Free Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy by Evanne Lorraine

torment.”
    She swallowed at the erotic threat in his tone and at the
frightening need inside her that escalated from his casual endearment. “Please
let me say this. I’ll get past the need for constant reassurance. Scarlet said
I’d be much stronger in a few days. She also explained how permanent bonding
is. I do not want to repay your kindness by stealing your peace and ruining
your life.”
    “Is it my turn yet?” Chet scowled at her.
    She dropped her gaze again. “Sure.”
    “You are not spoiling anything for me. The bonding
phenomenon is part of my DNA, the same as a werewolf heritage is part of yours.
What caused me to act like an ill-mannered pup was my misguided notion that I’m
in control of my own destiny. Needing someone else like I need fresh meat came
as a surprise. One I did not handle well.”
    A sigh of relief puffed from her.
    Chet cocked an eyebrow. “My bad behavior pleases you?”
    “No, it’s just that needing you isn’t so awful if you need
me too.” The truth was his need was a heady thing, empowering her in unexpected
ways. She let herself be pleased with his explanation—with him. “Is it normal
for me to need your touch?”
    “You are a constant threat to my control, sweet torment. And
yes, wolves are very tactile—we need a lot of physical contact. Especially…” He
didn’t finish his thought, but small spots of color darkened his cheekbones. He
moved away to turn off the ovens and plate the meal.
    Her cheeks heated to match his as she imagined what a
sensual lover her dangerous dandy would be. She tucked away the possibility for
now and followed him into the dining room with the salad and her wine goblet.
She was inordinately pleased to find he’d set two places side by side in the
center of the dining table. His nearness grounded her in ways she didn’t want
to think about until she was stronger and clearer. There were six chairs on
each side and one on each end. After he’d set down the platter and a lazy
Susan, he held her chair.
    Self-conscious over wearing nothing except his robe, she
resisted the urge to pretzel her legs, and let herself be scooted in to the
table. She took her napkin, laying it gently across her lap.
    Her mouth watered from the aroma of charbroiled steaks, hot
potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms.
    “I’m starving.” She dished up a mound of greens, lifted the
salad bowl, and offered it to Chet.
    He scooped out a generous portion and passed it back. “More
wine?”
    “Yes, please.” She forked greens into her mouth and chewed.
    Chet ate even faster than she did. The salad course came and
went in seconds.
    When she stared at his empty plate, he explained,
“Werewolves have a fast metabolism and shifting burns lots of calories.
Therefore, we feast more than eat.”
    “Needing to consume extra calories is one of my favorite
fantasies.” She accepted a baked potato and considered the lazy Susan’s
selection. Pottery bowls in varying sizes held condiments. A gravy boat was
filled with a pale, glossy sauce.
    “You don’t need to worry about your weight. I counted your
ribs.”
    The reminder he’d seen her naked heated her cheeks. “The
rogues’ menu wasn’t appealing.” The admission brought a nasty flash of rotting
meat and never being allowed clothes. She locked away the ugly images and made
herself speak lightly. “I usually have a healthy appetite. Tonight I’m ravenous.”
    He forked an enormous porterhouse onto her plate.
    She leaned away from the steak. “I’m hungry—not ready to set
a new world record. I can’t eat all that.”
    “Not a problem, I’ll finish your leftovers.”
    She narrowed her eyes, assessing how serious he was. Chet
was a foot taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier, but he didn’t seem to
have any body fat. Could he really eat five pounds of beef, buttery mushrooms,
a loaded baker, salad, and have room for more?
    “You’re a skeptic,” he teased.
    Ivy nodded, took another sip of the fruity wine, and