by Chloe Cole
Or did he treat all of the harem girls this way?
Chapter 11
By the time I’d eaten the stew Cook had brought up for me and bathed the last of the blood from my face, I was feeling strange. The wound on my head was already healed, so it wasn't that. It was like my body was wrung out from the constant emotional swings. I'd come perilously close to dying out there, and while I was almost limp with relief that Gatlin had saved me, I was still very aware of how close of a call it had been. And every time I thought about what could've happened, I started shaking again.
I stared at my reflection in the vanity and marveled at how different the person staring back at me was. In just the past week alone, I felt like I'd aged five years. The monsters that had lived in the dark recesses of my mind now had form and face. As much crap as I'd given Gatlin about going out for a run or to hunt, as it stood, all I wanted to do was cower in my bed for a few days.
I sighed and pushed my stool back to stand.
One of the maids had come up a few minutes before and let me know that the masters expected me to come down to the study for a cordial, and as thunderously angry as Gatlin had looked when I saw him last, I wasn't about to disobey.
I made my way to the study beside the great room, resigned to whatever lecture greeted me when I got there, then slowed as I heard low male voices.
"She doesn't know any better, Gatlin. She's a country girl. I think you're being unfair."
Connor's voice, I was sure of it. And there was no question who they were talking about. How much had he told them?
"Exactly the reason she can't be left to go out alone."
The rusty baritone belonged to Lucian and I hovered closer to see if I could get a look at their expressions as they spoke. Judging by voice alone, it was safe to say that Lucian was at least three hundred percent more pissed at me than Gatlin had been, and that was saying something.
I took one step back and then two, suddenly convinced that calling on Hattie to have her let the masters know I was feeling under the weather was the best course of action.
Giving everyone a good night's rest to sleep on the whole thing seemed prudent, after all. They didn’t need me interrupting and jamming up the works more than I already had.
"Come on then, love. We can all smell you from a mile away."
I bit back a string of curses I'd overheard at the inn the week before and pinched my eyes closed as dread swept over me.
I stepped into the room, making sure to keep my gaze pinned to the massive globe in the corner. Initially, I'd thought Connor was on my side based on the conversation, at least, but he'd been the one to call me in. I risked a quick look at Michael, my last hope.
He shook his head slowly, that stunning face closed up tighter than a drum, and I knew I was on my own.
Damn.
"Look, I know I messed up," I blurted, perching my hands on my hips, the emotions of the day boiling over again, "but you know what? I'm the one who was attacked. I'm the one who should be angry, not you lot. I shouldn't have stayed out until dark and I know I went further than I was supposed to. I'm sorry for that. You have to understand, though, it was the first time I felt normal and free since--" I broke off as I realized I was about to say "since I got here" but that wasn't true. It had been long before that.
Years.
Maybe more than a decade. Not since I was a cub, before I was even aware of the dangers that existed, had I felt so carefree.
It was, then and now, an illusion, but it had felt so damn good.
Lucian, who had been standing beside the bar clutching a glass full of ice cubes floating in amber liquid, stared at me silently as Gatlin moved toward me.
"No one is angry with you, Anaya." He had the grace to look sheepish as I shot him an incredulous glare. "Not anymore, at least. But we do have strong views on this and not all of us are in agreement. You missed the first part of this conversation," he explained. "Would you like me to fill you in on the rest?"
I nodded, taking the drink that Lucian slipped into my hand. I had taken an absent pull from the glass, not realizing it was his until the heat of the fiery liquid painted my throat and belly.
"Holy hell, what is that?" I croaked, swiping the back of my hand over my mouth.
“Scotch,” he replied, his mouth hitching into a grim smile.
I was about to thanks-but-no-thanks him and hand it back as warmth bloomed in my belly, spreading to thaw some of the ice that had settled there since earlier that evening.
I shrugged and gunned down the rest in three swallows. My eyes watered, sending tears streaming down my face as I choked and tried not to cough.
