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Despite my pretense of not enjoying his company, the annoying man seems to know me better than I thought. He keeps turning up once a week or so. Never so soon that his company is tiresome, but not so long I feel forgotten.

Walking over to the cabinet he brought me, one he called a “housewarming present,” I pull out the jug of wine.

It’s been there so long there’s a light layer of dust covering the cork. When I turn around to clean it off, my mate is standing over the pot, tearing apart herbs, and dropping them in the stew. Then, she picks up my salt bowl, sprinkling a goodly amount into the brew.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She barely spares me a glance as she stirs. “If you expect me to eat this, I want it to taste good.”

The words cut me. It’s my job to provide for my mate and take care of her, and she’s already unhappy with the food I’m making her.

Somehow, she senses my discomfort and sighs. “It smells delicious, Sir Wolf, but a little salt and some herbs will make it even better. I promise.”

I close the distance between us and sniff at the contents of the pot. She’s not wrong. The herbs she added are already mingling with the meaty aroma of the stew.

“Smells good,” I mutter, carrying the wine jug to the table and wiping it off with a cloth.

Pleased she likes the scent of the dinner I’m making, I’m unsure how to show it. It’s been so long since I’ve been around a female in my human form. I’m clueless of what to say to her.

I pop the cork on the jug, and she watches as I pour wine into two cups before handing her one.

“Do you have a name, or will I just call you Wolf?” she asks as she takes the cup.

Her pale fingers brush mine, and I’m so distracted by the contact I miss her question. “What?”

“Do you have a name, or are you just Wolf?”

I move back to the table, giving her a little space even though my instincts scream at me to stay within arm’s reach at all times. Then I swallow down half my wine before I answer, “My name is Conall.”

“Conall.”

I like the way her lips shape themselves around my name. The faint catch in her throat.

“What’s your name?” I ask, a little embarrassed I haven’t queried about it before now.

“Scarlett.”

My eyes move over her hair and deep crimson cape. The name suits her.

“Would you like to remove your cape?”

“I’d like to go to my grandmother’s.”

I let my expression answer her.

With a sigh, she sets her wine aside and reaches for the ties at the neck of her cloak. Her fingers fumble with the knots, but they don’t loosen an iota.

I set my cup down and move over to her, steeling myself for the way her scent affects me. She smells even better now that her natural fragrance is mixed with mine in my home.

“May I help?”.

It’s obvious she wants to tell me no, but she sighs and nods, dropping her hands. My fingers feel thick and stiff as I work the knots until they finally loosen. Removing the cape from her shoulders, I take it to the hook by the door.

All while resisting the urge to bury my face in the material to breathe in her scent.

Neither of us speaks as we eat our meal. I want to ask her questions, to learn more about her, but her scent is still harsh with the burnt edge of her anger. It’s doubtful she’ll share anything with me.

She helps me wash up in silence. My wolf whines within me. He doesn’t like how cold she is toward us. But I don’t know how to fix it. How to thaw the ice around her.