Tasting 164

164–The Defiant Mate

Nora:

I sat in my room, nervously biting my nails and staring at the wall in front of me. I wasn’t particularly

interested in the wall, but in the words of Lord Atwood that had upset me. I felt so irritated about the

whole ball situation. But then, a part of me felt mischievous, wondering how my mates would react

to seeing me go to the ball with Brody. They should understand that none of them had been brave

enough to accept me and tell their father that we were friends.

“But would you have done the same?” Akira asked. I knew what she was hinting at. The words of

my mother have been engraved in the mind and heart of Lord Atwood. He believed he was

supposed to take care of me or else he would be in eternal pain.

“Don’t forget about the promise Lord Atwood made to your mother,” she teased, and I rolled my

eyes.

“I don’t understand why dying people make such promises and deals,” I sighed, realizing it was out

of our hands now. Lord Atwood was convinced that if he didn’t uphold his end of the deal, he would

face severe punishment.

“And what did Lord Atwood get from her in return for this deal?” Akira was on the spot. He never

actually told us about that.

“It doesn’t matter. It is his matter. My mates–they are my problem and they are big problems,” I

scoffed.

“Then let’s not badmouth our mates because we also found ourselves

agreeing to date Brody,” she snapped at me, and I relaxed a bit in my

seat. My body felt drained of energy.

A sigh escaped my lips as I stared into space, wondering what would happen at the ball.

“Let’s pick out a gown!” she cheered, almost as if she had forgotten we were going with our

boyfriend, whom we didn’t even agree to date because of our feelings but to clear our name.

“Not right now, Akira. I’m so torn. Ryker didn’t ask me how I was feeling. The way he left the room

after finding out I was dating Brody made me lose hope in him,” I grunted, shrugging my shoulders.

“And Cain is such a mystery,” I mumbled, until I remembered I needed to find out what he had done

to my painting. Lord Atwood couldn’t find my painting in his studio–did that mean he had sold it? It

annoyed and worried me.

I grabbed a brown sweater and threw it on, rushing out of the room. The evening felt unusually

lonely. Lord Atwood and Nash had left the house for some work. Ryker hadn’t returned, and the

maids were off duty.

As I turned the corner, I accidentally bumped into someone, knocking them to the floor.

“Oh my Goddess! I’m so sorry,” I apologized, feeling guilty for hurting her, and quickly extended my

hand to help her up.

She stared at my hand in silence, unmoving.

“Um, hello?” I worriedly hunched over, but strong hands suddenly gripped my waist from behind,

lifting me effortlessly like a doll. Silas placed me to the side so he could see clearly.

I froze for a moment. The way he carried me without a word left me

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wondering. Then, I watched as he reached out his hand to help the lady up.

“You should go home now,” he spoke softly to her, giving me a slight reason to frown.

She was probably in her early twenties, with jet–black hair and brown eyes. She nodded obediently

and walked downstairs, leaving just the two of us behind.

“Is that your girlfriend?” I queried in confusion and curiosity. I had never seen him bring a woman

home, so she had to be his girlfriend. He studied my face wearily, hands on his waist.

“Not everyone who comes into this home is someone’s love interest,” he remarked, still guarding

her identity.

“But then who is she, and why was she on the third floor?” I persisted, not letting him walk away

until he told me who this stranger was.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes narrowing, as if weighing whether to answer. Finally, he

relented.

“She’s my patient. Since I have to stay home, I decided to see her here. Any more questions?” he

raised his brow, and I shook my head slowly.

Saying nothing more, he turned around and marched upstairs again. If he said she was his patient,

then she must be. She did appear a bit unwell.

In fact, she looked extremely ill. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts and focusing on the task at

hand, I headed towards the studio. The odd thing was that Cain was now locking his door. His

change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed.

I placed my hand on his door then turned it into a fist and knocked to

get his attention. He didn’t answer the door right away, which only fueled my curiosity. The longer I

stood outside his door, the more anxious I became about how he might react.

Finally, he opened the door and revealed himself. He was still dressed all in black from earlier, his

hair messy across his forehead.

“I need to speak to you-” My words were cut short as I tried to step into the room, but he quickly

stretched out his arm to block me from entering. He did it so abruptly that I almost bumped my nose

against his arm. This had never happened before; I had always been welcome in his studio.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” I asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

“Talk here,” he insisted grumpily, his hand firmly gripping the door to make it clear he wouldn’t allow

me inside.

“Okay,” I replied, thinking maybe he was being cautious because of the rumors that had circulated

last time we were seen together.

“What did you do to my painting?” I asked, feeling a lump in my throat as I waited for his response. I

wouldn’t be happy if he had sold it.

“I burned it,” came his reply, and it was the worst possible answer I could have received.