Taming My Vicious Feral Wolf Slave

Kaylee stared down at Elijah, her eyes narrowed in a look of absolute, unfiltered disgust.

"Stop flattering yourself, slave," Kaylee spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Elijah blinked. The sudden shift in her tone-the familiar, degrading arrogance-was like a bucket of ice water. It shocked his spiraling mind, halting his panic for a split second.

Kaylee pointed a rigid finger at his bleeding chest. "I spent a fortune on rare herbs to seal those wounds. I didn't do it because I care about your pathetic life. I did it because I refuse to let you die and rot in my house."

She took a step closer, her shadow falling over him.

"If you die, who is going to do my heavy lifting? Who is going to go into the forest and hunt for my food?" Kaylee sneered. "You think I'm going to let Silas destroy my property before I've gotten my money's worth out of you?"

It was a brutally utilitarian, selfish argument. It was exactly the kind of twisted, self-centered logic the original Kaylee operated on.

The wild, paranoid terror in Elijah's golden eyes slowly began to recede. It was replaced by a cold, bleak understanding.

This made sense to him. She wasn't saving him; she was preserving an asset.

"Chaos Index stabilizing," Alex reported, the blaring alarm fading to a dull hum. "Index dropping to 80%."

Kaylee mentally collapsed in relief, but she kept her physical posture rigid and imposing.

She turned on her heel, marching over to the fire pit. She snatched up the wooden bowl filled with the warm pomelo water.

She walked back to Elijah and shoved the bowl roughly against his chest.

"I order you to drink this," she commanded.

Elijah looked down at the cloudy liquid sloshing in the bowl. He didn't move his hands to take it. The suspicion was back.

"Afraid I poisoned it?" Kaylee mocked.

She snatched the bowl back. Maintaining eye contact with him, she lifted the bowl to her own lips and took a large, deliberate swallow. The sweet, acidic juice hit her stomach, and she fought the urge to sigh in relief.

She slammed the bowl back into his hands. A few drops of the warm liquid splashed onto his bare collarbone.

"Drink. Now," Kaylee ordered, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Or I will drag you back out to the plaza and have Silas whip you again."

At the threat of the whip, Elijah's jaw clenched. His muscles tightened.

Slowly, his trembling hands came up to grip the sides of the wooden bowl. He lowered his head and pressed his cracked lips to the rim.

The warm, sweet liquid hit his tongue. His body, severely dehydrated and starved, reacted instantly.

He meant to take a small sip, just to appease her, but instinct took over. He began to gulp the water down greedily, his Adam's apple bobbing in rapid succession. He drank so fast that he choked, a harsh cough racking his battered chest.

Kaylee's hands twitched at her sides. She desperately wanted to kneel down and pat his back, to tell him to slow down.

Instead, she dug her fingernails into her palms and sneered. "Drink slower, you animal. If you spill that on my floor, I'll make you lick it up."

Elijah drained the last drop. He lowered the bowl, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

He looked up at Kaylee. The madness was gone from his eyes, leaving behind a guarded, exhausted emptiness.

"Chaos Index stable at 75%," the system confirmed.

Kaylee turned her back to him immediately, pretending to inspect a pile of dried roots in the corner.

She pressed her hands hard against her chest, feeling her heart threatening to beat its way out of her ribcage. Her knees were shaking so badly she had to lock them to stay standing.

Behind her, Elijah watched her slender back. His golden eyes narrowed slightly.

He noticed the way her shoulders were pulled tight. He noticed the faint, uncontrollable tremor running through her hands.

She was shaking.

Why was the cruelest woman in the tribe shaking?