Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ADDIE
The kitchen was the heart of the fortress.
It looked like a battlefield that had seen a thousand victories.
It was a sprawling, sun-drenched space of warm butcher block and copper pots that hung from the ceiling like weapons in an armory.
The scarred oak table in the corner, worn smooth by decades of elbows and spilled milk, only sat six.
There was no room for an intruder there.
The massive kitchen island rose from the center of the room like a battlement; solid oak, wide enough that the men who filed around it became an army arranging itself along a rampart. The space between me and it felt like open water.
Vidar’s hand shot out, physically shoving Ivar off the bar stool directly to his right. Then Vidar pulled out the stool and angled it toward me. I knew I wasn't inside the fortress gate yet. But I took the stool.
"Addie, dear. Come help me serve these hungry males."
My right eye winced before I could stop it. My lips pursed into a hard, flat line of refusal. I was a junior associate. I hadn't carried a tray to a wannabe alpha wolf in a decade, and I certainly wasn't about to start playing the submissive handmaiden to a room full of Blackwoods.
Vidar’s gaze was heavy, a physical weight pressing against the side of my face.
He wasn’t looking at me like a husband. He was looking at me like a recruiter waiting for a candidate to fail the culture fit portion of the job interview.
The promotion I was angling for came with the only life benefit that mattered: Elias’s pulse.
Mei Ling watched me, a knowing, almost feline smile playing on her lips. She didn't repeat the command. It was a test of the identity I’d spent ten years dismantling—would I be the Alpha’s obedient mate, or would I fight a battle I couldn't win in front of the whole pack?
I balled my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms, and walked to the industrial stove. "I'm not a good cook."
Mei Ling gestured to the massive wooden platters on the counter. "My son is a wolf. He doesn't care for his meat to touch the flame."
Spread across the board were thick, prime cuts of beef, ruby-red and glistening with tangy, copper juices.
My nose twitched, a violent spike of hunger hitting me so hard it made my head swim.
I’d spent years forcing myself to order medium-well at power lunches, choking down charred fibers to prove I was civilized.
The scent of that fresh, cold iron was intoxicating.
Mei Ling ladled a thick, savory soup into bowls, her movements fluid and practiced. "I had an arranged marriage, too. I trusted my parents, just as Fenrir trusted his, to make the best decision for the pack."
Trust? I wouldn't trust Adolphus Vane to pick out a tie, let alone a husband.
"Look at those muscles." Mei Ling let out a low, appreciative hum as she gazed at her husband.
Actually, it was a leer so blatant it made my cheeks heat.
I glanced away from Fenrir Blackwood, only to have my eyes fall on his son.
Vidar had muscles that fit well in that suit.
They were likely even bigger when he was unclothed.
Would they be a soft place to land? Or would he use them to crush my windpipe if I didn't obey?
"Fenrir was handsome; he was strong, and he was a total freak between the sheets."
I nearly dropped the bowl of soup I’d just picked up. Heat crawled up my neck. My corporate composure shattered under the weight of such an inappropriate admission.
"I didn't fall for him until I saw he matched wits with me."
Mei Ling turned, her expression suddenly sharp. The matriarch mask slid into place as she looked me dead in the eye.
"Your brother was dumb but smart. I know you are smart, Addie O’Shea. I’m just hoping you aren't dumb." Her eyes held mine for one beat longer than was comfortable. Whatever she was looking for, I couldn't tell if she'd found it. "Go. Feed your wolf."
I turned to face the wolves gathered around the island.
Their predatory energy was a physical hum in the small space.
It was a tactical map of power. There was Vidar, my future husband; his gaze anchored on me like a hunter watching a snare.
To his left sat Magnus, the heir-apparent, calm and immovable.
Then there was Gunnar, the muscle, still nursing the jaw I’d bruised, his eyes glinting with a dark mirth.
At the end of the island sat young Ivar with a genuine smile; the only wolf I actually liked in the room.
I knew the protocol. This wasn't just dinner; it was the final round of the interview. I had to choose where to place the first bowl. In this house, there was only one correct answer if I wanted to survive the night.
I bypassed Vidar. I bypassed his brothers. I made my way directly to the head of the island, to Fenrir. He was the sun this entire system orbited around. He was my new Alpha.
I set the bowl of steaming soup in front of him. Instinctively, I lowered my gaze. It was a reflex born from years of surviving the Vane pack; you never looked a monster in the eye while you were serving him. You watched his hands to see if your throat would be torn out.
A thick, scarred index finger hooked under my chin. Fenrir tilted my face upward until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His skin was like weathered leather, warm and sand-papery against my jaw.
"No daughter of mine lowers her gaze."
I blinked, completely caught off guard, the breath hitching in my throat.
A strange, confusing sensation shot through my chest. My own father would have never said such a thing.
To Adolphus, a lowered gaze was the only acceptable posture for a woman.
To be told to stand tall by the man who held my brother’s life was a glitch in my reality.
I looked at Fenrir, really looked at him, and I saw it. Beneath the silver-backed brutality and the scars, there was a sharp, piercing intelligence. It was the mind that had finally won over Mei-Ling.
Vidar had the same eyes. That same terrifying, deep-seated brilliance that saw right through me.
No, I thought, my heart thudding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. There was no way I could fall for a man like Vidar. He was the architect of my ruin. He was the one who had bought me.
