Antiope

I wake up with the sound of the door of Magnus's room and then the shower running, I glance at the clock at my bedside. 6 o'clock. I slept through most of the day, tossing around, fighting my exhaustion, my guilt, my spleen and the freaking jet lag.

I decide to have a shower as well and get ready for dinner. Which I desperately need. I haven't eaten anything all day but judging by breakfast, I doubt I'd get a full meal. How the hell does he keep so built?

I enter the shower trying to remain unimpressed by the all-wood bathroom with the window to the lake and the minimalistic aesthetic. This place is really good. Any other girl would love it here. I can't enjoy it.

I let the spray of water fall down my shoulders as I place my hands on the wooden wall and pretend for the millionth time that I am not going to cry. I inhale deeply and remain unmoving as the place gets filled with steam, the window in the shower fogged exactly as my mind is.

I want out, I want to go back. I want Celia safe. I want so many things and none of those that I got. What did I do to Moon Goddess to punish me like that? The water keeps running down on me and time becomes irrelevant.

"Antiope!" I suddenly hear Magnus's agitated voice in the bathroom.

What the fuck is he doing here? Freaking pervert! I wipe some the window with my palm and I see him standing there with a scared look on his face, looking around through the humidity, his hands in fists.

"Get the hell out!" I scream.

"I was calling you, Antiope, and you didn't answer. Fan! I was scared that you..."

"What? Sliced my veins in the bathtub? Can't say I haven't thought of it."

He takes two steps, opens the shower door and grabs my arm. He pushes me to him, never minding that I making his probably expensive dress shirt all wet.

"This is not a joking matter, little girl," his voice is thick with worry.

"Well, neither is kidnapping but you seem to have a blast," I retort.

Magnus lets go of my arm and takes a step back. I got to give it to the man. Here I am, stark naked and dripping wet – by the water mind you – and he keeps his eyes in mine, not once glancing down my body. Talking about self-control.

"Get ready!" He orders. "Dinner is at 7. Don't be late!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" I mock salute him.

He says nothing, just walks away and closes the door behind him. That was fun. And interesting. And disturbing. As a male, he needs to know constantly that I am safe. That need is going to push him to mark me so we can establish our mind-link. And that would be it. Nothing to be done about it. Even if I ever met my true mate, it would take a lot to break that bond and may kill me in the process. Damn it!

I get out of the shower and I dry myself. I comb my hair but decide to do nothing more than dry them. I also put no make-up on and I sway between wearing my high heels or my biker boots. I decide to be an adult and wear high heels. If he keeps insisting on formal dinners like the psycho he is, I will have to ask for simple ballerinas.

I go down the stairs and again I see him in the kitchen. He has changed outfit and he is now in a white t-shirt, a grey cardigan over it, black loose jeans and... barefoot. I am suddenly over-dressed.

The moment my high-heels click on the first step, his eyes dart up to me. Goddess, I may never get over that momentary clench in my stomach when his eyes land on me. There isn't a bluer blue in the whole of the vast sky behind him than those two eyes. This time, he allows his look to roam my body from my hair down to my legs. And he licks his lips slowly.

"He still likes us!" Max is purring in the back of my mind.

But then his look turns harder, colder as if I insult him with my presence. He is still an Alpha, still of royal blood and he is not letting me forget about it.

"You can go change if you want," he waves at me. "I was thinking of celebrating our first... It was stupid. Wear whatever you want and come down to eat."

That's all he says before going back to cooking whatever he has going on. And it smells delicious. My stomach rumbles and decides that changing clothes is not worth it. So, I take my heels off and go down the stairs with them in hand. When I am down, I see the table is set, and there are several candles that were lit but now are blown off.

"That's how I saw you the first time," he says and I turn to him.

He is making a sauce of some kind while checking a pot at the same time. He is not looking at me but I feel his presence.

"With the high heels in hand," this time his voice is softer.

I hate that soft voice. That soft voice doesn't belong to The Butcher. It belongs to a hot, sexy man that cooks. I don't like that man. Not one bit.

"Yeah, right!" Max offers.

"Shut up!"

"Need any help?" I cough.

When my question reaches him, he does turn to me. Again, that clench. Goddess, make him less striking. Magnus regards me seriously for a while and then goes back to stirring the sauce.

"Want to make sure I don't poison you?"

"You wouldn't. Where's the fun in that? I just want to make sure we eat at a reasonable time and a reasonable thing," I say and enter the kitchen.

"Is venison with berry sauce and mashed potatoes up to your standards?"

Venison? Yeah, that is pretty much the peak of my standards. No wonder I smelled something good.

