by Amira Rain
Determined to just eat and retreat to my room, I went downstairs and found Warren already sitting at the head of the long, polished oak dining room table, with place settings already laid out and food in serving dishes already waiting. When I reached the table, Warren stood and pulled my chair out for me, and that was when my plan to “eat and retreat” kind of flew out the window. And that was because any sense of being cool, calm, and collected that I’d previously possessed kind of flew out the window.
He had ordered me to be abducted and transported against my will, and now he was going to pretend to have enough consideration to actually pull my chair out for me. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t get over it. Normally not one for quick anger, I immediately felt my blood begin to boil.
Glaring at him, I yanked my chair away from Warren. “Don’t you even dare.”
He frowned, looking genuinely perplexed. “Dare do what?”
Gritting my teeth, I fought to keep at least somewhat of a handle on my anger, still unsure if he might become violent with me. “Don’t you dare pull my chair out, like you actually have consideration for me, after what you did.”
Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. “Look. I—”
“Don’t you dare pretend to show me consideration after you made a surrogacy agreement with me, then pulled a fast one on me, reneging on the agreement, and to hell with my emotions, right? To hell with the fact that I’d been emotionally preparing to give my child away for nine months, and had, in fact, already given her away before you completely changed our deal, requiring me to come live with you for a year, right? Just to hell with all that, you thought.”
“And do you regret coming here to live with Sam now? Do you regret that you didn’t have to give her up?”
I glared at Warren, sure I was probably outright scowling. “That is neither here nor there. It doesn’t matter if I regret coming to live with Sam, or if I’m glad. It still doesn’t excuse your actions.”
“You’re right. But—”
“But nothing. Then you had me abducted right from the clinic where I gave birth, and to hell with how scared and confused I might have been, right? To hell with my entire world being turned upside down right after I’d given birth. To hell with me feeling completely powerless, being the man you had abduct me threatened to hurt my family if I didn’t comply. But, no… go right ahead and pull my chair out. Actually pretend like you give a damn about me, enough to show consideration by pulling out a chair. It’s really just too much, Warren. If you weren’t so unbelievable, I might even be tempted to laugh.”
With a deep sigh, he raked a hand through his hair. “Look. I definitely do owe you a few apologies, Tara. I owe you some explanations. You’re not wrong.”
“You’re damn right I’m not.”
“But I just think it might be better if I save those explanations—”
“You can save them forever, because I’ll never be interested in them. There’s nothing you could ever do or say that could make what you did right. Nothing. So, just save your explanations. I’ll never be receptive to hearing them, no matter what.”
“But how about if we take a little time to get to know each other first. Then, maybe I can explain—”
“I guess I have to repeat myself. I’ll never be interested in hearing an explanation from you. I think you’re an absolute criminal, and nothing could ever change my mind about that.”
I’d been glaring throughout our entire conversation, but now it was Warren’s expression that darkened.
“If that’s the way you feel then… then I guess that’s that.”
Being forced to look up at him a bit, because he was so tall, I folded my arms across my chest. “It is.”
“And to think I had you pegged as a woman who might at least listen and give a person a chance to explain. I had you pegged as a woman who might forgive a few terrible blunders and give a man the chance to prove he’s not who he might seem like.”
“Well, that was your mistake. A man should never think he’s got a woman pegged. Making assumptions is never right.”
“Making assumptions like you’re doing with me? You seem to think you have me pegged.”
For the first time in our conversation, I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, turning my glare to the side. Warren said nothing further, either, and for several seconds, the only sound was the soft ticking of a grandfather clock out in the living room, which made up one half of a large open room that contained the dining area and living room both.
But finally, I couldn’t take the awkward silence anymore, and I turned my gaze to the table and spoke in a voice that I intended to be as cold as ice. “Thank you for preparing our meal. I suppose we should eat.”
“You’re welcome, and that’s fine.”
Warren took his seat, but I didn’t do likewise. Instead, I picked up my plate and quickly began filling it with boiled redskin potatoes, boiled whole green beans and baby carrots, and pieces of sautéed chicken breast tenderloin. After adding a roll, I tucked my napkin and silverware under one arm, grabbed my glass, and began heading down to the opposite end of the table with my plate in hand. Warren asked what I was doing, and I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“I’m not sitting beside a man who ordered my kidnapping. I also resent the fact that you, a criminal, are sitting at the head of the table. So, to even things out, I will be sitting at the head of the table as well, just on the opposite end.”
I didn’t care if I was being childish. I didn’t think I’d be able to choke down my food sitting beside him. I also didn’t want to sit beside him because a clear, sand-colored Tiffany lamp hanging above the table was giving his lightly tanned skin an even more golden glow, making him look even more handsome than he had earlier in the kitchen, and I didn’t want to have to look at him up close.
In response to what I’d said, he said nothing, and I had a seat, setting all my dinner stuff in front of me. Although very simple, the food he’d made looked delicious, and I realized that I was actually starving, having worked up an appetite during Sam’s and my hike. However, after I’d put my napkin in my lap, I realized that I’d neglected to butter my vegetables and roll, and that I’d like to. So, silently, I got up, brought my plate back down to Warren’s end of the table, and used a butter knife to take a pat from the softened stick in the dish.
