Red and Her Wolf Read online

  Though the man was small and upon first impression, not worth a second glance--there was an edge of steel to his voice that implied he lived beneath no man’s land because death did not bother him.

  Ewan made to grab her elbow again, and she reared back, ready to plant her fist through his nose. But powerful pressure gripped her arm, immobilizing it. As if it was set in concrete, she couldn’t move it toward him, though she had no problem lowering it.

  Laughter twinkled through his expressive gold eyes. “Canna harm me.”

  Doing her best snarl, she plowed past him, following Kermani who was now several steps ahead. What was wrong with her? She traced the edges of her bite, the ridges were still there, the pain--nothing more than a gnat’s bite--could wolves leak poison?

  She didn’t feel ill. In fact, she felt alive, energetic. Strong.

  So why was she so aware of him?

  Of his breaths in and out, the waves of heat rolling off his body like fog on a bank. The way his stride was long, his footsteps nearly silent, save for the small creak in one knee. And the scar. She trembled remembering the smooth line of it. In no way had it detracted from his beauty, only heightened it, turning a model into a warrior. There was a hard edge to him that appealed to the fire within her heart.

  And then there was the nagging feeling that she’d seen him before. But when? Something about his eyes, the shape of them. The almond slant and the vivid gold, she’d seen his eyes before.

  Hadn’t she?

  She nibbled on the corner of her mouth, desperately trying to conjure up the memory.

  “Here we are.” Kermani’s words broke her thoughts, he stood by the edge of a hollowed out section of stone made to resemble a door. He gestured within. “Enter, please.”

  With a glance at his face, alert to any treachery, she reluctantly stepped through and was amazed to discover the beauty within. Silk splashes of color bathed the red rock in every hue of the rainbow. There were flames tucked within the walls at spaced intervals, well lighting the interior. Finely spun rugs covered every inch of floor, pillows covered in gold and deepest purple were scattered throughout. Black wrought iron chandeliers inset with colored glass hung from beams above, throwing splashes of color everywhere.

  She’d watched a movie long ago of a Turkish bazaar. This was exactly like that and she couldn’t stop her grin. It was wonderfully exotic. A crimson curtain was tossed aside and a large woman with the most amazing head of hair stepped out. She bowed to Kermani, clasping her hands together.

  “Welcome home, Master,” she said.

  He tenderly traced her round cheek, lifting her face for his kiss. There was much restraint in the greeting, but Violet shivered and looked away, aware of the hunger that simmered just below the surface.

  It didn’t help though, because Ewan was way too close. It didn’t matter that the welts on his cheek were still swollen, or that his body was covered in sand burns, those hungry eyes were all she could see. She knew he was stripping her of her clothes. Heat crawled up her neck, bloomed in her cheeks. Tension arced through her shoulders, down her spine.

  “Look away,” she mumbled, barely even forming the words, urging her brain to snap out of the stupor keeping her dull and unable to think beyond needing to watch him with the same intensity he watched her.

  A slow curve of his lips let her know she’d not been as quiet as she’d hoped. He lifted a hand, the movement agonizingly slow.

  Her throat was dry, her breathing hard. Then his knuckles brushed her cheek and her body zipped with a strange heat in the lowest part of her belly.

  “So bonny,” he breathed and her lashes quivered.

  A throat cleared and finally, finally she could think again. Jumping, she hissed and stepped back. The woman’s soft hand covered hers. “Come with me, Heartsong. My name is Marika.”

  She had kind eyes. Large and doe like, with an expression of warmth and innocence Violet could not help responding to. Nodding, she followed, and refused to look back.

  ***

  Marika scrubbed harder, and Violet knew she stripped the skin. She clucked and fretted, while below Violet’s feet the water ran pink.

  Covered in suds, and skin scalding from the almost too hot water, Marika scrubbed and scrubbed. Beneath her breath bemoaning Violet’s state of unwash. Holding her arms tight to her breasts, she tried to pretend some woman she didn’t know wasn’t currently bathing her.

  No matter how many times she’d pleaded that she could do it herself, Marika had insisted, stating it was custom, and that if she didn’t allow it, Kermani would demand justice for the humiliation heaped upon his household. True or not, Violet had finally conceded. But it wasn’t fun, and she wasn’t enjoying it--even if the natural hot spring felt amazing against her raw and torn flesh.

  Marika’s skilled fingers set into her hair, again scraping the hide off her scalp as the nails dug in. “What happened to you, daughter?” Marika huffed. “You look like you fought with a sandstorm and the sandstorm won.”

  It felt like her brain was rattling side to side, as Marika maneuvered her none too gently.

  “I guess sort of. I can’t remember.”

  “And the blood? All over. What did that wolf do to you?” Warm brown--almost black--eyes peered at her. “Did he try to eat you?”

  Chuckling despite herself, she shook her head and tried to wiggle her head away from the kneading fingers of death. But it was no use, the woman’s fingers were as tough as steel and could probably crack walnut shells bare-handed.

