Red and Her Wolf (11 page)

Then Aunt Mir had promised she’d be okay, grabbed her face, and told her to breathe. The rest was blank.
Until now.
Until him.

His hands shifted and she shoved the knife in deeper, lips curling when she heard his hiss.

“Easy, lass.
Easy.
I’ll not harm
ye
.” He held up his hands in entreaty.

Those words spoken in his deep Scottish brogue made her lashes quiver and her thighs tremble. There was no denying the man was beautiful. And the first male she’d touched, ever.

Something about his voice, the way it moved against her body like a soft caress… she’d heard that voice before.
Distantly.
But how could she have? She’d never have forgotten the face.

It was hard, chiseled, as if by a sculptor.
His jaw sharp and well defined, his nose equally severe, and with the slightest crook at the bridge.
Dark shaggy brows framed a pair of liquid gold eyes filled with flecks of amber. The epitome of male beauty, save for the scar that curved from his eye to mid-point on his cheek.

Her spine tingled with a rush of appreciation even as anger heated her blood. “I’ll not ask again,” she said, cursing the natural sweetness of her voice, wishing for once she could growl and threaten like the wolf she’d killed earlier. “Who are you?”

He was nude, his muscles lax, his body still, trying to not appear threatening. But she knew it for the sham it was. Felt the hardness of his thighs beneath hers, the flex of muscle as he shifted, slowly lifting his hands. His bronzed skin gleamed with pearls of sweat, adding a luminescent sheen from the sky’s eerie lavender glow.

“
Yer
mate,” he said, so slowly she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

The ropes of his stomach flexed as he tried to sit up, she dug her knife in, briefly casting her eyes down as a thin crimson ribbon appeared where smooth skin had once been.

“Red.” His voice rang in warning, she narrowed her eyes. “Put the knife down.”

It wasn’t a request.

She leaned in, hating that his scent of sweat and musk attracted her so, filled her head with dizzy longing for something she didn’t understand. “My name is not, Red, and I am not your mate.”

Looking up, she studied her alien surroundings. The sky glowed orange with streaks of pink; the land a monotonous shade of beige with a smattering of green palm fronds swaying in a gentle breeze. Magnificent twin orbs, took up a huge section of sky. Large, gray rings surrounded them.

“Where am I? Where have you brought me? Where’s my Aunt?” Panic rushed through her veins, her mouth tasted of cotton and her throat felt raw and parched.

He closed his hypnotic eyes and she could breathe again; when those eyes were on her face, looking at her with heat, it was hard to remember who she was. The strangeness of those foreign emotions made her angry.

Quicker than she could blink, his hands gripped her wrists, and then his hard length was on top of hers, pinning her beneath him. Bucking and screaming, she fought to free herself.

“Stop yelling, lass.” He shoved his face so close to hers, the heat of his body became second skin.

“Get off me,” she wheezed, trying to pound her fists on his hard as steel chest, but she couldn’t move her hands even an inch. Furious, terrified, she did the only thing her wild mind could think of. She bit his forearm.

He hissed as her teeth sank in so deep, the skin broke.

“Lass,” he growled, and she envied the fire in his voice, the deep timbre that flooded her brain with desire and rage, “
doona
make me hurt ye. Release me.”

Shaking her head, she bit harder, blood pooled on her tongue and the taste of him saturated her senses. It reeked of death, earth, dark power, and wicked nights. A wolf! He was a wolf. Fear slammed her like a wave, and with it came the hate, that sharp flinty passion that consumed her mind like poison and engulfed her body with adrenaline. Wild, crazy to get out from under him, she yanked with the preternatural strength she’d used to massacre the last wolf she’d fought.

He grunted, but his hands released her. She curled her fingers, dragging her nails down his cheeks, leaving welts behind.

Then he had control of her again.
“Damn ye, lassie.
I
dinna
wish to do this yet.”

Light filled his eyes; they glowed even as his mouth curled back like a dog’s muzzle. Large fangs dropped and… her heart was going to explode in her chest. His bite was not savage, but it was deep. He bit her collarbone, making her whimper as his fangs sank in.

There were moans, deep and trembling with a need that bordered on desperation. She was doing it. Alive, consumed by passion, tremors wracked her frame as she panted through the liquid pleasure. Lit with desire, her sanity screamed at her to get away, but her traitorous body could only undulate as the pleasure overwhelmed her with its violence.

“Violet,” her name dropped like a prayer from his lips and that was the catalyst she needed to snap from her stupor.

She shoved him for all she was worth. He was so much stronger than her, he barely budged. A heavy sigh tickled her ear before he kissed her neck so softly it was almost a whisper, he scooted back.

Finally free of the blinding, all-consuming craving for more, she gripped her neck. Blood stained her fingertips, but not as much as she’d thought there would be.

“What did you do to me?” she demanded, lungs still heaving for air, scooting back on her heels until her back was plastered against a gravestone. Traitorous body tingling, not with anger, but with desire so consuming she had to claw her nails into the dirt to keep from crawling back for more.

His eyes were shaded, thoughtful… haunted?

“I’ve marked
ye
.”

“You what?”
Her brows lowered, and she fought a swell of dizziness as she shoved to her feet, slipping her hand casually into her back jean pocket.