Spreading his napkin in his lap, Warren glanced up at me. “You can just take the dish down with you if you’d like. I’ve already used it.”
I said no thank you coolly. “I just need one pat.” Then realizing that I hadn’t yet buttered my roll, I dipped the knife back in the butter. “Or two.”
Once seated again, I started in on my sautéed chicken, grateful that it tasted like Warren had already seasoned it with salt and pepper, saving me a trip back down to his end of the table.
For about the first half of the meal, we ate in silence, not even glancing up at each other. Or, at least hardly glancing up at each other. The only time I glanced up, I found that Warren was doing the same, looking at me from under his dark lashes. I quickly returned my gaze to my plate, and even though I wasn’t looking, I just didn’t feel him glancing up at me again.
However, once I’d finished my chicken and part of my vegetables, I gave him the briefest of looks while I picked up my apple juice glass. It appeared that he’d given me an entirely new one for dinner, because this glass had only an inch or two of juice in it, when the one I’d left in the kitchen had been nearly full.
Thinking how wasteful he’d been, and how strange it was that he’d think a person would only require an ounce or two of juice with a meal, I took a sip and immediately sputtered, half-swallowing and half-choking at the same time. “What… is this?”
The taste, smell, and a burning in my throat told me what it was even before Warren answered.
“It’s whiskey. I thought you wanted some. I usually have a glass with dinner, so I brought you out the same. I guess I should have brought your g
lass of juice out, too, though, and I apologize. I’ll go get it.”
He left the table, and I glared at him as he walked away, mad at him and mad at myself simultaneously, because I couldn’t help but zone in on his broad shoulders, and then his tight rear, until he was completely out of my line of sight. After turning back to the table, I downed the rest of my whiskey in two gulps.
When he returned to the dining area, he silently set my glass of apple juice by my plate and took his seat again, looking across the table at me. “I know this is all upsetting for you, Tara, and believe it or not, I’m not without sympathy. I do have a few things to say to you, however.”
Gritting my teeth, I set my fork down. “Well, go right ahead.”
“The first thing is that no matter how angry you are with me, I won’t have you calling me a criminal in my own home. If you won’t agree to get to know each other a little better, or listen to any explanations I have to make, that’s your choice, and that’s fine, but I won’t have you calling me a criminal based on your assumptions.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I gripped my apple juice glass just about hard enough to break it. “No, I called you a criminal based on your actions.”
To my great surprise, Warren didn’t even try to refute this.
“Fair enough. But the bottom line is that I won’t have you saying it again in my home… particularly not with our daughter present.”
Now it was my turn to acquiesce, although I felt the need to test him a little at the same time.
“Fine. I won’t call you a criminal again. Since you already know how I feel, there’s no need to. But what would you do if I did? Throw me across the room? Beat me to a bloody pulp? I’ve been wondering.”
Frowning, Warren didn’t answer right away. “I would never hurt you, Tara, in any way. I’m not a violent man.”
Something about the sincerity in his eyes made me feel unsettled in a way I couldn’t even identify, and I couldn’t continue looking at him.
Instead, I turned my focus back to my plate, picking up my fork and pushing a few pieces of potato around. “You’re not a violent man. Okay. How did your Graywolf-killing mission go, by the way? Just curious. Did you kill a lot of them? Did you murder a lot of wolves who were just trying to escape you terrorizing them here up north?”
With my gaze still on my plate, I speared a bite of potato and began chewing, and a long moment or two went by before Warren responded in a quieter voice than he’d been using earlier.
“I don’t like killing, Tara. I take no joy in it. But I do what I need to do in order to keep my people here in Greenwood safe. And these past few months, I had to do what was necessary in order to protect innocent people in the United States. And as far as referring to this as ‘murder,’ that’s completely untrue, as is your thinking that I’ve been ‘terrorizing’ the Graywolves in any way. I’m not sure what on earth would make you think that, but it’s false. If anything, the opposite is true.
The Graywolves have been intent on claiming our land since the moment they arrived from Canada, and their attacks on Greenwood have been almost never-ending. My men have reported to me that even while I and the others were down in the States, different groups of Graywolves tried to attack no fewer than three separate times. I just thank God that my men who remained here were strong enough to fight them off and turn them back to Graywolf Village in order to keep you, Sam, and everyone else here safe.”
Obviously, this was not the narrative that I’d gotten from Brooke, and now I didn’t know who to believe.
Feeling defensive and almost cornered somehow, I glanced up from my plate, where I was ripping my roll into bite-sized pieces. “All right, then. So, you claim not to be in the wrong as far as your violence against the wolves. All right. That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it. What about your previous career as an MMA fighter, though? I heard you were a champion because you were such a brutal fighter. Should I take that as more evidence of what a non-violent man you are?”
