Red and Her Wolf (12 page)

“As you say,” his silky voice could not hide his disregard. “You and I have much to discuss,” he said, to the wolf.

The man only nodded, gripping her arm tighter. “We’ll talk, but nay without her.”

She hissed, yanking her arm out of his hold. “I don’t need you to babysit me, whatever your name is.”

“Ewan,” he answered.

She shrugged. “Whatever. I can see to my own self. I want to be taken back to my aunt, and you to just get the hell away from me, mongrel.”

His face did not shift, but a subtle movement in his gaze let her know the slur had found its mark.

“She’s the one who sent me to
ye
, Violet.”

It was her turn to flinch. “You lie,” she flung the accusation at him.

“Yes, yes, we’re all liars down here,”
Kermani
rolled his eyes, “leave the bed sport for later, we’ve matters to discuss.”

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.