Red and Her Wolf (Kingdom, #3)

“Sherbia will come to get you for dinner. Relax,” she pointed to the pillows beside the rock mirror. Then she was gone, leaving Violet with her thoughts.

The dress and makeup was beautiful, but why did they insist on pampering her, dressing her up like some doll. For what? To whore herself out to the wolf? Kermani? She shuddered. Goddess forbid.

She plopped onto a large turquoise pillow and plucked at the hem of her dress. Wiggling her toes, she felt suddenly ridiculous, and missed the comforting weight of her knife.

Why hadn’t Aunt Mir told her the truth? In all the years she’d traveled with her, she’d never known her aunt to be anything but loving. So why the secrecy? Where was her aunt now?

And why him? Why would her aunt send her with the wolf as a guide? She knew, Aunt Mir knew her hatred of the wolves. She was there that night when two had slaughtered her grandmother. Aunt Mir had nursed her back to life, given her a loving home to heal in.

Her aunt wasn’t a stupid woman, or even na?ve.

Growling, she yanked the bit of charcoal off the counter Marika had used to paint her eyes with and began aimlessly doodling on the ground.

Violet licked her lips, not really looking at what she drew. There had to be an answer. Something she was overlooking. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, aimlessly drawing, when she finally heard another voice.

“Daughter?” A gentle sound, much more timid than Marika’s, intruded into her thoughts.

A beautiful woman stepped in, draped in dark greens and gold, she jingled from the gold chain around her waist as she walked. A golden stud adorned her nose and ink black hair fell in soft waves around slim shoulders.

For a brief moment, Violet experienced a swift pang of jealousy. Large eyes narrowed with fear, and then the woman dipped her head, never looking back at her.

Her reaction was strange and Violet frowned. Surely the woman wasn’t afraid of her.

“My name is Sherbia,” the dulcet voice whispered, “you are to come to dinner.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, unsure of protocol. Violet dropped the charcoal and stood. “My name is Violet,” she thrust out her hand.

“I know who you are. Follow me,” Sherbia said, and turned, leaving Violet to stare at her back in bewilderment.

Confused, she glanced down at her feet for a second and finally saw what she’d drawn on the red rock floor.

The Big Bad Wolf, and the eyes staring back at her were a beautiful almond shape.

Chapter 7

Ewan growled, tearing into the thin baked bread with animal aggression. She was beautiful. Gorgeous, and draped in red silk, so reminiscent of that night. And she wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t return an answer to a simple question.

She was all that was kindness to their host, but him… he might as well not exist.

Pale blond hair peeked out of the hood, heating his blood, making him angry with need and desire. She felt it too, he’d seen it her glance earlier. Red wanted his body as much as he wanted hers.

Incense curled a sinuous path through the cozy stone room. Candles and lanterns spun light everywhere.

“Do you not like the food, daughter?” The one named Marika leaned in to whisper in Violet’s ear.

She’d not done much other than pick at her food, pushing the red curried lentils from side to side with her wedge of flat bread. She smiled and shook her head. “I do. Very spicy. Good. Just not very hungry.”

Marika patted her arm with a motherly smile.

Kermani lifted a brow and shoved the last bit of stewed meat into his mouth. “Dancing, that is what we need.”

He reclined back, stomach bulging, and clapped his hands. Children entered from a side door, they scampered around, collecting the empty serving bowls.

“Bring my hookah,” Kermani commanded a wide eyed youngster, nodding, she jogged back toward the silk partition and disappeared once more within its voluminous fold.

Ewan licked his fingers and then downed a large tumbler of water, drinking slowly of its coolness to help take the sting of heat off his tongue. Sweat trickled down his neck.

“The lamb was delicious, I thank ye,” Ewan clipped his head, grateful for their host’s hospitality. He’d been washed by two maidens, dressed in a strange wrap below the waist, and fed until he’d gorged.

He’d worried Violet might take offense at the thought of strange women bathing him, but it’d only been a passing thought. The chit hated him. T’was fairly obvious to him she’d not come willingly or eager to his bed. Clenching his jaw, his stomach fluttered recalling the hard press of the blade against his bollocks. She’d meant to do it; he’d seen it in her eyes. Inhaling sharply he wondered how he’d get through to her.