“He’s my bodyguard. My responsibility. You never take him away again without consulting me first.”
“What are you doing?” Valen growls, muffled behind the leather muzzle. “Get back inside.”
And he’s undermining my authority even more, so I glare at him. “I said, go.”
The looks they shoot me say that they couldn’t care less about my statement. I have no real power in this household, and everyone knows it.
“As you wish, little lady,” one of them says snidely as he unties the end of his rope from the werewolf’s wrist. “If he eats you, then it’s on you.”
“Yeah, we didn’t invite you down here to wrestle with him, but if that’s your desire…” another says, untying his rope, too. “It’s your funeral, lady.”
“Now you pretend to worry about me,” I mutter, bending down to grab the leather strap of the leash. “You laughed when he was brought in to be my bodyguard. You thought it was really funny.”
A third man is silent as he unties his rope, and he elbows the fourth one when he opens his mouth to speak.
They walk away as the sky cries over us.
Everyone is still watching, I know. I can hear their voices over the rain, arguing and discussing loudly. Probably placing bets on my survival chances.
I’m standing in the yard alone with the wolf, and his wrists may be bound, but he’s unbound. He could grab me and lope away. He could feast on me right here and now.
It’s what everyone is expecting, gazing at us with bated breath, hoping to get their thrills in on this gloomy morning.
In the stillness, the clouds part and daylight streaks through the cloak of rain. The leash chain gleams, and Valen’s eyes shine like old gold.
“Aren’t you afraid of me anymore?” he asks, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. “Have you already forgotten last night?”
A shiver crawls down my spine. “How could I forget?”
The blood splashed on the floor and walls, covering him from head to toe. Even now, with the rain bathing us, his hair is encrusted with it, turning the silver gray dark, and brown streaks are visible on his muscular chest and arms.
But who’s ogling his muscles, right? Not me. I’m definitely not looking.
“What are you doing out here, Princess?” He lifts his bound hands and trails a fingertip over my cheek. “A silverling for your thoughts.”
I slap his hands away. “Don’t touch me, wolf.”
He dips his head over me. His jaw clenches past the muzzle. “Right. That’s you in a nutshell, isn’t it? No touching. Bad dreams. Scars?—”
“Shut up.”
“So what’s the story here, Princess?” he growls. “Do you have men trying to kill you every night, or did I choose the right time of the year? Is it a game?”
“It’s no game,” I mutter, doing my best to hide how shaken I am. “And no, my life was quiet until now.”
“Just my luck, then.” Even muffled behind the muzzle, his deep voice holds resignation. “Your own father set you up.”
“He’s my stepfather, not my father.”
“Stepfathers aren’t supposed to set assassins on their stepdaughters.”
“And sickness or violence isn’t supposed to take your loved ones away, but it happens, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, Princess.” He shakes his head. “You’re a fucked-up mess.”
“And you’re an animal in disguise,” I snap, turning around and tugging on the leash, blinking water off my lashes.
“Better carry a knife with you at all times,” he says to my back. “But it won’t be enough. He’ll kill you if you don’t leave now.”
