27. Whitley Whitt

Chapter 27

Whitley Whitt

When in doubt, carbs .

“That’s it. Just a bit more.” I squeeze the plastic piping container, whirling it in my hand just right to cover the cupcake in sugary-sweet goodness. “Well, it looks like I can at least control myself in the kitchen.”

Delayed emotional reactions can be a tough bitch.

This morning while watching Connor sleep, the word mate blasted through my brain, making me feel woozy. I rushed down to the kitchen to bake in response. Panicking apparently gets me thrown out of windows two stories in the air. Been there, done that. So now we bake, swirl bright frosting, and throw edible glitter everywhere.

At least the motions of baking cupcakes I know by rote. It soothes me somehow, and no matter what Connor says, I never really made them to piss him off. They just sort of happen when I need comfort, probably because of how many times I heard Grandma say, “You can’t be sad with a cupcake in your hand.”

Pushing wisps of hair from my face, I glance down the huge wooden table, filled with various pans of cupcakes. A smile pulls at my lips. I suppose not much has changed.

Connor is going to shit a brick. Hopefully, after we have a nice picnic outside.

Warmth spreads at how he cuddled me this morning, and how his arms reached for me in his sleep when I got out of bed.

Last night he was so nice trying to help me, and changing into the wolf did get easier the more I did it. By the time we made it to the bedroom last night, I could change at will, but it wore me out entirely.

Connor then helped me wash in the shower before bed, and I hate that it turned me on, but I was too tired to want to do anything about it. After a short run in the woods, I needed another cleaning off anyway, and I let him assist, some sense telling me that he needed to do it. It was also really nice to just be taken care of without it having to lead to sex, and I adored the lack of expectation.

I groan aloud, leaning on the counter, and rub my hands over my face. My thoughts are becoming stranger by the day.

Me. Mated to a werewolf, the asshole boss who is now occupying all my thoughts and dreams. My hair kinks, and a light snapping sound pops in my ear.

A rough growl escapes my lips as I look down at the second hair tie broken since this morning. “Come on.”

I scrunch my eyes closed and breathe in deep, relaxing my hands down at my sides, sensing when my hair relaxes. I sigh.

At least I got finished with the cupcakes before it decided to wild out again.

The sky brightens through the nearby window of the kitchen, and I move to look out it, wondering if I can spot the maze where so much changed for me last night. I bet that fountain, the one that reminds him of me, is absolutely stunning in the daytime.

I pick up one of the cupcakes covered in bright pink icing and pull the paper foil away from the bottom of it. This is going to be so good. I greedily lick my lips and open my mouth just as the stone of the fireplace moves, and Connor steps inside the kitchen.

His features contort into shock as he looks at me. “Don’t do it. Whitley do not eat that.”

I frown at him as he stares at the cupcake in my hand, then pull it away as if to hide it from him. My gaze trails over the different-colored cupcakes, in all their sugary glory.

“Put it down,” he hisses, striding toward me.

“No!” I laugh and squeal when he chases me to steal my precious treat. “Just because you don’t like them doesn’t mean I have to suffer!”

“If you eat that, you won’t be able to control the change for at least an hour, maybe more.” He catches me, and his breath tickles my ear.

I shudder at how his closeness excites me.

“That’s why you hate them.”

I melt at the light kiss he presses to my ear and how his arms tighten before letting me go.

He nods toward the cupcakes. “They smell divine. You don’t know how many times I have eaten one and had to go run for an hour. Most treats are that way, but whatever you put in these makes it even longer, which is why I accused you of poisoning me.”

I blink at that. “Poisoning you? Hmm, maybe it’s the hazelnut.” I mentally check all the ingredients, wondering what it could possibly be to make it last longer.

“Yeah. It takes roughly twenty minutes after I’ve eaten a regular cupcake. If I run it off in the woods, its takes even less time—something about our monster form breaks down the glucose faster—but yours pack a bigger punch.”

Eyes skating over his expensive, tailored suit, I notice he’s dressed early today in a dark-blue three piece, and it doesn’t look like I will be getting that breakfast picnic after all.

My stomach takes this opportunity to growl and a painful lump forms in my throat. “I wish you would have told me that last night.”