"I can take care of the mashed potatoes," I look at the stove.

For a while, we just exist in the same space, not talking. It is not that comfortable, sweet thing my parents do when they prepare Sunday dinner for us. It is not casual, not easy, not flowing. I am still bitter and sore and hurt.

But it just works, like the beats of a watch. Without talking, we know what the other needs and hand it to him. And while I try to make sure I don't bump into him, I study him. I need to get to know this man, find out his weakness, figure out a way out. Plus, he would be capable of not adding butter to the damn potatoes.

"It's ready," he licks the finger he has dipped in the sauce.

"I am pretty much ready too," Max drools over that simple gesture.

Granted, he is fucking irresistible in the tight t-shirt, those sleek hair drawn back and that licking thing. All of this would be so much easier if he was less... Magnus.

I take the bowl with the mashed potatoes and move to the table. He brings the venison and then hesitates looking at the table.

"Wine?" He finally asks.

"Got a Pinot Noir?"

He leans back and chuckles in surprise.

"Yeah, I know. Americans with their guns, cholesterol and beer, right?"

"Pretty much. I got a bottle of a Valpolicella," he stands and goes to a wine cooler.

I need the man to relax, to talk, to spot an opening. He is a monster alright but seeing him barefoot, preparing berry sauce makes him look domesticated enough. I think. And addressing that side of Magnus is the only chance to get at least Celia out.

He opens the bottle and pours us some wine in flawless crystals. As he does he looks into my eyes. Domesticated, my ass. This male is barely holding back from taking me on this table, raw and uninhibited. I panic at my clenching insides and I look at my glass. Magnus sits down and takes his wine.

"To..." He raises a glass but stops mid-sentence.

"To not killing each other, at least tonight," I take the lead.

He chuckles at the idea of me being able to do him any harm and drinks a sip. I swallow my anger and do the same. Diplomacy, Antiope. Let's try that shit.

"There has been great interest for the Luna Champion. Understandably. It is a great honor," he starts small talk.

"Aha," I fake interest.

"Thane threw his name in," he turns to me. "He has a pretty good chance. He is a strong fighter."

"If the fight is against defenseless females, I am sure he will reign supreme," I bite down.

One freaking minute! That's how long my diplomacy plan lasted. Celia is doomed. And the Waterend Pack may have been saved from having a rush, hot-headed Beta.

Magnus raises his eyebrow and then lets out a laughter that is nothing like the one back in the Mating Hunt's tent. That is real and genuine. And the latest addition of things that both I and Max find irresistible. I need to get the hell out of here before that list gets longer than the things I find appalling on him.

"There are quite a lot of female warriors that will try out but trust me none are defenseless."

"You train women as well?" I say in surprise.

"Everyone trains in my pack," his voice turns deeper, in his Alpha tone. "We guard the northern borders against the rogues that were pushed in the ice and there are always threats by other packs around. You can come and see our training grounds."

"Is this a quid pro quo opportunity I got there?"

He looks up from his plate and studies me through his lowered, long eyelashes. Right there, in this perfectly sophisticated environment, eating fine cuisine, drinking good wine he still manages to remind me that he is a wild animal, a barely tamed Alpha, a powerful werewolf. Were I not a Beta, I would crumble in fear.

"What do you want, Antiope?"

"You know what I want."

"To see Celia. I bet she would want to see you too."

She... He has talked to her? Celia knows I am here? What the fuck is that asshole playing with us? Is he keeping me as a threat to make Celia more compliant? I will murder that motherfucker where he stands.

"You've talked to her!" I drop my fork and knife. "I swear to the Great Mother, if you've hurt her..."

"Antiope," Magnus warns me.

"Fuck you!" I get up and throw my plate at the wall. "Fuck you and your Scandinavian calmness, you monster!"

I am the one that has fucked up, I think as I am standing, panting, looking at his still calm eyes. I lost it again, I let my nerves get the best of me. But I do not get to think about it more. He pushes his chair back and stands before me.

"Get another plate and serve yourself again. The dinner isn't over till 8."

I raise my hand to slap him but he catches it and uses it to pull me to him. His other hand rests at his side, freely. He is showing off! Letting me see how he can restrain me single-handedly. Well, wrong fucking idea, I raise my leg and knee him between his thighs.

"FAN!" Magnus yells and releases me.

I go to the kitchen, take a plate and sit at the table. I serve a fine piece of venison and a good portion of mashed potatoes and keep eating while he is still bend over and curses through his teeth. When he looks up to me, his face is red and his eyes furious. I grab my glass of wine and raise it to him.

"I've told you. You will regret this. I am a woman of my word."