Red and Her Wolf (Kingdom, #3)

“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 fa?ade. 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.

“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?