I am again, bored out of my fucking mind.

Octavius' "within the hour" turns into four hours of me just wandering around the wing. It is bigger than the suite for the alpha beta and gamma in Moonrise. Honestly the size is intimidating to say the least, the looming ceilings and tall doors make me feel like a doll trapped outside of its dollhouse.

I find the biggest kitchen I've ever seen, with stainless steel countertops and black wood cabinets. I could literally live inside his huge fridge, which was also steel, but so clean I can see my reflection in it. God, I look awful. The bruise on my cheek has faded mostly, but my hair is tattered, and there are dark purple bags under my eyes.

Needing a reprieve from the judgmental kitchen, I venture from hall to hall, finding two tv rooms, a dining room which has ornate greek and roman structures of marble and stone. But every doorway leads to a room as hollow as the next. Any who chanced upon this wing could believe a ghost lived in this wing, alone and wailing.

On the walls all over the wing, there were beautiful paintings and portraits, replicas of some of my favorite artists. I traced my fingers across the golden and wooden frames, my fingers aching, missing the feel of a paintbrush in my hand. My mother had loved to paint, and she made it her mission to make a portrait of each family in the pack. She died before she could finish, so I learned how to paint and continued her work. I painted gammas and omegas alike, each face beautiful and different. I loved the complexity created with such simple movements, sweeps and glides made with a hand wrapped around the brush, how colors exploded from a sheet of snow white canvas.

They were so happy, the portraits I drew. My heart aches for them suddenly, they were probably destroyed by now, a heap of smoke and shreds, a lifetime of work destroyed by a second of cruelty.

Shaking my head, I rebuild my resolve. I don't trust myself enough to cry, one tear could cause a downpour lasting eons.

I turn my attention back to the art. It was strange, that such a beast could harbor such beauty in his quarters. How could a man be a monster outside his room, then come to bed accompanied only by his art, and such beautiful and bright art. It's possible the portraits were hung by someone else, but I cannot imagine the alpha musing over surrealist brush strokes with anyone.

As I reached the end of the hall, I arrive at my room, and of course, Octavius'. On either side of my door, there is yet another painting. But one of the frames is blank, waiting to be filled by a new addition. To the left of the door, there is painted a single red rose, with golden accents surrounded by thorns and vines.

Beauty and the Beast. I thought, touching the paint lightly. It was long dried, but looking at the bottom right corner, where the artist's signature usually laid, there was nothing. This rose had no owner. Or at least its owner didn't wish to claim such a beautiful thing.

I sigh, knowing I was once again lost in my thoughts. Curious, I turn around to face Octavius' door. It is the same as mine, black wood, with a golden handle, smudged with his large fingerprints. It is the only thing in the house that wasn't perfectly shined and cleaned.

This is the only place he goes in this whole wing. The realization jarred me. He really was the beast, hallowed away in his corner of the world, ruling everything by fear, but...yearning for something meaningful.

I shake my head at the thought and almost scoff aloud. Octavius? A thoughtful prince trapped in a beast? This wasn't a fairytale, no matter how much I longed to just pinch myself and wake up in my old bed, in my old pack, with my living parents smiling down at me.

There is only one painting to the right of his door, showing a tiny yellow bird in a beautiful golden cage. I scan the picture, looking for a door to the cage, but find none. The bird is trapped inside the only place it's known, forced to look out at the free world around him.

Octavius probably only sees a pretty bird in a shiny cage. I think to myself.

I walk back towards the kitchen, my growling stomach finally getting my attention. I haven't eaten in two days, and I didn't even notice. I walked into the beautifully untouched kitchen and open all the cabinets and the fridge. Maybe if I make something nice for myself, I can distract myself for a while. Maybe.

I grab a box of ziti pasta and some tomatoes and cheese from the fridge and place them on the counter, next to a cutting board I found. I scrounged around, looking for a pan, finally striking gold in the back of a tiny cabinet at the corner of the kitchen.

My Aunt May taught me how to make baked ziti when I was four, dancing around the kitchen with me, teaching me how to boil the pasta and dice the tomatoes. I smiled slightly, this my way of keeping her in my life, even if I couldn't see her.

