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I wish I had something to throw up.
It would be satisfying to cover this wolf in projectile vomit. As it is, I can do nothing more than groan as he marches us up the stairs, out of the dark basement dungeon and into the light of the morning.
I squint against the bombardment of light and the wolf heaves me off his shoulders and drops me to the floor. I land on my hands and knees on a soft rug that fills most of the dining room.
“Ah, Miss Dumont, there you are. Good morning.” The alpha’s greeting comes to me from the end of a long dining table dotted with diners. “Did you sleep well?”
As if he cares.
“Oh yeah. You’ve got five-star accommodations. Though the wake-up calls could do with an upgrade.”
Egan’s mouth tightens. “Things would go smoother for you if you’d cooperate, Josephine.”
Somehow I doubt that. Werewolves are like vampires—volatile predators who take pleasure in the pain they inflict.
I rotate my shoulder, testing. It’s sore, but I don’t think there’s any permanent damage.
Egan gestures to the empty chair down the table from him. “Sit.”
When I don’t take the offered seat, the werewolf brute returns and continues his manhandling. He pushes me down into the chair but backs away to the edge of the room when Egan waves him off.
Such an obedient mutt the alpha has.
“This is her?” A woman says at the other end of the table, giving me the biggest stink eye. “She doesn’t look like much. And she smells like shit.”
The female wolf stands to scrape the last bits of food off the used plates and into a dish. When she’s finished, she passes it to the alpha, who tosses it in front of my place at the table.
My stomach turns as I look down at the scraps: half a bite of burnt toast crust, some chunks of fatty ham, and a bit of mushy scrambled eggs covered in something orange.
Yum. Super appetizing.
“You expect me to eat this?”
Egan shrugs. “You will. When you’re hungry enough.”
I push the bowl away with enough force that a chunk of egg splats onto the tablecloth. “You might eat scraps, but I’m not a dog.”
The crack of the Alpha’s slap registers before the stinging pain. The strength of his backhand sends me falling from the chair and onto the rug.
Warm blood washes my mouth. My lip is split. Tears spring to my eyes, and I try to push them back, but fuck, werewolves are strong.
“Aw, the little witch is gonna cry,” the female wolf laughs from across the room. “Go on, little witch. Cry.”
Her taunting ignites the anger and disdain inside me.
I spit my blood onto the rug, flinching when the alpha raises his hand to me again, but the strike doesn’t come.
When I tilt my gaze up, Egan is sneering down at me, his eyes the pure black of his animal. “If you’re not going to eat, then I have someone who is very excited to meet you, Miss Dumont.”
He snaps his fingers and steps over me.
“This is Ginny Benson.” Egan ushers a short human woman into the room. “She is—or was—the mate of Johnny Benson. The man you murdered.”
The who now?
Egan places his hands on either of the woman’s shoulders and pushes her up to me.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I protest.
