Closing her eyes, she swallowed the rest of the wine. He confused her, excited her, angered her, and all at the same time.
What would her family think? How would they feel knowing how conflicted their daughter was? At least he couldn’t lie. She had.
Over and over again tonight. She’d lied through her teeth, telling him that she did not wish his touch when she burned for it. He’d awakened a hunger, a fire, a siren’s need.
Her charms flowed through her body like a hot current and she let them. How would she go the next two months without his touch? How would she survive this?
Stomach twisting with the knifing pain of hunger, she didn’t pick up the spoon. Instead she grabbed the bowl and brought it to her lips, moaning in appreciation at its silky smoothness, its undertones of truffles and buttery richness. She didn’t stop until she’d finished it all and felt a little better. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then used the bread to sop up the rest and sighed with relief when her stomach bulged with the first hearty meal she’d eaten since coming here.
She was lonely. For her family. For a friend. For Rumpel.
If she called him, he would come. But then her word meant nothing. It was okay to feel, and she would not deny the truth to herself that she wanted Rumpel’s body on hers, wanted to explore every inch of him again and again and again, but Father had told her once never to believe what a man says, but rather what a man does.
Rumpel worshipped her, then he left her, and it was a pattern she didn’t want repeated anymore.
She had two choices: lock herself up in her room and only come out for the next and final test, or let him go and learn to be friends.
Tomorrow she’d decide the answer to that riddle. But tonight she was here because she wanted some joy, some hope that at the end of all this there was light.
Swirling the water in the bowl with her pinky, she inhaled and then waited for an image to appear. Again, like last time, it was nothing but darkness.
“Maybe there is no hope for me at the end of this,” she whispered. “Maybe I die.”
But then the gray speck she’d seen the first time reappeared, but instead of it being formless, there was a shape. A small shape.
Frowning, she lowered her head until her nose almost scraped the water. It was moving toward her, growing larger, more defined and distinctive. Her hope that maybe she’d see an image of her mother, father, or Briley quickly dissipated in the mystery of just what this was.
Two legs.
No, four.
She frowned. “Four legs?”
But then it bent over, no longer walking upright.
Hair.
Long and shaggy.
It was grayish black.
A snout.
Fangs.
“A dog?” she whispered, feeling the slightest twinge of disappointment that her life must be dreadfully boring if the only joy she’d find was in a dog.
But then it tossed its head back and an ear-splitting howl rushed through the room. Clapping her hands to her ears, she jerked so hard away from the bowl that her leg kicked out, sloshing some of the water. The howling instantly stopped. But it hadn’t been the howling that had her heart in her throat.
“Mistress!” Dalia’s voice cried out as she materialized beside a now-shaking Shayera. “Miss, what’s wrong? What is it?” Kneeling, the maid latched on to her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake.
Turning, Shayera dropped her forehead into the girl’s chest, taking whatever comfort she could. “It had red eyes, Dalia. Red. Eyes.”
She jerked back, staring at her red-eyed friend. The only people Shayera knew with such ruby-colored irises were demone.
“What had red eyes, miss?”
“The wolf,” she half sobbed, half stuttered. “Dalia, please”—she clutched her maid’s hands—“you have to tell me. Is Rumpelstiltskin a wolf?”
Chapter Fourteen
“A wolf?” Rumpel blinked at a visibly shaking Dalia. When she’d burst into his room, he’d been readying for bed and was only wearing his breeches.
She covered her eyes, twisting and turning every which way. “I’m sorry, master, I’m…” She swallowed. “Blimey.”
Shaking his head, he marched to her and shook her roughly. Any other time, she’d have suffered for her impertinence, but this was of far too much importance for him to care. “A wolf, you say? That’s what she said precisely? Tell me, Dalia, in detail,” he spit out, pulse racing as Dalia relayed what Shayera had told her.
Blinking, he cracked his knuckles. “Then I was right. She is the one.”
“But she’s failed every test, master.”
Jerking around, he growled, “Only I decide that. What did you tell her, maid? Answer me!” He strode into her space. “What did you tell her of it?”
Shaking her head so wildly it caused hair to tumble out of her bun, her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “I said nothing. Nothing. Only told the mistress that you’ve dogs in the castle and led her to believe that is what she saw.”
“She saw this in the scrying bowl?”