I cook for about half an hour, finally pulling the ziti out of the oven, and smelling the heavenly aroma it gave off. My mouth watered at the prospect of eating my favorite dish, and I was about to serve myself a bowl when the door lock clicked open.

I froze, the spoon still halfway down the baking dish. It could only be one person, I knew, and his gigantic form stepped into the foyer across from the kitchen. I held my breath, waiting to see what his greeting to me would be.

I was definitely disappointed when he just walked down the hall to the left, no doubt heading for his beast chambers.

I don't know what comes over me, why I don't just let him go to bed and pretend I'm invisible. But being the idiot I am, I throw the spoon in my hand at him.

And with my perfect aim and stupid accuracy, the spoon hits him perfectly. In the back of the head. Spreading tomato sauce all on his hair and the back of his shirt.

Oh. Shit.

He stops, and whirls around to face me, his eyes wide with anger, which changes quickly to confusion as his eyes land on me. Then he reaches his hand back, and feels the sauce on his hair, and the anger and irritation is back.

"Alessandra." He growls, stalking towards me. I just straighten up, looking from side to side, trying to find the culprit.

"Who? Me?" I say stupidly, pointing to my nose.

He stands on the other side of the kitchen island, putting his hands on the ledge.

Wow he has nice hands.

I mentally slap myself and my crazy wolf.

"Care to explain?" He says, patronizing as usual.

"Nope. I'm just here, eating my ziti, which you are not allowed to have, may I add, when the spoon went flying. Honestly, you should really invest in some ghost-busters." Just stop talking Sandra, just shut up before more stupidity comes flying out of my mouth.

"Mhm," he says, raising his eyebrows, and reaching for a paper towel. "So, the spoon just flew out of your hand?"

"What, are you calling me a liar?" I say, putting my hands on my hip.

"Yes." He says plainly, as if I am the dumbest and slowest person alive.

"Well, again, you are getting no dinner so just go away." I huff. I really am a child, but I am too on a roll to go back now.

"Well," He mocks in my voice, "You ruined my shirt." I look at the back of his shirt, at the TINY little stain there is. Ok maybe it wasn't that tiny, but it wasn't ruined.

"It's not ruined, it just needs to be washed, Octavius." I drawl, taking another spoon and serving myself a plate of dinner. I take off my apron, and look up at him, and his eyes are slightly more black then blue.

"Octavius, what?" I ask slowly, sitting down across from his still standing form. I begin to eat the ziti, my hunger getting the best of me.

"Just-" He starts huskily, and I can see his hands begin to grip the sides of the table. "Say it again."

I nearly choke on the bite of ziti, coughing slightly as I look up at him.

"Say what again?" I ask, wiping my mouth on a napkin and taking a drink from my water glass to try and hydrate my suddenly dry-mouth.

"My name." His voice is deeper now, deliberate, and unbelievably addictive. I gulp, the water doing nothing to help my throat.

I shift my gaze from his momentarily, the heat of his gaze too much for me to handle at the moment.

I don't trust my self-control.

"No." I say suddenly, the word leaving my mouth without thought. I exhale, frowning slightly as I look back up to him.

My refusal seems to break him from a trance, and he shakes his head slightly.

"Why not?" He whispers softly, leaning on his forearms and putting his face uncomfortably close to mine. Or rather, his lips too close to mine. I blink quickly, wetting my lips with my tongue quickly. The closeness of his face to mine is nothing like the experience with Kane, who only left me with bile and disgusted thoughts. The thoughts flooding my mind now are... well, they're different.

"I-" I stutter, and I look down at my hands in my lap, struggling to keep them to myself.

"You know what I really want right now?" He whispers so quietly I almost don't hear it. My hunger is forgotten and a fire begins to build in my cheeks, and I know I'm blushing.

"Hm? What?" My voice is barely audible, but I know he heard me.

He smiles, oh my god his beautiful smile. I see a flash of pearly teeth and he leans to whisper in my ear.

"Alessandra," He starts, his breath minty and warm on my ear, and I shiver. "I want some ziti." and he leans back suddenly, grabbing a plate and filling it with ziti. He leaves me gaping at his retreating back, as he takes his stolen ziti into his dungeon.