Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ROSAMUND
I duck under the low-hanging branches of the tree to find Kier with his hands around Valen’s neck.
“What’s going on?” I demand. “Kier, you’re choking him!”
“He tried to escape the ropes,” Kier grinds out, his hands tightening. “I told him I’d end him if that happened.”
A laugh escapes me. “You? You’d end him? A werewolf?”
“I’d help,” Bert jumps in to defend him. “Together we can take him down.”
“Stop,” I command him. “Now, Kier.”
Grumbling, he releases the werewolf, who starts to cough, his eyes bloodshot.
“I thought you knew better than that.” I shake my head at the two men. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”
I had somehow thought that, by now, the people in this manor would know how futile a fight against a werewolf is. After all, all those years ago, many jumped in to try and save me, but didn’t manage to even touch me before the wolves carted me away.
Swallowing a sigh, I stand in front of the werewolf. Not too close, mind you, I haven’t lost my marbles yet, but close enough to see his face.
“Why haven’t you killed him?” I demand. “I know werewolf strength. I’ve seen it. These ropes can’t stop you.”
He shakes his head slowly, hair flying. His canines are longer again, his ears more wolf-like. His eyes are a flatter gold. His hands clench in their bonds, nails darkening and sharpening.
I frown. “What’s going…?”
“Watch out! He’s about to transform, go full wolf,” Kier snarls, reaching for me. “Let me put this animal down—”
“Wait,” I whisper, batting his hand away, then louder, “wait. Valen. Can you hear me?”
His lashes lower, and his gaze finds me. Something shifts, the flatness thinning, a darkness flashing behind their mirrors. “Rosamund.”
My name on his lips leaves me shaken. I cover it up by clasping my hands together against my middle. “Why did you try to free yourself?”
“Woman… there you are.” His voice is a gravelly growl that burrows into my belly and starts a sweet ache there. “You’re back.”
“Yes, I am.” I frown at his rude manner. “And I barely saved your hide from these two. Or theirs from you. Which is it? You promised to behave!”
His eyes do that crinkling thing again, and again I wish I could see his mouth. “Behave. Like you do. Always behaving.”
“Watch your mouth!” Bert snaps. “She’s a lady, you filthy animal.”
I ignore the outburst. “Were you planning on freeing yourself and killing people? They,” I sweep my hand toward the banquet, “are my family and I’ll be damned if I…” Oh Gods, I’ve gone crazy. Am I threatening a werewolf? “If you killed them…”
“Killed them? I can barely walk, lady. I’m bleeding, and I need food. Look, you had your breakfast in bed—”
“I didn’t!”
“And you’re so fine, meeting family and prancing around—”
I huff. “I don’t prance!”
“But believe it or not, I haven’t eaten in days, and my body is starting to feel it. Wolves need a lot of fuel, Sunshine.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter.
And guilt returns with a vengeance, which isn’t right. It isn’t right that I should feel responsible for him, that in the space of a day, I’ve started viewing him as a fellow human or fae being.
“Untie him from the tree,” I say, my voice shaking. “And give him food. Meat. Wolves like their meat, don’t you, wolf?”
“Yeah,” he says, the rasp in his voice more present than ever. “We like meat. And water.”
“And water,” I add. “Bring some water.”
“My lady…” Burt scratches the back of his head. “We’ll need to take off his muzzle to let him eat. Are you sure about this?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought that far. Sure? No. Not at all. He should suffer. He should starve and thirst. He should die.
But even a flea-ridden dog is offered food.
He’s not… Gods, I’m now in charge of this hulking werewolf, at least, until we’re on the way, and this conundrum is one I never thought I’d have to face.
Save the wolf so we can shake him loose later.
If he doesn’t attack us.
If it doesn’t come to a fight of life and death between us.
Which he will inevitably win.
Since when do I depend on the promise of a monster?
“Fine,” I finally manage. “Muzzle off. But the hands remain tied.”
“My lady.” Kier approaches the man, and I step back, wishing I had some weapon on myself. It seems my instinctive fear won’t be reined in.
And that’s fine. The first time the wolves came, I hadn’t believed it. This time, I know to keep my distance.
“I’ll go bring some food and water,” Bert announces and goes away so fast I wonder if he got cold feet all of a sudden. It isn’t like him.
Meanwhile, Kier unties the wolf from the trunk of the tree, and Valen just… stumbles two steps and drops to his knees, his muscular frame bowed over, head bent over his tied hands.
Oh Gods. Why is my heart in my throat? “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s bleeding,” Kier hazards, gesturing at him. “And hasn’t been fed. These beasts need a lot of sustenance, don’t they? The magic won’t feed you. It takes from you, every transformation sapping up your energy.”
There is a buzzing in my ears. Seeing Valen on the ground throws me back into my memories, and it’s me lying there, weak and faint.
He’s been bleeding and going hungry and thirsty. Since when did I turn into a monster?
No. I step back. I can’t let my heart soften even for a moment. He’s not a puppy; he’s a huge wolf who can tear my throat out the moment I relax my defenses.
“What should I do with him?” Kier’s expression is guarded, but then it hardens. The gaze he turns on Valen is murderous. “Now he’s weakened, it’s a good time to get rid of him. We can say he got unlucky. He caught on fire. Walked into a blade. Accidents happen.”
