CHAPTER 21: EATING BEFORE THE ALPHA

Rhea staggered, a sharp sting ringing in her skull. Her hand flew to the spot, fingers pressing against the tender flesh. When she pulled them back, her fingertips glistened red. Blood.

Her jaw tightened as she stared at it, fury simmering under her skin. Great. Now she’d have to drag herself to those irritating healer quarters. Being wolfless meant the wound wouldn’t fade as quickly as it would for the others. Her eyes cut back to the cook, who had already walked away, shoulders squared and smug as she stirred the pot — stirred it as if she hadn’t just smashed Rhea’s head with a fucking creasy ladle.

Rhea’s lips twisted as she dabbed at the blood again. Why was it that this pathetic pack never seemed able to make a point without swinging fists or grabbing weapons? Always violence. Well, two could play that game. There was no way she was letting that smug short cook get away with cracking her skull open.

Across the kitchen, the workers stole glances at her, thinly veiled satisfaction curling their mouths as they chopped and scrubbed. Gloating, every one of them. Their eyes flicked up, then darted away, as though waiting for her to break down, to run off like she used to.

Instead, Rhea squared her shoulders and strode straight toward the cook.

The woman was bent slightly over the stove, one hand on her hip, the other slowly stirring, her head tipped like a queen satisfied with her work. She didn’t see Rhea coming.

Rhea’s footwork was quick, practiced, heel planting, knee snapping up, and then the sharp pivot of her hips as her leg swung out. The kick connected squarely with the cook’s side.

The impact was loud enough to startle the room. The cook let out a sharp yelp, the spoon clattering from her grip as her body lurched sideways. She stumbled, her apron strings catching against the counter, and dropped hard onto the tiled floor with a grunt.

For one heart-pounding second, Rhea’s eyes locked on the pot teetering above the flames, boiling broth swaying dangerously close to the rim. Panic seized her chest. If it tipped, that beautiful food would splatter everywhere. Her fists clenched, breath hitching — then the pot steadied. Only the spoon clinked against the floor beside the groaning cook.

"Thank goodness," Rhea muttered under her breath, shoulders sagging with relief. Wasting food ranked right below wearing pink in her list of absolute horrors.

Gasps burst through the room. Dishes stopped clinking. Even the fire seemed to crackle louder in the stunned silence.

The cook groaned, blinking up from the floor, her face a mixture of shock and fury. Did she just kick me? she thought, chest heaving.

"She just kicked Marta," a male Omega at the sink said, his soapy hands frozen mid-air.

"How can she do that?" another whispered, voice hushed but carrying. "Isn’t she weak? Wolfless?"

Rhea brushed at the oversized T-shirt clinging to her frame, smoothing the red fabric as if she had only dusted herself off. Without sparing them a glance, she turned her attention to the steaming pot.

Her nose flared. The scent was heavenly, rich and savory, the kind of aroma that wrapped around your stomach and squeezed. She leaned closer, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

"Oh, it smells delicious," she said softly, as though nothing at all had just happened behind her. Her gaze drifted lazily across the room.

"What is she doing?" one of the kitchen hands muttered, their voice low and nervous.

Rhea’s eyes caught on the sink. Without hurry, she moved toward it, her steps sending a ripple through the room. Instinctively, everyone flinched back.

The male Omega at the sink stiffened when she reached him, his elbows jerking up as if he expected a blow. Rhea spared him only a flick of her eyes, then reached past, plucked out the biggest, deep-clean plate and a wide dishing spoon. Then she turned and strolled back toward the boiling pot.

All eyes followed her. Marta groaned as she grabbed the edge of the counter, trying to push herself upright, her face pale with shock.

Rhea dipped the spoon deep into the simmering broth, steam curling around her wrist. She scooped generous ladles into her plate, piling it until it brimmed, juices spilling down the sides.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Marta barked, her voice ragged, fury sparking in her eyes.

Rhea tilted her head, unbothered, her tone dry. "Are you blind or something? I’m dishing food. Of course."

"Stop that this instant!" Marta’s voice cracked into a shriek. "That food is for the pack. Nobody eats before the Alpha."

Rhea finally looked at her, and Marta flinched. One kick, and she was already trembling. Rhea almost laughed. How many times had the old her taken their lashings without so much as a sound? She had endured years of it, while none of them could withstand even a quarter — and here they were, already cowering. Pathetic cowards.

"Am I not a member of this pack?" Rhea asked evenly, eyes steady.

"You shouldn’t eat before the Alpha," Marta spat back, though the fire in her voice faltered.

Rhea chuckled, low and throaty, and shook her head. "Then you’ll all starve today. Because I’m not sure your Alpha will be up for any food anytime soon. But I’m not joining you in the wait. I won’t punish this already malnourished body just to stroke your traditions."

Marta blinked at her, confusion cutting through her anger. What is she on about? The Alpha will not be up for any food?

Rhea ignored her questioning stares. With her plate balanced in her hands, she crossed the kitchen, found a quiet corner, and lowered herself onto a stool. Without hesitation, she dug in, spoonful after spoonful.

The room bristled with silence. Faces tightened, jaws clenched. Shock lingered in their wide eyes, mingling with outrage and disbelief.

"She’s really eating it..." someone whispered. "She’s completely lost it."

Marta’s lip curled, her face blotched with fury as she steadied herself against the counter. Her voice cut through the murmurs. "Don’t just stand there, Jonas — go, go report this insolence." She pointed at the male Omega by the sink. "I will not let her get away with this."

The boy shot Marta a wide-eyed glance, then flicked his gaze to the others, who watched with barely hidden eagerness. Drying his hands on his apron, he hurried out.

Rhea scoffed, her spoon never pausing.