," she said, taking a sip of red wine. "She has an appetite. That helps. Fennigan, pass the rolls. We need to carb-load her if we are going to start her training tomorrow."
Leela paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. "Training?"
"You blew up my porch, dear,"Elana said calmly, not looking up from her plate. "And you have a dormant wolf waking up in your bloodstream. You are a walking hand grenade. Tomorrow, we start teaching you how to keep the pin in."
She pointed her knife at Leela.
"Eat up. You're going to need the energy."