A wheezing sound comes from Valen. Is he… laughing?
How… how dare he. Finally, anger rushes back in, replacing the weight of that strange guilt.
“Take off his muzzle,” I say. “Let him eat. We have a plan. I won’t let Stepfather think even for a moment that I’ll cower.”
That’s what he wants. He wants me gone, but he also wants to see me terrified, sobbing on my knees, mired in mindless panic, and that won’t happen.
Not if I can help it.
In fact… I step closer to the werewolf. “Kier, do it.”
Valen’s amber eyes are fixed on me, and the mirth seems to have left them. “Are you sure about this, princess? What if I take a bite out of you?”
“Will you?” The cold sweat running down my back belies my bravado.
I can hear the smirk when he asks softly, “Would you like me to?”
Cold fury crashes into me. “You joke about this as if it’s a light matter. Your kind almost finished me off as a child, but I survived. Don’t make me reconsider Kier’s proposal.”
He’s silent after my outburst, still watching me intently, as if trying to read me. It feels as if something has shifted in his posture.
When he lifts his bound hands, I recoil, my breath leaving me.
Kier moves in quickly, shoving him back with his boot, sending him sprawling. “You don’t make a single move toward our mistress, you hear that, dog? Or I’ll string you by the balls over the manor’s entrance.”
I let out a breathless laugh, born of nerves, and wipe a hand over my mouth. It’s a dark, bitter feeling, losing control right after I’d convinced myself I could do this.
“Swear,” Kier goes on, “swear to me, dog, that you won’t touch her or I’ll cut you down here and now.”
Valen snarls, twisting and getting back on his knees. He lifts his hands and snaps the rope tying his wrists together. “You want to test me, human? Go ahead.”
“You—”
“I haven’t made a single fucking move against any of you since I was dragged here. Are you prodding me to make me lose control? Fuck that. You call me a dog. Is it my bite you seek? I may be an animal, but not all animals are born equal.”
Swallowing hard, I stand my ground. “If he takes the muzzle off, do you swear not to harm us?”
“I have no appetite for human flesh,” he says dismissively. “Or fragile human ladies.”
That’s a different kind of attack, but the fear already coursing through my body doesn’t leave much space for discomposure born of humiliation.
Is he implying he doesn’t find me attractive as a woman? Or that I’m too weak to deserve anything more than pity and contempt?
Either way, it shouldn’t matter. My walls wavered for an instant there, but his remark is rebuilding them so fast I’m reeling.
“Muzzle,” I snap. “Off.”
“You want to see my face, Princess?” he taunts me, his bound hands clenched in their black gloves. “My mouth? My teeth—”
“Shut up.” Kier slaps Valen’s face so hard, it jerks to the side. “Mind your manners. If you insult her again, I’ll wring your neck for good this time.”
Valen slowly turns back to face me and the mirth seems to be back in his golden eyes. “What sort of manners do you expect from a dog?”
Muttering angrily to himself about mangy dogs and ungratefulness, Kier walks behind the werewolf. It’s almost funny. This situation keeps vacillating between the ludicrous and the impossible.
Then my breath catches when Kier unclasps the muzzle at the back of Valen’s head and removes it.
I don’t… know what I’d expected.
Not true, I do. My memories are filled with vicious snouts full of sharp, yellow teeth, chins covered in blood dripping down necks and chests.
Not a chiseled jaw and a firm, luscious mouth, sharp cheekbones, and again those eyes, even more magnetizing now under the fall of his wild, silver-gray hair.
It’s all wrong. Monsters aren’t supposed to be beautiful.
Strangely, Kier doesn’t seem to be as affected as I am. “There you go. Unmuzzled. Bert, where are you? We’re ready.”
“Here.” Bert ducks under the branches and joins us, carrying a wooden trencher and a pewter goblet. “Food for the wolf.”
“You cowardly bastard,” Kier mutters. “You were right here all this time?”
“Why, did you need someone to hold your hand as you untied the creature?” Bert shoots back.
“Fuck off. Of course not.”
Bert smirks. “Figured as much, see?”
These two are nuts, but I get a fuzzy, warm feeling whenever I think that they are at ease with me.
They’d never rib one another like this in noble company.
This has been my only real family: these two burly manservants and Della.
It’s not like we’re close, but they’ve kept me sane. I owe that to them.
And my attention is still riveted on the unmuzzled dark fae, on his smooth cheeks, the lack of a beard so typical of his kind, and his flawless, if kind of rough, beauty.
It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not interested in male fae, male wolves, or males of any kind. I’m betrothed to be married, for all the Gods’ sakes.
Matilde’s taunts about slutty behavior are stuck in my mind, burrowing under my skin like thorns.
I’m staring at the man too much.
And should stop.
Especially when Valen jumps on Bert, tackles him for the goblet and trencher with his tied hands, and retreats to crouch against the trunk, growling. “Bones?” he snarls. “You brought me bones?”
Once more, I’m frozen in place, cold all over.
One isn’t attracted to animals, I remind myself. Untamable animals, at that. Wolves can’t be tamed, and those who thought they could keep them as pets soon found out to their detriment how wrong they were.