Chapter 191: One big, happy family

"He’s a bit feral, but as an Alpha and his adoptive father, I’ll teach him proper manners soon enough," Dean said with a solemn nod. Swaying slightly from the alcohol, he took a heavy step toward the cowering child.

Obeying an uncontrollable maternal instinct, I surged up from my chair and stepped between them, smoothly snatching the heavy plate right out of the tense boy’s hands.

"No. If he is to be our child now, then I should be the one to guide his upbringing," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady as I shifted my gaze from Nyland’s face to the young boy.

What shocked me most was the child’s reaction—or lack thereof—to the direct threat of an enormous, full-grown Alpha wolf. He didn’t flinch. Not a single muscle twitched in fear.

Instead, his dark eyes remained locked onto my chest, staring so intently it felt as though he meant to bore straight through my ribs to claim whatever had caught his attention. It was a terrifying, chilling look for someone so young.

"Ah, I knew you’d appreciate my gift!" the sick bastard boasted, puffing out his chest. "He looks just like me, doesn’t he? I picked him out specially from the rest. Granted, I had to take some useless little girl as part of the package, but she’s the reason I ended up with you."

Without a hint of shame, he popped the cork off a fresh bottle of wine right in front of me and glugged it down greedily from the neck, dark red drops spilling across his pristine white shirt.

He was the one who shouldn’t be sitting at a table with servants. Any servant would be mortified by such repulsive, barbaric behavior. Creatures like him belonged on a chain, eating scraps out of a rusted bowl beside a doghouse, rather than a disgraceful presence among decent people.

Ignoring every rule of self-preservation, and without giving a second thought to the risk that this feral, cornered child might snap or bite, I threw caution to the wind. Reaching down, I lifted him by his thin, bony armpits and pulled him straight onto my lap. While Nyland was preoccupied draining his bottle, I leaned in and whispered into the rigid boy’s ear, barely breathing the words:

"Play along... please."

"What did you just say?" Dean cut in sharply, tearing himself away from the bottle to fix me with a bloodshot, venomous stare that made the blood run cold in my veins.

"She promised to play with me after dinner," Damian supplied. His voice was surprisingly steady, far calmer than I could have anticipated. He wrapped his thin arms tightly around my neck, burying his face into my shoulder. Yet against my own chest, I could feel every muscle in his small body stretched taut as a piano wire.

Dean scrutinized us for an agonizingly long moment through bleary eyes before his lips parted into a crooked, lopsided grin that flashed the cold metal of his facial implants. His mental state was deteriorating rapidly, swinging wildly from explosive violence to smug satisfaction in a fraction of a second. It boded ill for us.

Very ill.

The bastard was beyond unpredictable. He was so completely unhinged that it was terrifying to guess which innocent word or misstep might trigger a murderous rage—or what twisted thought his warped mind would take a liking to next. There were no boundaries, no logic, no rules to rely on.

And now the stakes had skyrocketed, because an innocent child was caught in the crossfire. The awakened breeder within me wept bitter tears over every dark bruise and jagged scrape marring his small frame. Domineering bloodlines clearly carried a fiercely heightened, almost instinctual maternal drive alongside their hormonal dominance. I was utterly torn between the desperate urge to cradle and comfort this boy and the savage desire to drive a knife through Dean’s throat right where he sat.

"Once we finish eating, I’ll let you two get properly acquainted. After all, we’re one big, happy family now," Dean sneered, pulling a bottle of heavy liquor from beneath the table. He poured it into a slender glass clearly intended for champagne, though who was I to lecture a disgraced aristocrat on etiquette?

"You are too kind," I murmured, lacing my tone with artificial sweetness.

Pulling my plate closer, I speared the lonely piece of chicken on my fork and gently held it out to the boy. His hollow stomach let out a loud, pathetic rumble that echoed through the room. He parted his lips to tear into the meat, but before he could touch it, Dean slammed his fist onto the table with a deafening crack.

"He’s being punished for his insolence! Do not feed him!"

"You invited him to the table yourself," I snapped through clenched teeth, my jaw grinding as I glared at him with pure hatred.

"He is here to watch others eat—that is his punishment!" Dean barked, crossing his arms stubbornly as he reclined into his chair.

"Do you truly want our child’s very first memory of his mother to be this cruel?" I asked, my voice rising as my diplomatic restraint shattered against a wave of raw anger. "To remember sitting here starving, forced to watch food he isn’t allowed to touch...?"

It was exactly like trying to reason with a straight-jacketed mental patient to stop slamming his head against a concrete wall. Utterly futile.

"Fine. But only tonight, and only for you," Dean dropped, his voice dripping with annoyance as if this were the mildest inconvenience, a mere afterthought. "His punishment for his behavior is a full week with no food. He should thank you."

My lungs seized, suffocating under the weight of such profound sadism. I gripped my fork until the metal bit into my palms, and again held out the chicken to Damian. He paused, his wary eyes locked on the Alpha, before accepting the morsel between his lips and beginning to chew.

"And exactly how many days have passed... since this punishment began?" I pressed, mentally calculating based on my own agonizing experience. I knew the damage prolonged starvation could do. When I had suffered that massive hormonal collapse, I had stupidly stopped eating for days, and the agony of introducing solid food afterwards had been unbearable.

"Just one day! He won’t learn a damn thing like this! He’ll just get spoiled and keep misbehaving—"

"No, I am absolutely certain he has understood all his mistakes and from now on will be the most obedient boy," I whispered, wrapping my free arm around his middle. I recoiled inwardly at the horrifying, prominent sweep of his ribs. "Isn’t that right, Damian?"