“I’m so sorry, Whitley. I didn’t think to mention foods last night.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is my fault. I’ve never turned anyone before, and I apologize—I should have thought to tell you.”

I wave it off, not wanting him to feel worse. “It’s fine. I don’t have to eat the cupcakes now. I can always eat them when everyone goes to bed, right? Just tell me you have food somewhere I can eat.”

He winces and his face falls. “I may have some protein drinks in the fridge. I’ve stupidly been eating more lately because of this potion I’ve been taking to quell my reaction to you. But there’s really not that much of a diet change—it’s just better to eat all-natural ingredients and be aware of super sugary foods. Also limit the caffeine.”

My face falls. “You’ve been taking a potion?”

He shakes his head. “I know. Trust me, never again. If I had known I had a mate, I would never have taken any. They’re dangerous.”

A flash of worry streaks across his expression and he pulls me to him, touching my face gently. “Promise me you will never take one.”

The fear in his tone and the sincerity in his gaze has me nodding. Potions? It makes me think of Kronk holding Kuzco’s poison and I wonder if there really could be an Izma somewhere. “I promise no potions, but we definitely need to talk about diet.”

His back goes ramrod straight, and his face loses all trace of color.

I move to comfort him and rub his arm. “It’s just a diet change, Connor. It will be alright, I’m sure I can get used to it.”

“Do not move. I will be right back.”

“What? Where are you going?” I call after him, but he moves so fast, practically leaping toward the dining-room door. What the hell?

My stomach cramps lightly, and I rub at my tummy absentmindedly just as the sounds of shouting raise from somewhere in the castle. I focus intently and realize it’s a woman.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do, Connor O’Doyle,” I hear someone shout.

My blood begins to boil. Who is yelling at him? I also don’t like how high-handed she sounds.

I’m the only one who gets to yell at him. My fingers tear at the buttons of my chef’s whites; the urge to march to wherever they’re arguing is overwhelming in the extreme. Wait, no. What am I doing? He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.

My hair stands on end, and my fingers twitch with the need to claw out. I don’t know why I suddenly feel so protective of him, but I can’t seem to control it.

“Shit.” The kinky strands of my hair bush out around my head as something in me reacts.

I turn on my heel and push my way through the dining-room doors, uncaring that there will be guests in here shortly as the shouting match continues.

My new work shoes, that Connor just happened to have a second pair of, clip along the black-and-white marble floor, and I fight to keep the snarl off my expression at the sight of him arguing with a stunningly beautiful dark-haired woman at the door.

What the heck would the guests think if they saw?

For the first time since I arrived at the castle, I ignore the glittering chandelier near the grand staircase that always makes my heart a little happy when I see it and glare at my mate .

“Connor, if I could have a moment?” I snap, snagging his attention from the woman in the foyer.

“You see?” she says, gesturing my way with a hardened expression on her face. “ She is going to have questions. You can’t just dictate how this is going to go, like everything else in your life. I swear, between you and Vlad, I’m not sure who is the more pigheaded.”

I fume and plant my hands on my hips as another cramp echoes in my side, taking in the newcomer.

She’s dressed in high fashion, sporting cream-colored wide leg pants, a white starched shirt tucked into them, and black kitten heels to complete her look. She could be a model off the runway, and it wouldn’t surprise me.

“What are you doing here?” Connor asks her pointedly.

“I was passing through on my way to Egypt, and thought I would stop by for a quick visit,” she states, in a soft, cultured tone. Why do I get the feeling that’s not the whole truth?

I’m mesmerized when her soft-gray eyes begin to swirl. The odd woman stares at me shrewdly, eyeing me from head to toe, and I have to keep myself from fidgeting when I notice her eyes changing colors too.

What is she?

The low sounds of voices, and doors opening and closing, start above stairs, and I notice a muscle in Connor’s jaw popping. The employees are starting their shifts, and soon the guest will be appearing.

“Who are you?” I ask, not liking how her attention makes me feel like an insect under a microscope.

“Whitley, meet Odette, the Witch Queen,” Connor says, his voice monotone and his expression full of annoyance.

The freaking Witch Queen? Are you kidding me?! Odette flashes me a pretty smile and I manage a fake smile in return.

Boy, it just keeps getting better and better around here.