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“Woman,” he growled. “I can hear your heart racing. I told you there was nothing to fear from me.” He slowly slid his hands off the back of the chair, his nails scraping the wood ominously before he started walking around the table and closer to me.

This in turn had me moving to the other side, our steps parallel; the only thing stopping him from getting to me was the slab of wood that suddenly seemed wholly inadequate.

He gripped the back of the chair at the head of the table, situated right in front of the fireplace, pulled it out, and sat his heavy form in it.

He dwarfed that massive thronelike structure, leaning back so the wood creaked from his substantial weight. The firelight caught the sharp points of his horns as they arched up and backward.

“Sit,” he growled.

His voice sounded so monstrous, all guttural and harsh, that a small sound left me and I stumbled back so quickly I nearly lost my footing and had to reach out and grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

But I obeyed. I sat down across from him and realized how grossly I’d underestimated the size of the table.

At first I thought the table had seemed grand and long, enough distance separating us so that when we sat, I could still feel like I had control and safety.

But as I sat down on one end and he on the other, I realized how close we really were. So close I smelled the wolf, the primal scent that clung to him.

To occupy myself, or perhaps as a distraction from the situation, I glanced down at the large silver platter situated at the place setting in front of me.

I could hear the Beast lifting his dome, metal banging against metal so loudly I actually glanced up.

He tossed the lid aside like some kind of heathen who couldn’t be bothered with formalities, then glanced down at the entire roasted chicken before him. He lifted his gaze to mine as if he felt me watching him, and his lower tusks became more prominent as he bared his teeth.

Was that supposed to be a semblance of a smile?

At the startled sound that left me, he scolded and gestured a large paw toward me, presumably to open my lid, too.

Maybe he wanted my approval at dinner, which seemed unbelievable, but I did what he said.

I raised my fingers, trying to stop the shaking in them, and gripped the top, lifting it and instantly inundated with the scent of rosemary and butter, roasted herbs and onion. I set the lid on the table, seeing another whole chicken before me.

At least five potatoes had been cut up amidst carrots and celery and placed around the meat.

This was more food than I’d ever seen in a sitting. And certainly nothing that I could ever finish on my own.

“Is it to your liking?” he growled out.

I looked up at him, slowly dragging my tongue along my bottom lip before pulling the flesh between my teeth. I didn’t miss how he glanced down to watch the act. He slammed his hands down on the table, his expression showing frustration as his head lowered, his gaze still watching my mouth.

His nails dug into the wood, creating gouges that sounded so loud I pressed my back to the chair, trying to make myself as small as possible as a fearful noise left me.

His growls grew louder, and as if he caught himself, he pulled his nails out of the wood and cleared his throat. For a second he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and kept his focus off of me.

“Eat,” he finally said and ran his paw over his face and fangs. His chest was rising and falling as he looked down at his platter, his beastly, bushy eyebrows pulling down low as he stared at his food.

He didn’t wait for me to obey before he tore into his own food.

I felt my eyes widen and my mouth go slack, and I couldn’t stop watching as he devoured his food. And that was exactly what I was witnessing.

There was nothing formal or delicate, noble or human, in the way he ate. His paws and claws were swift as he picked up the chicken and tore at the meat with his sharp teeth, growling and snarling as if he were ravenous.

Meat was flying everywhere as he shoved it in his mouth, then he attacked the vegetables, potatoes, and pieces of carrots and onion scattered around the tabletop, covering his face and all of his fur.

I concealed my mouth with a hand and kept watching him, but when he glanced up and saw my undoubtedly horrified look, he froze. After looking down at the platter, then at my untouched one, then back into my eyes, I felt a strange sort of amusement spring to life in me.

“I, ugh,” he said in that strange, deeply distorted voice of his. He ran the back of his paw over his mouth and reached for his wine goblet, guzzling it so fiercely the ruby-red liquid dribbled down his hairy chin and chest.

I burst out laughing then, unable to stop the humor I found in this very unconventional situation.