Chapter 17 The OG monster

Chapter 17 The OG monster
Eva

I stared at him. "You're… the original werewolf?"

"The one and only," he said, with a dry, self-deprecating smile. "The OG monster."

My gaze drifted back to the photos. To the faces, the smiles, the families. "Are there other packs, too? Or just yours?"

"There are others," he said. "We're not the only ones. But we're the oldest. The strongest."

That weight settled over me. He wasn't just some local weirdo with a skin condition; he was the patriarch of a global species, a dynasty born from a curse, from a kiss.

"Come on," he said, breaking the silence. "You need more food in your system than a bowl of stew." He turned and started walking back towards the main hall.

I followed him, my mind a whirlwind of new information. He led me to a large, industrial-style kitchen, all stainless steel and concrete. He pulled a carton of eggs and a package of bacon from a massive refrigerator.

"Sit," he said, pointing to a stool at a long counter. "Don't make me say it again."

I glared at him, but sat anyway.

My eyes trailed him as he moved around the kitchen, cracking eggs into a skillet, the sizzle and pop a comforting, everyday sound. He was efficient, with economical, confident movements. He wasn't just a brute. He was… capable.

"You cook for all of them?" I asked, gesturing vaguely around.

"Sometimes," he said, flipping the bacon with a fork. "Jed's wife, Martha, usually handles the big meals. But I like to cook when I can't sleep."

"Five thousand years of insomnia must give you a lot of practice," I said, the words laced with my usual dry humor.

"You have no idea," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips.

He piled a plate high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and slid it in front of me, along with a mug of coffee. It smelled amazing, and my stomach rumbled again.

I picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on it, my eyes on him. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "The food. The medical care. The… hospitality."

He grinned, all teeth and smug confidence. "What? Do you want me to go back to throwing you in a cell?"

"I want to understand," I shot back. "You're not some knight in shining armor. You're the big bad wolf. You've been hunting me for… lifetimes, apparently. So why the sudden change in tactics?"

"Tactics change," he said, leaning against the counter opposite me. "The old way wasn't working. You just kept finding new and inventive ways to kill me."

I almost choked on my eggs. "I've killed you? More than once?"

"More times than I can count," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "You're very creative. Poison, fire, silver bullets... I've even been staked. That one was messy."

I stared at him, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth. The memories I didn't own flashed in my mind: a vial of dark liquid, a room engulfed in flames, the cold, heavy weight of a pistol in my hand. That wasn't my Glock. Where is that thing anyway?

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because some part of your soul still belongs to her," he said, his voice a low murmur. "The bond between us starts to form, and the curse kicks in. Your survival instinct is to sever it before it completes. You kill me before you can… love me."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy and uninvited. I wanted to deny it, scoff, or even throw the plate at him. But I couldn't. Somewhere deep in my mind, I knew he was telling the truth. My soul had a reason to fear this man, a reason that went beyond the obvious.

"So this… feeding me, this civility," I said, my voice gaining its strength. "This is your new plan? To… what? Play house until I forget I'm supposed to kill you?"

He pushed off the counter and started cleaning the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and washing the skillet in the sink. He didn't look at me, and the most frustrating part was that he didn't answer me at all. The nerve of this guy. My temper started to flare again.

"That's not going to work," I said, my voice tight with controlled anger. "I'm not some damsel in distress who's going to fall for the 'I'm a monster, but I have a soft spot' routine."

He turned off the water and dried his hands on a towel. He leaned back against the sink, his arms crossed, and just looked at me. He looked at me for a long, silent moment, and I could feel my resolve starting to crumble under the weight of that silver stare.

"The torc, Eva. It's the key. And the lock. Right now, it's on you. The curse is active. The bond is forming, whether you like it or not. Every second you're here with me, it gets stronger."

My hand flew to my throat, checking if that thing magically appeared. He noticed, and a small, knowing smile touched his lips.

"Every touch, every shared meal, every near-kiss is a thread. And we're weaving a tapestry that's five thousand years in the making. I'm not trying to make you forget who you are. I'm trying to make you remember."

I felt an intense urge to scream and vomit, but I sat there, heart racing, and ate my eggs. They were delicious.