Primals (Reverse Harem 1)

I think about asking her what made her change her mind. Why she’d come out of her room when nothing I could say or do had made a difference. But questions of that sort are a danger. I start asking things, then she’ll start asking about me. The tradeoff isn’t worth it. I tear my gaze away, and stare at my stew instead, picking my way carefully around the carrots, eating the rest.

Clarissa blows on her stew and tastes it cautiously. I can almost feel her reaction – it’s too hot for her. We’re too closely attuned. She tilts her head, listening to the wind. “I’m not really an indoor person. I’ve never been. I need to tell you I’m a bit of a claustrophobic. Though strangely enough, I also like cozy spaces and long, tight hugs.”

I shake my head. “I don’t like hugs,” I say without thinking. Why I’m volunteering this, I don’t know.

She chuckles. “Well, it doesn’t take a mind reader to know that.” She mixes her stew around. “Your guest room isn’t cozy at all, though,” she says, answering my unspoken question from before. “It’s stifling. How long has it been empty?”

“You’re its very first occupant,” I confess, realizing that whether I voice what’s on my mind or not she’s going to insist on making conversation.

“Well, that explains it, though I should have guessed. Now that I think about it, it’s surprising you even have a spare bedroom, being antisocial and all.”

I frown, only just biting back the growl that would warn anyone else to back off. “I’m not antisocial. I just haven’t found the right company. There’s a difference.”

She shrugs it off, like it isn’t important. “No need to explain. I know it well.”

She does?

She sighs. “Well, once I could think straight, I couldn’t stand staying in that little room another minute. I just had to get out of there. Then like I said, I got hungry.” She lifts her bowl. “And you know what? I still am. Enough talk. Let’s eat.”

She picks up her spoon and starts eating, stuffing the bits of rabbit meat and vegetables into her mouth and slurping the rich soup. Some of it trickles down her chin and she hastily wipes it off. “What?” she asks me, with an amused grin. “Never seen a hungry woman before?”

I don’t answer, digging into my own bowl of stew. She’s not the only one w

ho’s ravenous.

In minutes, my bowl is empty, not a drop of the stew remaining, my stomach fuller than before. I’d even eaten the damned carrots after all.

“Good?” Clarissa sets her own empty bowl in front of her.

I set mine down as well, nodding. “You’re right. You can cook. And it’s good to share a meal with someone again.”

My thoughts fly back to the last time I did, back at the village. Back when evenings meant sitting around the fire with several members of my pack. I lost myself in the image for a moment, savoring what I could no longer have.

“Wow.” Clarissa’s eyes grow wide. “You sure have a big family.”

I snap the image down, fighting the urge to snap at her as well. I’ve let her into my mind again. I’m out of practice keeping my guard up. It’s my own damn fault she got in. I need to work on that.

“Work on what?” she asks me.

“Nothing,” I tell her, my words terse. Letting her know in tone and body language that she needs to drop this. “You’re right. I did have a big family. End of story.”

Of course she’s not about to let that lie. “What happened?”

“We had our differences.”

“I see.” She leans back against the edge of the couch, her arms folded behind her like a cushion. “Well, a lot of families fail to get along at some point.”

I turn my head to look at her. “What about your family?” I ask to distract her, to get her off of my past and somewhere else. I feel almost guilty about it when I sense a pang of sadness from her, but it lasts only a moment.

“I was raised on a farm,” she says, and it’s her who is choosing her words carefully this time. “No siblings.”

I see the farm, acres of fields and meadows stretching out from every direction, a large house against the horizon and a few trees dotting the landscape.

“It looks nice.”

Clarissa nudges my shoulder. “Hey. Don’t read my mind without my permission.”

“You did it first,” I remind her, maybe a little harsher than necessary.