The Alpha's Fight

Chapter 20 - If You Mention Yeehaws Again

Be better than revenge.

Taylor held so much faith in me, faith I had never had in myself. It was easier said than done. There still remained so much anger inside me. Anger that I always had to hide. Anger that I looked so much like my father, the man I hated most. Anger that I still feared him at times and that I couldn't break out of my conditioned response. And anger at the pressure I felt under every single day with everyone looking to me for leadership, to be the answer and solution to save the pack. I didn't know what to do with this anger, how to vent it other than to turn it on the culprits that caused it.

But around Taylor, there was none of that. There was no weight of expectations or demands from him. I could simply be and exist. In the midst of my rage, he was my calm, dispelling the deafening clamour that battered me inside.

"I was about to start cooking a while ago," he said, brushing his lips with mine. His naturally hooded eyes gave him a perpetually sensual expression. There was little wonder I would spot the odd she-wolf swooning when I watched him from my bedroom window. "You wanna join me?"

My stomach, as if hearing the invite of food, announced itself loudly, accepting the offer.

'Generally, you reply with your mouth, not bodily functions,' Hawk gruffly chuckled, though he couldn't deny we were starved.

"As you can tell, that's a yes. I've not had chance to eat in a while," it was becoming the standard and was usually why I consumed so much in one sitting. "How about we cook together? You can teach me what to do. It's about time I started learning."

"Alright then. I was gonna make some chicken casserole and roasted root vegetables from the greenhouse," he set up a large, heavy-looking pan on the gas hob, glugging a generous amount of oil into the base and turned the oven on. "There's some chicken breasts in the fridge. Once the oil starts to sizzle a little, add them in and make sure they don't burn. I'll dig up vegetables to go with it."

I did as told, tossing the chicken in when the pan was ready. Just as I was turning the chicken over with some tongs I spotted in the utensil pot, Taylor came back with his shirt midway up his abdomen, showing off his six-pack. He had used the hem to help carry the arm full of root vegetables and dump them in the sink for cleaning.

"Here, clean those and I'll set the baking sheet up," he instructed, moving about his kitchen with ease.

I got to scrubbing with the small brush by the sink, watching what Taylor was doing next to me, oiling up a flat sheet.

"What's the salt for?" I concentrated on a particularly tricky to clean crease in the small sweet potato.

"Helps with roasting and draws the moisture out. Gives them a crisper finish too. You can add pepper if you want, but always add it nearer the end. It burns easily and can taste bitter," he slid the tray into the oven. "It's better to roast them in hot oil, not cold."

Taylor quartered up the larger roots as I washed, making sure they were as dry as possible before they went in the oven. Once they were coated in the hot oil and set for cooking, he removed the cooked chicken and asked me to shred it all with a couple of forks. I placed the bowl beside him, so it was handy and within reaching distance.

I peered over his shoulder, watching him pour some chicken broth into the pan with a huge sizzle. He didn't seem to be measuring anything, just throwing things in at random.

"How do you know you have enough if you're not measuring anything out?" I slipped my arms around his waist, inching under his shirt to caress his smooth and toned skin.