Page 57 of Shadowed Bond

“Thanks,” I say, before looking down at the tray of food. There’s a lot here: steaming chicken and rice with some sides. My stomach almost rumbles. “This does look good…”

“It does, and I expect you to finish your plate. You need the fuel,” he says.

I tilt my head. “It’s quite late; have you eaten at all?” I ask, certain Ahren had told him to join them for dinner.

He gives me a look as if the answer were obvious. “Of course, I ate earlier.” I glance at the plate he’s picked up, and he cocks a brow. “What? I need the fuel, too.”

“I can tell you really do eat a lot,” I murmur. “I’m almost afraid to see your food bill.”

He smirks. “We may not be as rich as the Ardens, but there’s always plenty of food,” he says, motioning to my plate.

I smile as I pick up my fork. “I know, I have been to your pack, Westwood – well, the Blood Moon Pack, not Blue Moon.”

He grunts. “Well, it’s the same – pretty much. Now eat before I feed you.”

“I am capable of feeding myself,” I state, despite the flutter in my stomach. I take a small spoonful of rice, thinking about the moment I almost asked him to mark me. I don’t know why he hasn’t, or maybe it was a bit much to rush to that. I should ask him…

That’s when I notice he’s watching me intently, almost as if knowing I’m thinking about something.

“You’re staring,” I say after swallowing my spoonful.

“No, I’m not. I’m just checking to make sure you’re eating.”

“If you keep making me eat like this, I’ll go fat.”

The words are meant lightly, mostly to irritate him, but the effect is immediate. His gaze cuts to mine, sharp and almost offended. “Doesn’t matter.”

I blink. “What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, rougher now, as if my words have annoyed him. “I want you fed. Who the fuck cares about your weight? I don’t. What I care about is that you eat properly, and that means more than a few chips or a tiny piece of chicken.”

For a moment, I have no answer. Ares doesn’t say things beautifully worded. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but the way he cares is becoming clearer – through actions. And the simple things: bringing me food, holding my hair away from filthy water, sitting beside my hospital bed, catching me in case I fall, and, of course, holding up an entire collapsed tunnel for me.

Ares Westwood loves through actions, and that makes me smile.

“Ares,” I say softly.

He looks away first, jaw tightening as if he knows I have seen too much. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I haven’t even said anything,” I say, amused.

“You’re looking at me like that,” he grunts.

I almost smile, but there is something in my chest that feels too tender for amusement, so I simply take another bite. His eyes return to me, lingering just long enough to make my skin warm, and when he reaches to brush a crumb from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, neither of us says anything.

The touch is brief, his thumb pauses near my lower lip, and my breath catches before I can stop it. His eyes darken, and for a second the tray, the food, the mansion, the pack, all of it disappears beneath the heavy pull between us.

Then Ares’ Schattensicht buzzes on the table.

He exhales through his nose and reaches for it, his expression changing as he reads whatever message has come through. It is subtle, but I feel the shift in him, his eyes narrowing in a way I can tell he’s actually thinking of something. It’s an expression I haven’t seen before, sharper and more intelligent.

“What is it?” I ask, concerned.

“Just the Blue Moon Pack acting as if they can’t function without me,” he says, frowning down at his phone. “I’m going to have to get back first thing tomorrow.”

He is not merely my mate, or just Ares Westwood; he is an alpha. His pack needs him. His people look to him. There are responsibilities waiting beyond this room that cannot be ignored simply because the Blood Moon tied us together in the shadowed remnants of a pack long dead.

A sliver of cold rushes through me; he said, I’m… Does he not plan to take me with him?