The Exchange

Chapter Two

About an hour later, I finally finish making dinner. It would have taken me much less time, but the interaction between Damon and I had unsettled me.

After setting down the bowls of spaghetti I had prepared, I placed various fruits and vegetables on the table, to be eaten at my masters' leisure. I also added bread. rolls, fried mozzarella squares, and barbecue meatballs (Fletcher's favorite) at numerous locations at the long table. Everyone in the pack ate dinner together, but all other meals were eaten independently. I cooked every one of the Alpha's meals, however, whether it be a large meal or a snack.

I stand off to the side and wait for the stampede to begin. The Blood Talon pack had 330 members, and they all arrive to eat at the same time. Every. Single. Day. I'd learned this the hard way at the beginning of my time here.

Meaning I had been trampled at least twelve times by 330 pairs of feet before I got the message.

Fletcher is the first to enter. He doesn't even look at me before taking his place at the head of the table. I watch, my body rigid, as he begins eating. Even though Donna had asked me specifically not to cook spaghetti, I knew that Italian food was Fletcher's favorite, and I hoped to evade further punishment this evening by serving it.

The rest of the pack comes in in a rush. Within moments they are fighting over food and stuffing themselves like pigs.

Not one of them looks over at me, huddled in the corner despite my tall frame. I developed a habit of slouching and hunching over wherever I go specifically for moments like these; where I wish I was invisible.

I hate werewolves.

I hate the way they eat like the rabid animals they are. I hate the fact that despite they are half human, they have the most incorrigible of behavior. I hate the way they think they're better than everyone else, especially humans.

I hate them for what they did to my life, and I hate them for destroying my family.

I hate them for destroying me.

"The spaghetti is really good."

I hear Damon's voice, through all of the arguing and eating that's going on, like he was screaming in my ear. Everyone else heard it too, and freeze, unsure of what to do.

The only time someone ever makes a comment on my cooking is when it's bad. Never have I actually been complimented on it before.

In fact, I don't think any of the heartless creatures have ever complimented me on anything.

Fletcher's head swivels to stare at him. Damon stares back, his gaze unflinching. The two remain like that, with Fletcher glaring at him with thinly veiled anger and Damon returning the gaze with a cool one of his own. It takes me a moment to realize they are mind linking.

Wolves in the same pack can communicate their thoughts through a telepathic connection that joins each member together. It was how Fletcher had known his former maid *cough* slave *cough* had quit.

And by quit, I mean she had tried to escape and was promptly killed.

He shouldn't have done that, I think. He'll just get himself in trouble. And me too.

Fletcher snorts suddenly. Breaking eye contact with Damon, he turns and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. This action breaks the spell that had been cast over the others, and they greedily return to their meals, forgetting the incident almost instantly.

Damon shifts his gaze to look at me. I squirm, not used to his sudden interest. He smirks, then winks at me before returning to his own food.

Dread trickles through me. I don't like his uncharacteristic behavior; it makes me feel like I'm missing something important that's happening, like he knows something that I don't, and this is his way of letting me know.