CHAPTER ELEVEN
STERLING
In the distance, the wolves howled and hooted, proving that they were nothing but wild beasts, praising each murder, each death.
Slaughter was a sport to them, but perhaps it was to Sterling as well.
She hadn’t batted an eyelash while thrusting her blade in the throats and hearts of the four criminals who’d flung themselves at her.
A sharp pain pierced Sterling’s stomach where one of the men had struck her.
She was lucky she’d only gained two cuts and a few scratches from brushing against tree limbs while she’d run.
But her muscles ached, and her throat was desperate for a drink.
Sterling pushed her complaints away so the prince wouldn’t see her struggling.
Before breaking through the trees, she halted her movements, making the prince stumble with her wrists still in his grasp.
“Walk,” Winter said, his voice bored.
When she glanced up at him, he didn’t look the least bit rattled over anything that had happened during the game as though this was just another nightly stroll through the forest.
“This means my brother is free now, right?” Sterling blinked, praying to the gods that this had been enough. “I did win.” Regardless if the prince and his rejected bitch mate had interfered.
“No.” Winter tightened his grip on her wrists and pulled her forward. “It doesn’t.”
“But…” Sterling clenched her teeth, digging her heels into the soft dirt to stop him again. “That’s not fair.”
“The things you did to my wolves weren’t fair.” Winter released her wrists and cocked his head, his blue eyes boring into hers beneath the moonlight. “We’ll have another game and you’ll need to win. On your own.”
“Another game? I didn’t ask that cunt to join this one, so how is that my fault?” She knew she should hold her tongue—the prince could still decide to hang her in front of the village for not properly winning the challenge—but she couldn’t control herself.
“It’s your fault if I say it’s your fault.” He smirked, then sauntered away from her. “Follow me.”
Sterling frowned at his back but obeyed him as she mumbled, “And why were you in the forest anyway?” Talia had given her reason—to murder Sterling—before she scurried off somewhere.
Winter ignored her, and she decided to let it go. He most likely was hoping to get a close view as a blade sliced across her throat.
They stepped out from the trees and the shifters’ cheers ceased, where they stood atop the stone wall, some in wolf form, their eyes glowing beneath the torches.
The shifters studied Sterling and Winter as they approached them and the door to the enclosure groaned open.
Micah and a few others stepped through the door with curious expressions on their faces.
“Wolves!” Winter shouted once he and Sterling slowed to a stop. He gestured toward her, his stoic look remaining. “We have ourselves a winner well before sunrise. Red Riding Hood.”
Micah’s lips curled in disgust, his piercing gaze raking her over, appearing as though he wanted to do more than strike her across the face. “Kill the bitch anyway.”
Sterling swayed, her strength waning, and she wished she had the energy to hurl herself at the fucking bastard.
“No, not yet.” Winter’s amused gaze met Sterling’s, taunting her that he could expose how she hadn’t won on her own. “She’ll entertain us with another game soon.” He then walked forward, and Sterling followed him once more.
A pit formed in her stomach that she would have to participate in a second round where she just knew she would have another unfair start.
They trekked through the forest in silence, the forest swaying as exhaustion swept over her. The wound at her stomach throbbed harder, and she pressed her palm to it. She needed to sit down, get some water.
She’d grown used to murdering wolves, but never had she killed her own kind.
The woman she’d stoned to death, the man she stabbed after he’d tripped her, the next criminal she’d pierced in the eye, the young woman she’d sliced the throat of when she attempted to choke Sterling with her cloak.
They were faces that wouldn’t haunt her in her sleep because it had all been for her brother.
But now she would have to focus on another game, one she wasn’t sure she would have the time to build her strength back up for.
The manor drew closer, but with each step, it felt a lifetime away. Once inside she could hopefully have something to quench her thirst, then rest and gather her strength.
As they entered Winter’s home, the familiar piney scent of the decor enveloped her. The room spun, nausea swirling within her. With each step, her legs became more weighted. Sterling couldn’t physically hold back any longer and stumbled forward before collapsing to the floor.
A crease formed between Winter’s brows. “Get up, human.”
