Woman. I’m with your brothers. No using that tone with me now.

A little zing of pleasure hit me. I loved it when I got the upper hand with him.

Just you wait. Payback is coming.

Good. I couldn’t wait.

Chapter Six

After my shower, I went in search of food and Ciara. Thankfully, her office was by the estate’s main kitchen, so I could kill two birds with one stone. This time I didn’t care how much she hedged or tried to get rid of me. I was going to find out what was going on with her. Why she’d been ignoring me.

It took me a bit to work my way through the halls. By the time I got to the kitchen, my stomach was rumbling. Taking on Donovan and my brothers had burned a ton of calories, and if I wanted to stay in control of my wolf, I needed a solid meal. Or three.

I pushed through the double swinging doors. Ranges took up one wall. A gleaming slab of white marble covered the center island, with cabinets underneath that matched the black and chrome ranges. Another wall featured four full-size refrigerators next to three full-size freezers. A walk-in pantry bigger than three of my dorm rooms was off to the right. The cabinets, pantries, and fridges were stocked with anything and everything a Were’s heart desired. It was massive.

There were others in the room, but Ciara caught my attention. For the first time since I’d gotten home, she wasn’t running away from me. She gave me a nod.

She’d pulled her dark-chocolate hair into a high knot. The little bit of makeup she’d been wearing this morning was gone, and I wondered if she’d been upset. Had she been crying? Was that why she’d washed her face?

Without makeup, I could tell how much older Ciara looked. Muraco was the only wolf I’d known to show his age, but he was super old, and his mate had died. He’d lived a long life and had an understandable reason to age.

But Ciara? She shouldn’t be aging. She couldn’t be. She was way too young for that.

No. It had to be something else. Whatever was bothering her must be weighing on her, but she’d bounce back.

Ciara closed the distance between us. “May I have a word?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask me. Do—”

She shook her head. “In my office?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“You’re going to like what’s for dinner tonight,” our head chef, Enzo, called out as I walked by. He was sitting on a stool at the counter. Papers were piled around him, and his assistants were meal planning. Chef Enzo and his staff of three traveled with the Wayfarers wherever we went. When a full stomach was the difference between being in control and not, food was a big deal. Weres took mealtime seriously, and cooking for a pack was a full-time job.