“Hence why I thought it was time I brought you here.” The softer way he’d spoken alluded to a vulnerability that confirmed this was a space he didn’t share with anyone before he said so himself. “Not many know I live here, and that’s how I prefer it.”

Yet he wanted to share it with me.

My heart tumbled and trembled.

I ate to keep from asking anything else that might propel me into more trouble. I’d already landed in too much. As it was, I still wasn’t sure if I should be grateful or extremely worried about this situation.

A situation I’d encouraged. That I’d greedily brought upon myself.

Eating with uncontrollable speed, I settled on both and tried to refrain from licking the plate.

Before I could, it was snatched from under my nose. I frowned but made myself say, “Thank you.” The plate returned a moment later with another slab of meat. I stared at it, then up at the wolf, my neck protesting due to his height. “I’ve had plenty.”

He just grunted, “Eat, Aster,” then turned for the door. He had to duck to fit through it, and I didn’t know why, but I found it so humorous I had to bite back a laugh.

Deciding to show a little delayed appreciation, I scrubbed my plate, the glass, and even the pan he’d left to soak in the water. I set them all on the countertop to dry just as a loud crack came from outside. Pushing the dusty lace curtain aside with my damp fingers, I saw nothing but vines and the weed-infested path leading into the woods.

So I followed the sound as it continued through the front garden and to the side of the cottage. In a small clearing surrounded by a cluster of redwood trees, a shirtless Scythe raised an axe and brought it down upon the waiting chunk of wood atop a tree stump.

Breath dried over my tongue, gluing it to my mouth as I attempted to warn him of my presence. There was no need. He knew I was there, and he wiped at his mouth as he turned.

His gaze roamed up my body to settle on my face. “Had enough to eat?”

I nodded, freeing a breath slowly while moving to a grouping of rocks encircling what looked to have once been a firepit. He watched me take a seat, my hands spreading over the smooth stone beneath me, then he began collecting the wood he’d chopped.

The sun had warmed enough that he should’ve been sweating. Yet he carried the wood with ease to the side of the cottage where more had already been stacked, his skin dry. I tried to trap it, the need to know, but it escaped in a tentative rush. “Have you eaten enough?”

“Ate at the Keep while you were still snoring.”