“Hm. Everything looks normal, except your gland is slightly inflamed. Touch it with your tongue. Does that cause discomfort?”
She did as instructed. The roof of her mouth was a bit sore, but when she pressed her tongue against it, there was no pain. Rather, it felt like some small pressure was being relieved.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she told him, licking her lips.
Her father dug around in his pocket for a moment before he pulled out a worn, collapsible measuring stick. Commanding her to open her mouth once more, he held it up to each of her small, retracted fangs and made another thoughtful sound.
Her father and Harrod shared a look. “Interesting. Harrod, I want you to measure her fangs when her time is up. They are slightly elongated, which is abnormal for after a full moon.”
“Of course, sir,” Harrod answered immediately. Her stomach clenched with a new anxiety at the thought of him sticking his hands anywhere near her face.
“Good, good.” Her father waved a hand at the door. He seemed more harried than usual, which was alarming. “Get her in there. You and I have work to do. I’ve received a pressing letter that you will want to read. We have much to do, Harrod. Too much.”
With the tip of his finger, Harrod traced the familiar shape of a sigil on the metal above the heavy locking mechanism. A small, hot burst of magic filled the air with an iron, blood-like tang before he slid the bolt to one side with a heavythunk.
Josephine held her breath, her stomach tumbling over and over, as he pulled the door open.
There he is,the beast sighed, pleased and afraid in equal measure.
A wave of hot pinpricks rushed over her skin when she made out the shape of him against the wall. His great bulk looked relaxed as he casually crossed his ankles and folded his shackled hands in his lap.
And just like the day before, those golden eyes glowed in the dark. They were fixed squarely on her.
Since she wasn’t fighting him this time, Harrod didn’t toss her in. He simply gave her arm a warning squeeze before he turned on his heel to leave the cell. The door closed and locked with a clang.
She managed only a single quick look at his intense expression before the anxiety of being in a predator’s presence began to edge out her bubbling anticipation. Her muscles seized, preventing her from moving back against the door.
She was stuck there, sweaty fists balled in her shawl and trembling so hard her knees shook.
His scent was stronger than the day before. It seemed to permeate the whole cell with something rich but sharp, indefinable like the scent of a candlewick newly blown.
It screameddanger,but the more she breathed, the more she began to notice the ache in the roof of her mouth intensifying.
His chains rattled as he got more comfortable. She could not look him in the eye, but she could watch his scarred chest, broad and covered in a sprinkling of pale hair, move as he leaned forward.“Lille mus,”he finally rasped, “how are you?”
Josephine let out a shaky breath. “I’m not the one chained to a wall, so I must be fine.”
“You aren’t chained, no, but I see the way that man handles you. I heard how they speak to you out there.” A deep, dangerous growl made his voice almost unintelligible when he added, “Good behavior for a singlecushion?You’re a prisoner here just as much as I am. Those men treat you like a dog.”
No,she wanted to argue.They don’t.
Her mother had a dog once. A small, fluffy thing that bounced in and out of her earliest memories, back before they knew she was worthless. Her mother loved that dog. It wore pretty ribbons around its neck and ate from a crystal dish. It slept at the foot of her mother’s bed, and when it passed suddenly, Josephine remembered how her mother wept and demanded Chérie be cremated so she could keep her ashes on her nightstand.
Chérie had never once worn so much as a leash. Josephine could not go out in public without shackles on.
But she could not tell that to the shifter, who already looked at her too closely. She knew from past experience that pity would only make things worse in the end.
Still, she found herself asking, “Areyouwell?”
She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was certain he was smiling when he answered, “Well, see, last night was the first night in nearly forty years where I did not worry I’d wake up in dragonfire, or to an orc standing over my bed with a rifle, or to the sound of a man pissing too close to my bed roll. My stomach was full and I was not rained on in the night. I had a roof, a bathroom, and the hope that a beautiful woman would speak to me in the morning. All things being equal, not so bad.”
Of course it struck her that he called her beautiful, but Josephine was immediately distracted from the thought by the casual way he spoke of his time in the war.
Unable to stop herself, she breathed, “Forty years?”
“Yes. Not as long as some, but once you get sucked into defending your territory and keeping your friends alive, there’s not much that’ll get you out save the end of the war or death.”
“That’s awful.”
