Chapter 46 Silent Feast
The keyboard clicked softly, rhythmic, as if the drama outside, where he'd hoisted Ben like a rag doll, his eyes flashing with that wolfish fury just beneath the surface, had been a fleeting dream. How did he do that? Switch from raw power to this composed facade in seconds? It unnerved me, but it also drew me in, that control he wielded like a weapon. Ben's accusations still rang in my head, screwing my wife, I will expose you, but Alexander sipped his coffee slowly, steam curling up like nothing had happened.
I cleared my throat, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. "I'm going to look for something to eat. Is anyone hungry?"
Alexander glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine with that quiet intensity that always made my stomach flip. He nodded once, closing the laptop with a soft click. "Sure."
Ben "Yeah. Starving."
The tension hung heavy, thick as the woodsmoke in the air, but I ignored it, moving to the kitchen. Anything to diffuse the powder keg they'd lit outside. As I opened the fridge, the cool air washed over my face, carrying the crisp scent of fresh produce and leftover roast from last night.
My stomach growled, loud, insistent, and I paused, surprised. I wasn't a breakfast person; usually, a coffee sufficed, black and bitter to kickstart the day. But today? Hunger gnawed at me like a living thing, sharp and demanding.
Maybe it was the cold weather, the way the winter air sapped energy, or the adrenaline from the morning's chaos still burning through my system. Or maybe it was something else, the shift, the awakening Alexander kept mentioning, stirring changes I wasn't ready to face. Whatever it was, it unsettled me, a reminder that my body wasn't entirely my own anymore.
I pulled out eggs, bacon, bread, simple, comforting things. The sizzle of bacon hitting the hot pan filled the room with salty, savory smoke, masking the underlying tension. I scrambled eggs with herbs from a jar on the counter, their green flecks releasing a fresh, earthy aroma that made my mouth water.
Toast popped up golden, butter melting into it with a soft hiss. I served them first, piling plates for Alexander and Ben, the ceramic clinking as I set them on the island.
"Thanks," Alexander said quietly, his fingers brushing mine as he took the plate. The touch sent a spark through me, warm and electric, the bond humming with unspoken gratitude.
Ben muttered a "Thanks" too, but his eyes were on Alexander, still smoldering with that barely contained rage.
We ate quietly, the scrape of forks on plates, the crunch of toast, the occasional sip of coffee echoing in the silence. The food was hot, satisfying, the eggs fluffy and savory, bacon crisp with just the right saltiness, butter dripping from the toast in golden rivulets. But it sat heavy in my stomach, the quiet too thick, too loaded. My thoughts raced: Ben's accusations weren't baseless; he was sniffing closer to the truth every day. And Alexander, his control was a mask, but I'd seen the wolf flash in his eyes outside. One wrong word, one slip, and everything could unravel. The fake marriage felt like a noose tightening, but ending it now would choke us all. I glanced at Alexander; he ate methodically, eyes on his plate, but the bond pulsed with frustration. Ben shoveled food like it was fuel for his anger, his internal storm practically visible.
When plates were cleared, the clatter of them in the sink was a brief distraction, I wiped my hands on a dish towel, the rough fabric grounding me.
"Let's watch a Christmas movie," I suggested, voice brighter than I felt. "That's what families do on Christmas Day, right? Something light. Classic, like "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Home Alone."
Ben paused in stacking his plate, eyes flicking to Alexander. A beat of silence, then he shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
Alexander nodded. "Sounds good."
We moved to the living room, the black leather couch creaking as we settled, the remote cold in my hand. I flicked on the TV, the screen blooming to life with colorful holiday thumbnails. The fire crackled softly, sending waves of warmth that made my eyelids heavy. I chose Home Alone, the familiar opening notes filling the room with upbeat cheer, the scent of cedar smoke curling around us like a blanket.
We watched in relative silence, occasional chuckles at Kevin's traps, the slapstick violence a stark contrast to the real kind we'd dodged outside. But halfway through, as the burglars slipped on ice for the umpteenth time, exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. My eyes drooped, the couch's leather soft and inviting under me. The movie's laughter blurred into a distant hum, and sleep pulled me under, deep, dreamless, the warmth of the fire and the low murmur of voices lulling me away.
When I woke, the room was dark. The TV screen glowed blue with the streaming menu, casting eerie shadows across the empty couch. The fire had burned low to embers, the air cooler now, carrying the faint chill from the glass windows. I sat up slowly, a robe twisted around me, a blanket, soft wool, smelling faintly of Alexander's cologne, draped over my legs that I didn't remember pulling on. The clock on the wall ticked softly at 7:42 p.m. Night already? I slept the entire day away.
Surprise jolted me fully awake. I never napped like that, hours lost in oblivion. And hunger, god, the hunger gnawed again, sharp and insistent, like my body was catching up from some unseen drain. The shift? The awakening? It had to be. My stomach growled audibly, echoing in the quiet room. I rubbed my eyes, the dry rasp of my palms against skin loud in the silence.
The cabin was still, too still. No voices, no footsteps.
Ben and Alexander must have retreated to their rooms. I stood, slippers scuffing the rug, and headed to the kitchen. The counter lights flicked on with a soft buzz, illuminating the fridge's contents: leftovers from yesterday, fresh fruit, cheese. I pulled out cold roast chicken, the savory scent making my mouth water, and sliced bread, toasting it until golden and crisp. I ate standing on the island, chicken tender and juicy, bread warm with melted butter, devouring it like I hadn't eaten in days. The hunger eased, but the surprise lingered. This wasn't me. Or maybe it was the new me.