  “I did fight a wolf. But not that one.” She frowned, covering Marika’s fingers and stilling them for the moment. “Why am I here? Who is that man?”

  Marika’s full lips turned down into a frown. “You mean he did not tell you? Surely, the Shunned--”

  She shook her head. “No, my aunt told me nothing. And to be fair,” she rolled her eyes, “I didn’t really give him much chance to either. I was kind of busy trying to slice him into a bloody ribbon when Kermani found us.”

  Marika’s lips twitched as her fingers resumed a more gentle lathering. “I don’t know much, daughter. But I overhead Kermani talking with Sherbia the second, that the wolf is your transport to the Black witch’s keep.”

  Twisting around--state of undress forgotten--Violet gripped Marika’s wrist. “Why? Why him? Why am I going to Malvena’s--”

  Marika shook her head, placing a finger against Violet’s lips. “Hush, daughter. It was a secret I was not supposed to know, sadly I know no more. Now hush.”

  Grabbing Violet’s shoulders she turned her around, and didn’t utter another word, quickly bathing her and then pointing to a folded red sheet upon the pale woven mat beside the spring. “Do you know how to dress in the Hadashek style?”

  Violet shook her head, wringing the water from her shoulder length hair.

  Marika grabbed the jonquil fold at her waist and unwrapped--what had at first appeared to be a dress--from off her body. Violet looked quickly away from the large boned Marika who was surprisingly firm given her size.

  “Nudity means nothing to us here, were it not for the flesh eating power of the sand, my people would walk nude constantly. Now watch so you may learn,” her voice was patient, but carried an edge of annoyance.

  “Well I’m not used to it. I hope you plan to give that wolf clothes too.”

  Marika chuckled and her large breasts bounced with the movement. Violet desperately wanted to look away again, but trained her eye on Marika’s face and ignored the rest.

  “He has a fine body. Surely you’ve noticed. Much better than my Kermani,” she quickly touched her breast, “though I would never claim so to him.”

  “I don’t think he does. He’s disgusting.”

  A sly smile curved the corner of her full lips, coal rimmed eyes narrowed with a knowing glint. “Have you never known the touch of a man?” Then her fingers briefly touched his bite and she winced. “Ah, but you have. Haven’t you?”

  She clenched her jaw. “
I don’t want his touch.”

  Marika’s fingers toyed with the bite, fingers fluttering softer than she’d thought them capable over the bump. “A wolf’s mark. He’s claimed you as mate. I hear the bite is better than sex.”

  She shuddered, remembering how she’d felt every cell in her body flaring to life, as if they would splinter apart with pleasure. “He had no right to do it.”

  “A wolf cannot claim what is not his. The fact that you bear the mark means you belong to him.”

  “I belong to myself,” Violet pounded her chest.

  “As you say.” Marika lifted a brow and then proceeded to show Violet how to wrap the cloth around her so that it looked like the dress she’d thought it was earlier.

  Getting out of the water, she dried off with the large white puff ball Marika handed her. It felt like cotton, but much more absorbent. Anywhere the white fluff touched it sucked up the water. Clumsy fingers tried to do what Marika had made look so simple. The beautiful fabric hung on her like a large sack.

  Marika gave a throaty chuckle and soft shake, her fat curls bounced becomingly around her head. Frustrated, Violet threw out her hands and those nimble fingers of Marika worked their magic once more.

  “You’re quite a bit smaller than myself,” Marika muttered, “must fatten you up.”

  There was a large swath of fabric at her neck, eyeing it with a frown, the large woman snapped her fingers and then gathered it and lifted it to cover her head like a hood.

  “Come look.”

  Leading Violet to the back of the steaming room she paused before a smooth black rock that gleamed with light from the inside out. The moment Violet stepped in front of it, she gasped. The rock became a mirror and she could hardly believe she was the same plain Violet.

  Marika’s eyes glinted. “Do you never age, Heartsong?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been stuck at this age for a long time.”

  Sun burnished skin touched her pale cheeks. “You’re a woman, look like one.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Grabbing a blunt piece of black rock, Marika brought it to her face. “Close your eyes,” she ordered. Something smooth and soft brushed against her eyelids, and then Marika said, “perfect.”

  The liner gave her a smoky eye effect, making her look much older and more like a woman than she’d ever thought possible. She smiled, admiring the long line of her neck and column of her throat, seeing her image like it was the first time. Violet smiled softly.

  “His heart will stop when he sees you.”

  Her jaw jutted out and she turned her back to the rock. It didn’t matter how many times she screamed that that man was not her mate, Marika would insist he was. Whatever. She hadn’t learned much, but if he was leading her to Malvena’s keep, then she had a purpose and a direction. Kill the witch, and all the wolves. Including him. She’d find a way around that spell he’d placed on her.

  Bowing, Marika smiled.

  “It was my pleasure to serve you.” Then she turned on her heels, as if she planned to leave.

  “Wait.” Violet rushed up to her elbow. “Where are you going? Are you leaving me?”

