CAIN

TWELVE

"You are so easy to please."

His fork lifted the pasta into my mouth, and I swear by Hecate's great name I could have cried at how good it tasted. He was not eating, despite having spent the last hour cooking himself after my attempt at dinner resulted in a broken saucepan.

Once I had discovered the sight of his kitchen, I was almost intent on staying in this royal palace forever and forgoing my life of solitude - although my life had been anything but peaceful these past weeks.

The room was in a similar fashion to the rest of the palace with high ceilings and a grand oak scheme, but it felt familiar - lived in. His Fuzziness told me he liked to cook himself, making me smile as I imagined him in a frivolous apron, a domesticated man as opposed to a lycan.

I sat on top of the counter top while he prepared my pesto pasta, a meal fit for kings.

"I'll admit you're a better cook than me," I told him, taking a sip of the wine resting beside me, "Even my potions won't stay together."

He smiled as I said this, stealing the glass from my hands to try some for himself. I said nothing, only watched. "I didn't realise you drank," I told him.

Cain was looking the most relaxed I had ever seen him, which made me hesitant. It was as if he knew something I didn't. "And why's that, my dear Morgana?"

I could only give a shrug my shoulders, "Maybe I thought you were too pious." Or maybe because I thought that with his physique, he would only eat broccoli and the flesh of dead witches.

His hand was on my inner thigh, "There are many things I would worship, a goddess of the moon is not one of them."

My hands reached for his throat, gently brushing a thumb across his larynx. I could feel him move around my hips, positioning himself between my legs. He was before me in all his glory. A predator, but so soft spoken I could hardly feel nervous.

He did not seem to mind the invasion of privacy as I traced his jawline. He only hummed slightly as I kissed the base of it. "Why do you torment me so?"

I laughed, pulling away, "I don't know what you mean."

His fingers came under my chin, thumb on my lip and mouth nipping my ear to regain the lost contact. "Surely you know what it means to kiss a wolf's neck?" he murmured.

I was too embarrassed to admit that I didn't, but he knew so much from my silence. "You know, I can cook you finer things than pasta, Ana. I can call the chef to serve us some better wine and steak."

My nose scrunched inadvertently at the thought of eating something so cold, "It's not customary for witches to eat meat."

His eyebrows softened a little in confusion, a wolf trying to understand how someone would not eat meat, before he grinned. "You know, growing up, I was always told tales of witches eating children."

My eyebrows raised slightly, "Funny, I heard the same thing about you."

"I just never imagined the wicked witch so averse to a little blood."

"It's a philosophy thing," I told him, "We practice that all things are connected by a common essence. All things in this universe are magic, meaning to eat a once living thing is to consume another's soul."

His hands were playing at the ends of my hair. "And do you believe that?"

"When I was younger, maybe, now I'm not so sure," I paused, reaching to push his hands away from me. "Do they truly see me as wicked?" I asked.

My mind wandered to the past, of the actions I had taken that had forced me to leave my own coven. It was a strange thing for a witch to do - to live without sisters. I had once considered what was known about me, but from Alice I could only gauge that werewolves were wary of all who wielded magic.

"I am ashamed that you had to ask," Cain confided lowly,  "They wouldn't be so frightened if they knew how small you are."

"Careful now, Your Fuzziness, if you wish for your head to remain on that lovely neck of yours," I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, kissing his dimple when he smiled.

He lifted me with one arm around my waist as I squealed against my better judgement. The dog held me in level with him, stealing a kiss on my mouth before throwing me over his shoulder. "You can decapitate your king another day. For now, I want to hold you."

My attempts to overcome his grip were in vain. "My king, my arse."

"Such treasonous words," he was enjoying himself as he walked out the kitchen, and towards his private quarters, "Will those be your last?"

I scoffed, "My last words will be a curse on you, and every royal werewolf to come."

"Then I'll look forward to whatever creative punishment you bestow on me."