Sterling pushed to all fours, her legs and arms wobbling. “I can’t,” she croaked.
Winter’s lips parted as he studied her. “You’re bleeding on my floor.”
Sterling shifted her gaze to where he was looking, finding a few drops of crimson lingering on the wooden surface. She lifted her tunic to find her flesh was split open, the wound deeper than she’d thought.
“Get up,” he commanded, his eyes hardening.
Sterling wouldn’t beg for help—not from him. With what remaining strength she had, she shoved herself upward. Her knees buckled and she collapsed back on the floor. Before she could attempt it again, Winter’s strong arms lifted her, pressing her against his firm chest.
“Put me down, wolf,” Sterling growled pitifully.
Winter arched a brow at her. “Would you rather crawl up the stairs?”
Sterling remained silent, believing she would be dead before she made it to the top.
He ascended the steps, her head falling against his chest, her breaths growing more ragged. Winter’s engaging scent of clovers and embers caressed her senses, pushing away her nausea.
A young female guard stationed outside Winter’s room opened the door for them.
“Have a servant draw her a bath and fetch a cup of green tea, fruit, and jerky,” the prince said.
The female nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Winter dragged out the desk chair with his boot and set Sterling on the soft cushion. Her dizziness subsided now that she was seated, but the pain continued to throb.
The prince went into the bathing chamber and came out with antiseptic, cloth, and thread. He knelt in front of her while opening the antiseptic. “Lift your tunic.”
Sterling blinked as he unwound the thread and tore a piece off with his teeth. “You’re not getting a healer?” she asked, peering down at his long fingers.
“Does it look like I am? Now lift your tunic unless you prefer to bleed to death.”
“Bastard,” she grunted, but drew up the fabric, her skin the shade of bone.
“Ah, finally, you speak your mind.” Winter smirked as he dabbed her wound with antiseptic, pulling a hiss from her lips. He ran the thread through the needle and pinched her skin. Perhaps it was because she was on the brink of dying, but she didn’t mind his touch. Yet only for the time being.
As the needle went in and out of her flesh, she bit into her lower lip and dug her fingers into the arms of the chair to distract herself from the sharp aches.
A gray-haired servant placed a steaming teacup and a plate of jerky and raspberries on the desk beside her before filling the bath in the other room. Sterling drank the green tea down, the earthy flavor feeding a small amount of energy back into her.
“I’m surprised you know how to do this. Being a royal and all,” she said, setting the empty cup back on the desk and reaching for a raspberry.
Winter’s lazy gaze slid up to hers, continuing his meticulous motions. “My mother wasn’t born royalty. She taught me how to take care of my own wounds.”
“Not a high lady either?”
“No.”
Perhaps that was one of the reasons the queen had always been kind to the human villages, recalling what it was like to be without wealth. If her grandmother hadn’t murdered her, she wondered whether the villages would’ve flourished more now with the queen’s aid.
If Winter took after his mother even a little, then maybe down, deep down, there was a small piece of him that could care.
“Since you aren’t going to free my brother yet, can I at least see him?
Please.” With a second game approaching, she might not survive much longer, and she at least wanted to give Cyan a goodbye.
The prince tied off the thread and studied Sterling for a long moment. “Your brother isn’t like you, is he?”
“You mean he isn’t a murderer like me?” Sterling shook her head. “No, not at all. He wouldn’t even harm an ant if you asked him to crush it.” She cursed herself for giving that last tidbit to her enemy, for knowing that it was a slice of information that he could use against Cyan if he wished.
“So he never killed any of the animals you sold at your meat shop?”
“No. All me.” She thought about the days she’d attempted to teach Cyan, how they would argue until she gave in and told him he could focus on growing plants in their garden.
Winter placed a bandage over her stomach wound, then inspected her arm.
“The fabric caught most of the blade here.” He dabbed the area with the antiseptic, the small cut barely stinging.
“Win the next game and I’ll allow you a moment with your brother before freeing him.
Perhaps, if you behave, I’ll even give him the paper he asked for. ”
The prince would give her brother paper? Sterling furrowed her brow, wondering why the prince would offer her this… But she would behave for her brother, for him to have the comfort of his paper.