The silence on the porch was broken only by the sound of crunching.
It was a satisfying sound to Roxy, who loved to know if people enjoyed the food she made, and these beasts were always so good at making sure she was the best chef in the world.
Hearing the snap of crispy, buttermilk-battered skin giving way to juicy meant. Roxy leaned against the doorframe, her lids heavy, watching the strangest dinner party in the history of the beast world.
The smell had pulled the attention of other wolves, but they could never go near.
On the railing, Syria sat with a plate balanced on his coiled tail. The serpent prince, who usually swallowed his prey whole and raw, was eating fried chicken with surprising elegance.
He picked up a drumstick with his long, pale fingers, inspected the golden coating, and took a bite.
This was like his fourth bite, yet he commented every time.
His neon eyes widened slightly. The pupils dilated, and Roxy could not help but giggle every time she saw it.