  “Sherbia will come to get you for dinner. Relax,” she pointed to the pillows beside the rock mirror. Then she was gone, leaving Violet with her thoughts.

  The dress and makeup was beautiful, but why did they insist on pampering her, dressing her up like some doll. For what? To whore herself out to the wolf? Kermani? She shuddered. Goddess forbid.

  She plopped onto a large turquoise pillow and plucked at the hem of her dress. Wiggling her toes, she felt suddenly ridiculous, and missed the comforting weight of her knife.

  Why hadn’t Aunt Mir told her the truth? In all the years she’d traveled with her, she’d never known her aunt to be anything but loving. So why the secrecy? Where was her aunt now?

  And why him? Why would her aunt send her with the wolf as a guide? She knew, Aunt Mir knew her hatred of the wolves. She was there that night when two had slaughtered her grandmother. Aunt Mir had nursed her back to life, given her a loving home to heal in.

  Her aunt wasn’t a stupid woman, or even naïve.

  Growling, she yanked the bit of charcoal off the counter Marika had used to paint her eyes with and began aimlessly doodling on the ground.

  Violet licked her lips, not really looking at what she drew. There had to be an answer. Something she was overlooking. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, aimlessly drawing, when she finally heard another voice.

  “Daughter?” A gentle sound, much more timid than Marika’s, intruded into her thoughts.

  A beautiful woman stepped in, draped in dark greens and gold, she jingled from the gold chain around her waist as she walked. A golden stud adorned her nose and ink black hair fell in soft waves around slim shoulders.

  For a brief moment, Violet experienced a swift pang of jealousy. Large eyes narrowed with fear, and then the woman dipped her head, never looking back at her.

  Her reaction was strange and Violet frowned. Surely the woman wasn’t afraid of her.

  “My name is Sherbia,” the dulcet voice whispered, “you are to come to dinner.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, unsure of protocol. Violet dropped the charcoal and stood. “My name is Violet,” she thrust out her hand.

  “I know who you are. Follow me,” Sherbia said, and turned, leaving Violet to stare at her back in bewilderment.

  Confused, she glanced down at her feet for a second and finally saw what she’d drawn on the red rock floor.

  The Big Bad Wolf, and the eyes staring back at her were a beautiful almond shape.

  Chapter 7

  Ewan growled, tearing into the thin baked bread with animal aggression. She was beautiful. Gorgeous, and draped in red silk, so reminiscent of that night. And she wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t return an answer to a simple question.

  She was all that was kindness to their host, but him… he might as well not exist.

  Pale blond hair peeked out of the hood, heating his blood, making him angry with need and desire. She felt it too, he’d seen it her glance earlier. Red wanted his body as much as he wanted hers.

  Incense curled a sinuous path through the cozy stone room. Candles and lanterns spun light everywhere.

  “Do you not like the food, daughter?” The one named Marika leaned in to whisper in Violet’s ear.

  She’d not done much other than pick at her food, pushing the red curried lentils from side to side with her wedge of flat bread. She smiled and shook her head. “I do. Very spicy. Good. Just not very hungry.”

  Marika patted her arm with a motherly smile.

  Kermani lifted a brow and shoved the last bit of stewed meat into his mouth. “Dancing, that is what we need.”

  He reclined back, stomach bulging, and clapped his hands. Children entered from a side door, they scampered around, collecting the empty serving bowls.

  “Bring my hookah,” Kermani commanded a wide eyed youngster, nodding, she jogged back toward the silk partition and disappeared once more within its voluminous fold.

  Ewan licked his fingers and then downed a large tumbler of water, drinking slowly of its coolness to help take the sting of heat off his tongue. Sweat trickled down his neck.

  “The lamb was delicious, I thank ye,” Ewan clipped his head, grateful for their host’s hospitality. He’d been washed by two maidens, dressed in a strange wrap below the waist, and fed until he’d gorged.

  He’d worried Violet might take offense at the thought of strange women bathing him, but it’d only been a passing thought. The chit hated him. T’was fairly obvious to him she’d not come willingly or eager to his bed. Clenching his jaw, his stomach fluttered recalling the hard press of the blade against his bollocks. She’d meant to do it; he’d seen it in her eyes. Inhaling sharply he wondered how he’d get through to her.

  Looking at her, he felt anger and grief. It shouldn’t be this way. She was laughing, blue eyes twinkling at something
Marika said. If only he could have been there for her that night, held her and nurtured her back to health, things would be so different now.

  “Have you had a moment to read the scroll I gave you earlier, wolf?” Kermani asked as the small child laid a gilded silver hookah before them. Reaching out, the slight man grabbed one hose and handed him another.

  “Sheesha?” he asked, shaking the hose at him.

  Ewan had smoked a time or two with Jinni and never found the taste appealing, but he took the tube and nodded. “A little.”

  Kermani inhaled and reclined back once more, a look of contemplation drawn across his brows. “Have you read the scrolls yet?”