Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 47: Breakfast Mistake

VIOLET — POV

The smell of sizzling eggs and toasted bread filled the kitchen, mixing with the soft bubbling of the kettle on the stove. Inara stood beside me, humming under her breath as she sliced fruit into neat little sections, her hands moving fast and practiced.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, glancing sideways at me.

I didn’t look up. I spread the butter over the last piece of toast and stacked it onto the tray beside the steaming tea and fresh fruit. "He’s probably starving down there. No one’s checked on him since I asked yesterday."

Inara sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, she handed me a napkin and took a step back, wiping her hands on her apron. "Just don’t let Zain catch you."

"I’m not scared of him," I muttered, even though my heart kicked a little harder at the sound of his name.

I reached for the tray—

The door slammed open behind me, and the kitchen went dead silent.

Even before I turned, I felt him.

His presence crashed into the room like a storm—thick, electric, all-consuming. The staff froze mid-movement, hands paused in dough and ladles hovering above pots. Inara’s eyes widened as she took a cautious step back.

And then his voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Where do you think you’re taking that?" he sneered.

Slowly, I turned.

Zain stood in the doorway, his body tense, eyes locked on the tray in my hands like it was a weapon. His jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths.

I lifted my chin. "It’s breakfast."

"For him?" His voice was low, dangerous.

"I thought I made that obvious."

He stepped forward, boots thudding heavy on the stone floor, and I felt every eye in the kitchen glued to us.

"I didn’t give you permission," he said, voice colder now.

"I don’t need your permission," I snapped. "He’s still a human being."

Zain moved in close, towering over me, heat radiating from his skin like fire off coals. "He’s a prisoner. In my territory. Under my roof. You don’t feed the enemy."

"He’s not the enemy!" I hissed, trying to hold the tray steady even as my fingers trembled.

His hand shot out—not at me, but at the tray. He grabbed it, lifted it effortlessly from my hands, and slammed it down on the nearest counter. The teacup rattled against the plate.

Gasps rippled through the staff.

I glared up at him, seething. "You’re unbelievable."

"No," he growled, voice low enough that only I could hear, "I’m done playing nice while you play nursemaid to the man you were about to marry."

I stepped closer, daring him. "What—afraid a little breakfast will remind me what it’s like to be treated with respect?"

His eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think he gave you? Respect?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t—not with the heat in his stare threatening to unravel me all over again.

"Let me be clear," he said, voice sharp and final. "You go near that dungeon again—with or without food—and I’ll have the guards keep you out for good."

I gritted my teeth. "You don’t control me, Zain."

"I already do," he whispered, eyes dragging slowly over me, as if to prove it. "And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, leaving stunned silence and a tray full of food behind him.

And me—still burning.

Still shaking.

Still hating that he was right.

The moment the kitchen door slammed behind him, I realized just how tight my grip had been—my nails had left little half-moon marks in my palms. Inara rushed to the tray, straightening the teacup he’d nearly shattered.

"Gods," she whispered under her breath, casting a glance at the door. "He was furious."

"I noticed," I said flatly, wiping my hands on a towel to hide the shake in them.

She hesitated, eyes flicking to me. "Are you okay?"

No.

Not even a little.

But I gave her a stiff nod anyway. "I’m fine."

Except I wasn’t. Because the heat in Zain’s gaze still clung to my skin like smoke. Because the way he said you go near that dungeon again sounded more like a promise than a threat. And because I couldn’t stop my heart from reacting to him, even when I hated him the most.

I hated that he could make my knees weak with just one look.

I hated that I burned when he touched me.

And I hated that he thought he knew me—knew what I felt for Roman, or didn’t feel.

He didn’t know a damn thing.

I turned back to the tray and grabbed a piece of toast off the plate, ripping it in half with more force than necessary.

"You’re not going to listen to him, are you?" Inara asked quietly.

I hesitated. "No. I’m not."

"You’re going to take the food anyway?"

I glanced at her and shook my head. "No."

