Red and Her Wolf (Kingdom, #3)

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.”