a straight face. Darcy honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Nothing better than squirrel.”
“Well, I’m afraid we were fresh out of rodents.” Wystan lifted the lid of a massive tureen in the middle of the table, releasing a cloud of savory steam. He began ladling out generous helpings. “So you’ll have to make do with beef casserole.”
Joe looked sadly down into the bowl that Wystan put in front of him. “No ghost pepper? No habaneros? Not even a little hot smoked paprika?”
“I thought it best to keep things bland,” Wystan replied. “Fenrir’s not used to cooked food, after all.”
Joe made a rude noise. “I thought we were trying to keep him human, not bore him back into his dog shape. Hot sauce, Fenrir?”
Without a word, Seren intercepted the offered bottle. She put it to one side.
“Come on, baby. It’s going to be hard enough for Fifi to manage cutlery without juggling you as well.” Diana took Beth back from Fenrir, popping her into a high chair at the end of the table. “Do you need any help, Fenrir?”
Fenrir shook his head, though he was staring down at his cutlery as though it was an SAT exam. He picked up a fork, fisting his fingers around the handle. Then he frowned. He adjusted his grip, holding the implement more naturally.
Huh. He did that on his own.
Fenrir couldn’t have copied someone else; the rest of the squad was still buttering bread or waiting to be served. Had he observed how to hold a fork when he’d been a dog…or was it something he’d remembered from further back?
Fascinated, Darcy covertly watched as Fenrir poked at his casserole. He managed to spear a chunk of meat, lifting out of the bowl.
Fenrir paused, his eyes flicking in her direction. Face heating, Darcy dropped her gaze to her own plate. She fiddled with her bread roll, trying to pretend that she hadn’t been staring. She waited for Fenrir to go back to his food, but he just sat there, fork hanging in mid-air.
Blaise nudged her. “He’s waiting for you,” she muttered. “It’s a hellhound thing. The pack eats in order of hierarchy. It’s his way of showing respect.”
“Oh.” Darcy stuffed a bite of bread in her mouth. It was warm and good, freshly baked. Swallowing, she offered Fenrir a hesitant smile.
He smiled back—just a slight, tentative curve of his lips. Ducking his head, he took a cautious bite of casserole. His eyes widened.
“Good?” Wystan asked.
Fenrir nodded with much more enthusiasm than he’d displayed before. He swallowed—and spluttered, choking. Rory hastily pounded on his back.
“Next time, remember to chew,” the griffin shifter said as Fenrir sucked in a great gasp of air. “Maybe you should have made soup, Wystan.”
“No,” Fenrir gasped. Despite his slight misadventure, he shoveled up a bigger forkful of casserole. “I like this. Is good. Almost as good as squirrel.”
Blaise shot a teasing look at Wystan. “Almost as good.”
“I shall take it as a ringing endorsement,” Wystan replied, unruffled. “In any event, it’s your turn to cook tomorrow. Let’s see you do better.”
“Ha! You’re on.” Blaise turned to Fenrir. “You just wait. I’ll make you my mom’s chicken pie. I promise, it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”
“Only until Fenrir experiences my famous shrimp gumbo!” Joe announced. “Now that’s a true taste sensation!”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘explosion,’” Callum muttered.
“We’d better make a list of all the things Fenrir needs to try,” Rory said, sounding amused. “Before Joe burns out his entire digestive system.”
“Oooh! Oooh!” Edith flapped her hands in excitement. “Chocolate! He’s never eaten chocolate!”
The conversation disintegrated into a flurry of overlapping suggestions and arguments. Darcy left the crew to it, happy to eat in silence and listen to them bicker over her head.
Fenrir too seemed content to let the conversation flow past without him. He ate slowly but neatly, scooping up each bite with care. He mostly kept his attention on his plate, but a few times she caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Darcy was glad that he didn’t seem to want to talk. The long, confusing day was catching up with her. Friendly and welcoming as everyone was, she wasn’t used to spending so much time with other people. She longed to lie down in a dark room, close her eyes, and just be for a bit.
“Well, it’s getting late,” she announced, as soon as politeness allowed. She pushed away her plate, getting to her feet. “I’m gonna turn in.”
Blaise immediately