She blinked. "Then—what?"

I dropped the toast back on the tray. "I’m not feeding Roman. Not because Zain told me not to, but because he doesn’t deserve my kindness."

Inara looked like she wanted to ask something else, but wisely kept quiet.

I turned and walked out of the kitchen, the scent of breakfast still clinging to my clothes as I made my way down the hall. I didn’t know where I was going—anywhere but near the dungeon or Zain, honestly.

And yet...

I found myself wandering through the corridors until I reached the training yard. A dozen warriors were sparring out in the open, blades flashing under the sun, bodies moving in sharp, practiced precision.

But my eyes locked on one figure.

Zain.

He was shirtless, sweat slicking his muscles as he fought two wolves at once with nothing but sheer brutality. Every movement was calculated, precise—animalistic. His fists connected with one chest, then another jaw, and both men went down hard.

He stood there, chest heaving, like a beast just barely leashed.

And then, as if he sensed me...

His head turned.

Our eyes locked.

The entire world stilled.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His gaze devoured me from across the yard, heat and fury and hunger blazing in his eyes like wildfire.

He didn’t smirk.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched me—like I was the fight he really wanted.

And gods help me... part of me wanted to walk straight into that ring and let him take me apart piece by piece.

Instead, I turned and walked away—fast.

Because if I stayed a second longer, I would’ve run straight into the fire.

ZAIN

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, the air shifted.

It always did when she was near.

The chatter died, spatulas froze mid-stir, and the staff practically glued themselves to the counters, not daring to breathe too loud. But none of that mattered—because the only thing I saw was her.

Violet.

Back turned to me, hair tied in a messy knot at the base of her neck, and sleeves rolled up as she carefully arranged something onto a tray like it was sacred.

For him.

My lip curled.

"Where do you think you’re taking that?" I asked, my voice low, venom-laced.

She didn’t jump. Didn’t flinch. She just straightened her spine, slow and stubborn like she was bracing for war.

"It’s breakfast," she said without looking at me.

I stalked forward, the weight of my footsteps sending a ripple of unease through the room. Inara froze by the stove, watching me with wide eyes, but I ignored her.

My focus was on Violet.

"That wasn’t the question," I growled, stepping up behind her. "I asked where you think you’re taking that."

She turned then, chin lifted, tray still in her hands. "To Roman."

That name—his name—on her lips lit a fire in my gut. I stepped closer, my chest nearly brushing hers.

"You’re feeding him now?" I asked, voice soft but sharp. "Is that what this is? Playing house in a fucking dungeon?"

"You said he wasn’t going to die," she bit out. "You said you weren’t going to hurt him."

"And I meant it," I hissed. "But I didn’t say you could treat him like your lover."

Something flickered across her face—guilt, maybe. Or anger. But her scent betrayed her. She was burning underneath it all. And fuck, I felt it. The pull. The bond. The storm between us that never truly settled.

"He’s not my lover," she snapped.

I leaned down, close enough for only her to hear. "Then why are you feeding him like one?"

Her breath caught.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

And I knew.

I knew she was trying to shove me away with every last ounce of her willpower, but her body hadn’t gotten the message.

"You don’t get to decide what I do," she whispered, but her voice shook.

I tilted my head, nose brushing her temple, inhaling her—the lingering scent of her arousal, the faintest trace of her defiance.

"You’re wrong," I murmured. "Because whether you accept it or not, you’re mine. And I’m done pretending otherwise."

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to tell me to go to hell—but I stepped back before she could speak. If I didn’t, I’d slam that tray out of her hands and take her right there on the damn counter.

Instead I did slam the tray on the counter, simply because I was about to lose cool.

Violet’s eyes burned into me, rage and confusion warring behind them—but I didn’t care. I turned my back and walked out of the kitchen.

Because if I stayed another minute, I’d forget every rule I’d set for myself and pin her to the wall until she was screaming my name again.

Let her hate me for now.

I could take it.

Because in the end... she’d still be mine.