Hunger of the Wolf by Madelaine Montague Read Free Book Online

of black smoke rose up when he lifted the lid again to glare at the food in the pan.
    "Burning the steaks again,” Dante murmured low, next to her ear.
    Jessie turned to glare at him. “I tole ya it'd be better if I grilled them,” he muttered in self defense.
    Ignoring him, Dante continued with the introductions. “The one butchering the salad is Kane, and Maurice, my second, is doing what he does best ... overseeing the other two."
    Both men grinned at her, not the least put out. “I'm doing the potatoes,” Maurice contradicted, hitching a thumb in the direction of the microwave behind him.
    Shilo managed an uncertain smile at each of them, wary and more than a little uncomfortable since the room practically wreaked of testosterone, but disarmed by their easy smiles and the camaraderie that seemed to flow between them as they worked. None of the three, as far as she could see, was exactly a wizard in the kitchen, but they didn't seem fazed by it. “Can I help?” she offered before she even realized she was going to.
    "Yes,” Dante replied promptly. “You can help us eat it."
    His hand, which she realized had never left her back, slipped to her waist, and he guided her out of the kitchen again and down the hallway and into a formal dining room. When he'd helped her into a chair near one end of the table, he settled beside her, at the end. A few moments later, Kane, Jessie, and Maurice began to ferry plates and salad bowls and glasses of iced tea to the table. Maurice took the chair at the end opposite Dante, Jessie to her right hand, and Kane across from her.
    The steak was more rare than she liked, and a tad on the tough side, but flavorful for all that. There were a few moments of uncomfortable constraint before Dante initiated a conversation that seemed work related. Although she enjoyed listening to them, Shilo didn't make any attempt to take part in it. She always ate alone and wasn't accustomed to dinner table conversation, and in any case she couldn't ‘accidentally’ say more than she wanted to if she kept her mouth shut.
    Dante didn't allow that to stand, however. “You said you were visiting the city?” he asked after a few minutes.
    Shilo merely looked at him instead of answering. “Yes,” she said finally, volunteering nothing else.
    "How long did you plan to stay?"
    Shilo frowned at her plate. “A few days."
    "And then you planned to return home?"
    "Yes."
    The men at the table exchanged glances. She was aware of it even though she didn't actually look at any of them.
    A prolonged silence fell and this time it was more uncomfortable. Shilo was almost sorry for it— was regretful, not that she was sorry she'd refused to allow Dante to interrogate her, but it had been rather nice listening to them talk among themselves. It was almost, she thought a little wistfully, like sitting down to eat with a family.
    The notion surprised her. She'd never really given a thought to what the ‘everyday’ life of a lycan must be like, but they could hardly go around as monsters all of the time. She supposed, particularly given the earlier discussion, they walked undetected among humans every day, worked with them, probably even socialized with them.
    She curbed her curiosity, however. Conversation required give and take. She couldn't ask unless she was willing to contribute, and she wasn't.
    "When did you first notice your gift?"
    Shilo's head shot up at the question. She stared at Maurice. She supposed it could be considered a gift, but she'd sure as hell never considered it a ‘gift'. “You have a strange perception of gift,” she retorted finally.
    Again, the men at the table exchanged glances, as if they could communicate with no more than facial expressions.
    Or maybe they were telepathic?
    "Are you ... telepathic?” she asked the moment the thought occurred to her.
    Maurice's dark brows rose. “We're lycans."
    Shilo reddened, feeling rebuked, though she wasn't completely certain that was what it was.