For what felt like the hundredth time in the span of a few hours, Warren’s response was not at all what I expected.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I left the military and got into MMA fighting when my mom, who raised me alone, got very sick. She was diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, and by the time she was diagnosed, it was already pretty bad. Within a few months, she needed round-the-clock nursing care, and numerous specialized treatments, and her insurance wouldn’t cover the cost of it all.
They wouldn’t cover even half. While I was trying to keep on top of these bills, I heard about a doctor in Switzerland doing a new, radical treatment to prolong the lives of people with ALS. It wasn’t a cure, but he was having some success with this treatment, extending the life of many of his patients and even reversing some of their symptoms.
So, naturally, I wanted this treatment for my mom, but it wasn’t cheap. So, long story short, having learned that I was good at hand-to-hand combat while in the military, I left the military and started MMA training, then started fighting in order to pay for all the nursing care, the specialized treatment, and my very frequent flights to and from Switzerland. The treatment worked for a few years and halted the progression of my mom’s illness, and I continued fighting to keep paying for everything.
But in the end, all the money in the world couldn’t keep the treatment working forever because it wasn’t a permanent cure, and my mom went into a rapid, steep decline before passing away. I was devastated, of course, but I knew I’d done all I could to help her, though, and make her last few years as comfortable and happy as possible.”
After lifting his whiskey glass, Warren paused for a large gulp, then set the glass back on the table without so much as the hint of a grimace. “So, after my mom’s death, I finally quit fighting, having no desire or reason to continue on with it, and it was about this time that I became a shifter anyway and was enlisted to come to the FDS to help Commander Iverson deal with his dragon problem.”
Feeling horrible for assuming that Warren had gotten into MMA because he loved brutalizing other men, I said nothing.
He picked up his knife and fork and began cutting a large redskin potato, glancing up at me. “I should also add, Tara, that the men I fought during my MMA days were all freely consenting adults who knew what they were getting into. It wasn’t like I was out on the street, brutally beating random men who looked at me funny. I was earning money fighting men who wanted a chance to earn money, too.”
Again, I said nothing, and he went back to his food. I went back to mine, too, eating a bite of roll and picking up my fork to finish my potatoes, but then I immediately put it back down.
“I’m really sorry about your mom, Warren. I lost my mom, too, and I know how much it hurts.”
Pausing in his potato-cutting, he slowly lifted his gaze to my face, looking a bit surprised that I’d said what I had. “It does… and thank you. I’m really sorry about your mom, too.”
“Thanks.”
I was starting to feel like the more time I spent with Warren, the more he baffled me. The look in his eyes while he’d been talking about his mom and his fighting had been one of undeniable sincerity, making me think that he really wasn’t a violent man like I’d thought. He’d also been pretty convincing when saying what he had about not having ever terrorized the Graywolves. At the same time, though, Brooke had been pretty convincing when saying what she had, about her people just wanting to live in peace if only Warren would let them.
And being that it seemed to me that Brooke really didn’t have a dog in the fight, so to speak, I didn’t know why she would have lied to me. I couldn’t think of what she might have to gain, and it seemed like if she had been lying, and her people weren’t exactly the innocents she portrayed them as, she would have just run away from me instead of talking.
With me having Sam on my chest, she definitely could have outrun me. Or, if her people were really not the terrorized but the terrorizers, it seemed like
she might have tried to hurt me out in the woods. But instead, contrary to acting hostile in any way, it had seemed like she had really just wanted to help me and Sam, fearing for our safety around Warren. I couldn’t think of what she could have to gain from helping us other than the satisfaction of having helped to keep another woman safe.
At any rate, now in the present, I was very glad that I’d made the choice that I had, to not follow her to Graywolf Village. Before I continued with any plans for escape from Greenwood, I definitely wanted to spend a little more time with Warren to see for myself, with my own eyes, what kind of a man he was. I was starting to think that maybe I had misjudged him, or Brooke had, or someone had, but I just wasn’t sure.
And then the fact remained that the reason I’d had to contemplate an escape plan in the first place was because Warren had ordered me to be abducted. Which, obviously, didn’t fit with who he was portraying himself as at all.
At the same time, though, I really wasn’t interested in any explanation he might offer me for that. In my mind, I was still convinced that there couldn’t be any good explanation. He’d had me kidnapped. Plain and simple. There was nothing he could tell me that would make that action make sense, so it would just be pointless for him to try.
When we’d both cleaned our plates, with Warren having finished a large second helping of chicken, he picked up his nearly empty whiskey glass and looked at me across the long length of the table. “Mary told me that Sam is a Magical.”
Setting down my apple juice, I nodded. “Yes. I’m still not sure if it’s intentional or not, but she’s been doing her little fingertip sparkles a lot lately. She’s so amused by it. Sometimes she just laughs and laughs, just watching her shimmery little fingers.”
Warren cracked a smile, making himself almost maddeningly handsome. “That’s wonderful.”
Despite what he’d said about his fighting and his mom having softened me toward him slightly, I was still mad at him for my abduction, and this made me not want to get to friendly with him. Not to mention that even at this very moment, I was pretty sure I was still technically being held as a captive in Greenwood, since Ballpoint Pen Man had told me that Warren was intent on me staying with him for at least a year.