But as he watched me from his stool, his posture coiled like a spring, I realized that the "Safety School" in New Haven had never prepared me for a curriculum this dangerous.
After the bowls were placed, the dynamic shifted again.
I expected the men to fall upon the food like the animals they were.
They remained still. Fenrir rose, his heavy chair scraping against the hardwood, and pulled out the seat for Mei Ling.
Beside me, Vidar stood with a silent, fluid grace and did the same for me.
Something told me to wait until Mei Ling was seated before I arranged myself on the barstool.
The brothers waited. No one touched their spoons.
They sat like statues of stone and muscle, their eyes fixed on the head of the table.
Fenrir took a single, deliberate sip of the soup, his eyes closing as a look of pure bliss smoothed the hard lines of his face.
He turned to Mei Ling and kissed her. Nope, not a chaste peck.
He kissed her; a deep, proprietary, passionate press of his lips that spoke of decades of hunger.
"Gross," Ivar muttered.
The other brothers groaned in a practiced chorus.
Only after Mei Ling picked up her spoon and began to eat did the brothers finally descend on their bowls.
I had never seen wolves treat their alpha females with such public, unashamed devotion.
In the Vane house, my mother had been a ghost, a shadow meant to be managed or ignored.
Here, Mei Ling was the sun, and they were all orbiting her warmth.
I took a sip of the soup. The flavor hit me like a revelation. The broth was rich, complex, and earthy. It was so good I nearly forgot my own name. I felt a ridiculous urge to prostrate myself at Mei Ling’s feet and beg for the recipe. Not that I wouldn't burn the water if I tried to replicate it.
I caught Vidar watching me. A knowing grin played on his lips as he witnessed the internal battle between my corporate stoicism and the sheer joy of the meal. He knew. He’d grown up on this magic in a bowl.
"I hope that you aren't expecting this level of skill in our marriage. I can barely toast bread."
"We can hire a chef."
I looked back at Fenrir and Mei Ling. They were eating, but their hands were constantly finding each other: a brush of fingers, a palm on a shoulder.
They couldn't keep their eyes off one another. I didn’t have that skill—the ability to make a man that devoted, that anchored.
But then I remembered Mei Ling’s words: she fell for the mind.
"I eat most of my meals here," Vidar continued, pulling my attention back. "Or at the family restaurant in the city. When I’m not out on a hunt."
The word hunt vibrated through me, reaching down into the part of me I’d kept locked in a lead-lined box.
My wolf paced behind its bars, its ears pricking at the thought of cold air, the scent of pine, and the thrum of a heartbeat underfoot.
I hadn't let her out to hunt in… I couldn't remember the last time.
It was usually quick runs in the dead of night in a nearby park, just to keep her on a leash.
Vidar noticed my stillness. He didn't ask, and he didn't push. He just sipped his soup, those dark, intelligent eyes of his seeing far too much. He was reading the hunger in me that had nothing to do with food.
The soup was only the opening act. What followed was a synchronized demolition of two meat courses. Venison tartare that tasted of wild iron, followed by thick, salt-crusted ribeyes that had barely seen the heat of the stove.
"Ivar, if you touch that last marrow bone, I’m cutting off…" Gunnar held his fork hovering like a weapon. "Your access to your Crunchy Roll subscription."
"Mom, he's already had three. I need the calories for my growing brain."
"Your brain is fine, Ivar. It’s your mouth that’s over-leveraged," Vidar said without looking up from his plate.
"Let the boy have it, Gunnar," Magnus rumbled, his voice like a low-frequency hum. "He’s still growing. You’re just expanding."
Gunnar aimed the fork tines at his eldest brother. Magnus didn't even flinch. His gaze shifted to Vidar.
"Vido, what’s the status on the Ironwood pack? Their Alpha has been quiet since the docks went dark in Jersey."
Vidar swallowed a sip of his wine and leaned forward. "They’re testing the perimeter. I’ve tracked three separate offshore accounts they’ve tried to insulate in the last forty-eight hours. They think they’re being subtle, shifting their liquid assets into the textile sector."
He flicked a glance toward the head of the table, acknowledging the silent weight of his father.
"If we squeeze their logistics at the port, they’ll have to come to the table by Thursday. But," Vidar paused, deferring to the heir, "that’s only if you want to play it as a negotiation. If you want a demonstration, we can collapse their credit lines by morning."
Magnus hummed, a sound that felt like a vibration in the floorboards. He looked at Fenrir, waiting for the Alpha’s lead before turning back to Vidar. "Keep the squeeze internal for now. I want them hungry, not desperate. Desperate wolves take bites they can't swallow."
"I could come along and—"
"No," came the chorus of deep growls before Ivar could even finish his sentence.
"You said if I got an A on my Calculus test—"
"Sorry, bud. Your test is on Tuesday. This is a weekend job."
"But you're getting married this weekend."
That brought my head up. My head was already spinning that they were being this cavalier with pack information with an outsider present. But I wasn't an outsider. I had a literal seat at the table.
"You're getting married?" I asked Vidar.
There was a part of me that thought he was marrying some other woman. That I was about to be his second wife. Some packs did that.
"Yes, Addie. We're getting married this weekend."
"But… but I thought I had months."
"Oh, no, dear." Mei Ling interrupted, her grin widening. "We’ll have the big society circus for the outsiders in a few months. The marriage—the real ceremony for the family—is tomorrow. Before sunset."