a moment, and then he stands up and moves behind my chair. He comes back a few seconds later with a tall, wooden stool. I’m assuming he grabbed it from the kitchen, but it’s the perfect height for me to eat the soup from without having to leave the comfy armchair beside the fire.
I scoot forward a little and finally take the spoon from Reule after he sets the soup down in front of me. My hand is still shaking like crazy. I hadn’t realized how weak I still am, and I can feel Reule gazing down at me in concern. But I’m determined to at least feed myself, and I manage to take a bite.
The soup is pretty good. It’s some kind of broth, but it’s savory and filling. I’m probably the worst cook ever. Alistair and I eat out nearly every night back home, I’m ashamed to say. So, even though I can’t identify the flavor, I’m pretty impressed that Reule made this for me. I mean, he could have made it from a can, but I certainly wouldn’t know the difference.
After I’ve taken a few bites, Reule sighs in defeat and I look up to offer him a smile. He rocks back and forth on his feet in front of me for a moment, and points between himself and the front door while he says something in his deep, growly voice.
I wish I could tell him I appreciate everything he’s done—even the simple act of letting me know he’s going to step outside. But I just smile shyly and nod, continuing to eat my soup with shaky hands.
Reule picks up his discarded shirt from the floor and slips it back over his head. I can’t help feeling a little disappointed, even though this is so not the time to be having those kinds of thoughts. Once his sexy chest and abs are covered up again, he walks over to a small closet by the front door and pulls out another thick coat, just like the one he gave me. He glances over at me one last time, and then he walks outside.
The house instantly feels quieter and so much more intimidating somehow. I eat a few more bites and glance around the room anxiously, and I can’t help casting my eyes at the front door every few seconds to check if Reule is coming back in.
I know he’s not holding me prisoner. It’s pretty obvious I was dumped on this guy’s doorstep without his knowledge or consent. I wish I knew why, but it’s not like I can ask. Even though it seems like I’ve been given to Reule as some kind of messed up gift, and I’m fairly certain the guy is some kind of scary type of shifter, I haven’t gotten any bad vibes from him. After being around supernaturals most of my life, I can usually read people pretty well.
But still, I’d be stupid not to look around while I’m alone. What if Reule secretly has a bunch of little slave girls hidden somewhere? I really doubt it, but you never know. At the very least, maybe I’ll find a clue to help me figure out where the hell I even am.
I carefully push the stool with my soup bowl away so I have enough room to stand up. My legs are stiff and sore—which probably has more to do with being stuck in cramped cages the past few days than with nearly freezing to death—so I stretch for a few seconds and wrap the fuzzy white blanket around myself as I slowly pad across the room. My ankle twinges painfully everytime I bear any weight on it, but I’ll just have to wait a little longer to try and find a wrap or something to help it heal the way it needs to.
The room I’m in is large and open with high ceilings, and the floors and walls are wood. There’s no TV or anything, but there are two large, cozy-looking tan couches and a coffee table close to the fireplace. Behind this little sitting area, there’s a long, wooden dining table and chairs. Further back in the room, there’s a loft with a wooden ladder leading up to it. The place honestly looks like something out of a Log Cabin Homes magazine. It’s clean and tidy and cozy, but there’s nothing personal anywhere. No art, no photos, and no trinkets. There are a few cabinets and another chest like the one Reule