Kneeling, he glared up at her. There wasn’t hatred, or even anger, but a sort of shock, as if he couldn’t comprehend what’d just taken place between them. He seemed completely unaware of the vicious bite wound in his arm still oozing blood.

They stared intensely at one another for several moments, she with fury,
he
with a dawning understanding. He broke first. Standing, he took a step toward her. But this time she was faster, and pulled her pocket knife out, slamming her thumb on the button to release the three inch blade. It wouldn’t kill, but it would hurt.

“Red,” he warned with a shake of his head, “
stop
and listen.”

Every hard line of his body flexed as he moved closer. She didn’t want to notice that about him. She didn’t want to care. Fact was
,
she’d sever his beautiful head from his neck if he came one inch closer.

“Stay back.” She held the knife out, swishing it from side to side. “I’ve killed your kind before, I’ll do it again.”

He stopped walking, jaw working hard from side to side. “Ye
canna
harm me.
T’was
the purpose of the bite, lass.
I’ve marked ye, a mate
canna
harm
their own
.”

“Liar,” she spat. “I’d never whore myself for a dog. I’m not your mate and so help me, you’d better tell me where I’m at before I cut that,” she pointed at his big, stiff, ugly… thing, “off.”

“Bravo! What fun,” a roughly masculine voice trembled with laughter as he clapped.

Startled, Violet twirled on her heels. A brightly clothed peacock of a man waggled his brows at her.

“I am
Kermani
,” he said in a strangely accented voice not all together displeasing, melodic,
almost
mesmerizing. She wasn’t given much time to ponder it before he’d rushed her and grabbed the knife blithely from her hand, hiding it efficiently within the voluminous folds of his turquoise colored pants. She hardly had time to register it was gone, one second it was firm within her grasp, the next she held nothing but air.

“Give it back,” she said.

He wagged a finger. “Within my walls, there is peace. No weapons allowed.”

And yet, it didn’t escape her notice that he’d held onto it.

A short man, slight of build with burnished umber skin gleamed in the early morning light. He bowed theatrically with one arm tucked beneath his waist. “I’m sorry it took me so long to make my acquaintance known, but I had…” his black eyes narrowed shrewdly, “matters most urgent to attend to.”

Face creasing into a friendly smile, he winked. The large golden hoop in his ear gleamed with several large ruby settings.

Violet frowned.

“And ye are?”

Just the sound of the dog’s voice made her wet and gnash her teeth, damn that bald headed thief for taking her only knife.

“My apologies, I’m your ally.”

The wolf cocked his head. “I thought the ghoul…”

Kermani
hopped onto a jagged piece of tombstone, crossing his legs. Tan pointed shoes bouncing to and fro. The colors he wore were amazing. Like he’d taken the brightest jewels and spun them into fabric, from the deep red of his strange shirt, to the orange striped scarf he’d wrapped around his waist.

“The ghoul works for me. You have been given safe passage, therefore…” He waved his hand, letting the rest dangle off. “Anyway, come. We’ve food, clothes,” he eyed the wolf with a slight sneer, “
and
company. Come, come. Even eyes have walls. Or is that, walls have eyes? Hmm…” muttering to himself, he jumped from the crumbling stone and hooked his finger, never glancing back to see if they’d follow.

Crossing her arms, Violet stood where she was. Harmless as the strange gypsy looked, she didn’t trust him. She didn’t know what was happening and until she did, she’d not leave this spot.

With a growl, a strong pair of hands hooked onto her arm above her elbow. “Come.” One word, but it made her body
shiver
.

Violet had led a sheltered life, but that didn’t mean that she was stupid to the ways of the world. She’d lived a long time, had hidden herself away from prying always, but always watching and learning.

Many years ago, she and Aunt Mir had settled in
England
, during the days of the Ripper. Violet had been fascinated by the world around her, the constant fog that bathed the gas-lit city and made it impossible to see more than five feet ahead. She’d moved as a wraith through the streets, even at times within the hidden underground network of tunnels and sewers that crisscrossed the underbelly like a giant labyrinth.

The walls had been made of brick, the water foul smelling beneath her feet, everything coated in a thick sludge of unmentionables. Hygiene, or the lack thereof, had killed many. But she’d been sure of her ability to not age and had learned the impossible maze, had even reveled in her ability to be outside of her home, watching the world sing around her, knowing she’d never be caught.

That’s what this place reminded her of.
Kermani
had surprised her when he’d touched a brass knocker on the wall surrounding the graveyard. A crumbling gravestone had moved silent on oiled hinges, revealing a long staircase that descended into the earth’s bleak darkness. Placing a finger against his lips, he’d headed down the stairs. She’d no fear of the dark and the things that hid in them, but she didn’t want to be so close to the man who’d claimed her as mate.

The wound of her neck chose that moment to throb, stoking the flames of her anger. But not just because he’d bitten her, mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Her captor dragged her behind him, his grip still as sure as before, but more protective than commanding. The heat pouring off him felt nice compared to the chilly damp caressing her cheek.
Though she hated to admit it.

Kermani
grabbed a lit torch from off the stone wall, and smooth as silk, the gravestone covered them, hiding its secret once more behind its ruined façade. Once all light from the outside ceased,
Kermani
turned to them, the ever present smile lurking on his face.

“We’ve much to discuss. My wives will attend to the girl.”

“The name is Violet,” she said with a glower.