Page 9 of Jace's Mate

The wordpackechoed in her mind again, uninvited.

She frowned.It kept slipping into her thoughts—quiet but persistent.

Pack.Not group.Not household.Pack.

She shook the thought off like an annoying buzz and focused on the list.

“I need to go grocery shopping,” she announced.

Eldin stiffened.“Your uncle said you’re not to leave the house.”

Anikka shrugged, setting the list down with forced nonchalance.“Fine.I wasn’t in the mood to cook tonight anyway.”She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her midsection.

She didn’t notice the effect her posture had—how it lifted and framed her breasts beneath the modest floral dress.

Anikka had always assumed those old-fashioned outfits camouflaged her figure.They were Wilton’s idea of proper female attire.

But she hated them.

The frills.The buttons.The itchy necklines.

She dreamed of jeans.The soft, lived-in kind she saw in online catalogs.Or leggings, paired with a tee-shirt or—better yet—a fleece hoodie like the ones sold on camping gear sites.

And boots.

Yes.Black boots.Sturdy.Practical.With thick soles and steel toes.

Maybe they’d have a feminine flair.Maybe not.

Would she look dangerous in boots like that?

Shaking her head, Anikka fingered the seam of her insipid, flowered dress, her glare sharpening on Eldin.

She forced the daydream of black boots and fleece-lined jackets out of her mind and turned her attention back to dinner prep.

Control the controllable,she reminded herself.

Eldin would give in.He always did.

He was tough on the outside, but weak under pressure.Especially when she turned silent and let her gaze harden into something cold and sharp.

She watched the emotions play across his face—anger, frustration, stubborn resistance.Then she saw it.The exact moment he cracked.

It was always in the eyes.

“Fine!”Eldin snapped, clearly more afraid of Wilton returning to a cold kitchen than of disobeying orders.“Just give me the list.I’ll go get the ingredients.”

Anikka rolled her eyes.“Seriously?I’ve always gone shopping alone at the other houses,” she said, planting her hands on her hips.“Why am I suddenly not allowed to leave?What’s so different abouthere?”

Eldin glanced at the door her uncle had disappeared through, as if it might offer an answer.It didn’t.

Finally, he turned back to her, looking truly conflicted for once.“I don’t know.He just told me to keep you inside while we’re in Baltimore.Didn’t say why.”

Every fiber of Anikka’s being rebelled at the idea of being trapped in this claustrophobic, shabby rental.

The townhouse was miserable—cheaply furnished, dimly lit, and constantly smelling faintly of cat.No urine, thankfully, but the scent was there.Embedded in the fabric of the place.The ghosts of fur and dander never quite left.

Mice, though?That was a different story.