DINNER WITH THE ALPHA

CHAPTER 5

I was halfway through a plate of something I couldn't pronounce when Roman appeared in the doorway.

The two staff members setting the table immediately went still.

Roman didn't look at them.

"Leave us."

They moved so quickly that one of them nearly knocked over the serving cart.

The door closed behind them.

I slowly lowered my fork.

"Should I be worried?"

Roman walked toward the table.

"Why would you be?"

"Because the staff looked like they'd just been ordered to leave a battlefield."

His expression didn't change.

"Eat."

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.

I stared at him.

"You're joining me."

"That appears to be the case."

"You didn't mention that."

"Plans change."

He glanced at my plate.

"You've barely touched the fish."

I looked down.

Then back at him.

"Are you monitoring what I eat now?"

"I notice things."

He said it so casually that I wasn't sure whether to be irritated or impressed.

"It's fine."

"Mira."

I sighed.

"It tastes like the ocean got offended."

For a second, something moved at the corner of his mouth.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

I noticed.

He noticed me noticing.

His expression immediately returned to neutral.

I pushed the plate aside.

"Happy?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why are you here?"

"To have dinner."

"With me?"

"Yes."

I stared at him.

The most feared Alpha in the region had apparently decided to spend his evening eating dinner with his surrogate.

I wasn't sure whether that was comforting or terrifying.

"Where did you grow up?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Is this a real question or an interview?"

"Both."

"That's reassuring."

His gaze remained steady.

I finally answered.

"Silverpine. Small pack on the eastern side."

"And your family?"

"My mother raised me and my brother."

"Toby."

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

"You know his name."

"I know everything relevant to the person carrying my child."

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.

"You could have asked me these things before I signed the contract."

"Would you have answered honestly?"

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

He raised one eyebrow.

"That's what I thought."

I glared at him.

"You're insufferable."

"I've been told."

"By everyone?"

"By people who weren't afraid to say it."

"Which must be a very small group."

This time, I definitely saw it.

The faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

It disappeared almost immediately.

But I'd seen it.

For a strange moment, the room didn't feel like a prison.

It felt like a normal dinner.

Two people talking.

Two people learning something about each other.

Then I remembered who was sitting across from me.

Roman Draven.

The Alpha whose name made people lower their voices.

The man whose house was filled with rules and secrets.

The man who had looked terrified when he'd seen the mark on my wrist.

The warmth inside me disappeared.

I lowered my eyes to my plate.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You've been doing that all night."

"Then you should be used to it."

He leaned back slightly.

"Go ahead."

"Why is the west wing closed?"

The change was immediate.

His shoulders stiffened.

His jaw tightened.

Whatever trace of amusement had been there vanished.

The room suddenly felt colder.

"That's not a dinner conversation."

"You brought up my family."

"That's different."

"How?"

His eyes met mine.

"Because your family concerns you."

"And the west wing doesn't?"

"No."

I stared at him.

"Everyone in this house goes quiet when I mention it."

He said nothing.

"A guard nearly dragged me away from those doors yesterday."

His gaze sharpened.

"You went there?"

I realized too late that I'd given myself away.

"I was exploring."

"You were told not to enter restricted areas."

"I didn't enter."

"You shouldn't have been there."

His voice was low.

Not angry.

Worse.

Controlled.

I folded my arms.

"Why?"

Silence.

"Roman."

His eyes held mine.

For one brief second, something raw moved behind them.

Grief.

Pain.

Then it disappeared.

"It isn't your concern."

"Everything in this house apparently isn't my concern."

"Mira."

"I'm just asking a question."

"And I'm telling you to leave it alone."

I studied him.

"You knew someone named Lyra."

His entire body went still.

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.

His eyes darkened.

"Who told you that name?"

I hesitated.

"I heard it."

"From whom?"

"I can't remember."

A lie.

He knew it was a lie.

But he didn't press.

Instead, he looked away.

"Don't ask about her again."

The quietness of his voice unsettled me more than anger would have.

"Why?"

"Because some things are better left buried."

Before I could respond, hurried footsteps approached from the hallway.

A young man appeared at the doorway.

He was breathing hard.

"Alpha."

Roman's expression changed instantly.

Cold.

Commanding.

"What?"

"The council is waiting."

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

Roman stood.

"Then they've waited long enough."

The young man stepped aside.

Roman walked toward the door.

Then stopped.

He looked back at me.

"Lock your door tonight."

I frowned.

"It's already on Greta's list of rules."

"I'm not talking about the rules."

Something in his voice made the hairs on my arms rise.

"Then what are you talking about?"

He didn't answer.

"Roman?"

His jaw tightened.

"Just lock it."

"Why?"

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened.

"Please."

I blinked.

Please?

Roman Draven didn't look like a man who said please.

"What's going to happen?"

His expression hardened again.

"Nothing if you do what I asked."

He turned.

"Goodnight, Mira."

Then he was gone.

I remained at the table, staring at the doorway.

The food had gone cold.

I barely noticed.

My mind kept returning to the way his face had changed when I'd mentioned the west wing.

The way he'd reacted to Lyra's name.

And now this.

Lock your door.

Not a rule.

Not a suggestion.

A warning.

I pushed my chair back.

Something was happening inside Blackthorn.

Something Roman wasn't telling me.

And somehow, I had a feeling it had something to do with me.

I returned to my room and locked the door.

Then I checked it twice.

I was about to turn away when I heard something.

A faint sound from the hallway.

I froze.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

They stopped directly outside my door.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I stared at the handle.

It didn't move.

For several seconds, there was nothing.

Then came a soft scrape against the wood.

Like fingernails.

I stopped breathing.

The scrape came again.

Longer this time.

My hand flew to my mouth.

Then a whisper came through the door.

"Mira."

My blood turned cold.

I knew that voice.

It wasn't Roman.

The handle began to turn.

And I realized, with a sickening certainty, why Roman had told me to lock my door.