"Delicious," I managed, holding out the glass for a refill.
Connor chuckled as Lucian eyed me with something akin to admiration before moving back to the bar and opening the crystal decanter and filling my glass again.
"While these buffoons try to get you drunk, I'll fill you in on the course of action, yes?"
It was a rhetorical question so I took a seat and waited for Gatlin to continue.
"I realize that I may have overreacted out of concern. I don't want you to feel like a prisoner here."
"None of us do," Connor supplied, the smile sliding from his face, leaving him looking a bit sad. "In fact, that's the last thing we want."
"Speak for yourself," Lucian grumbled as he came toward me, glass extended. "The last thing I want is for you to get hurt. Your feelings on the subject are secondary."
I took the glass wordlessly and sipped more slowly this time.
I had to admit, I appreciated his honesty. There was so little of it in the world today, that I couldn't help but value that. In fact, as I gazed around the room at the stark faces alternately glaring and staring at me, I realized they'd all been honest with me from the start. I might not always like what they had to say, but that was all right. I trusted them, and that was more than I could say for any male I'd known in my life, my father included.
Who knew? Maybe my experience was skewed. Maybe our king was just as honest and honorable.
That would be something, at least.
I took another sip of my drink, noting happily that the taste was growing on me.
"This is rather good," I murmured and then hiccuped loudly.
Michael's normally solemn face broke into a grin and then suddenly the tension seemed to drain from the room just a bit.
"She's going to get schnockered,” Connor observed.
“I’m going to venture she’s halfway there,” Gatlin said, watching me through dark lashes.
I couldn’t deny that things had a nice sort of fuzzy filter over them now that hadn’t been there a few minutes before. I knew that things weren’t exactly stellar. There was still a low-level dread humming inside me, but it seemed far away, like it was part of a dream.
“If this is what schnockered feels like, I’m a fan,” I said before gulping down the last of the scotch.
Lucian’s teeth gleamed as he took the glass from my unresisting fingers and set it on the table to my left.
“What we don’t want is for you to feel sick tomorrow, so that’s enough for now. Have you eaten dinner?”
I nodded, suddenly more tired than I could ever remember being. Letting my head loll back onto the chair cushion, I held up my thumb and forefinger in a circle meant to signify all was a-okay on that front.
“Yep. Cook sent up some stew when I got back.”
“Perfect. So as we were saying,” Gatlin continued. “We don’t necessarily agree—in fact, we were split fifty-fifty—but we took a vote and we’ve made a decision.”
I squeezed one eye closed and tried to do the math on my fingers but gave up, opting to hiccup again instead.
Connor’s burst of laughter had a fit of giggles bubbling up from my chest.
“I’m funny, right?” I demanded. “Why don’t these two think I’m funny?” I asked, pushing myself to stand on unsteady feet as I gestured to Lucian and Gatlin. I leaned in and pok
ed Connor hard in the chest. “You. Get. Me. Don’t you, Connor? Me and you, we’re here.”
I pointed to his eyes and then to mine, the disparity between our heights sending me into another peal of laugher.
Connor’s responding smile was soft, same as his hazel eyes, and I found the laughter fading away as I swam in that warm gaze.
“Point is,” Gatlin said, clearing his throat, “we’re going to take some precautions but aside from that, you’ll be permitted to hunt and run on the grounds unless otherwise notified,” Gatlin said.
Even through the liquor haze, his words hit me hard and sucked the air right out of my lungs.
Never mind that I might never choose to leave the house again. Never mind that there was a fresh fear inside me, a wound that would take much longer to heal than the one on my head.
They were going to let me go outside if I wanted to. They weren't going to trap me here like an animal in a cage.
The Saint John brothers, grudgingly or not, were allowing me to choose.
It wasn’t exactly freedom, but damn, did it taste like it.
Instantly, I went from disbelief to ugly, wracking sobs. The finger that had been jammed into Connor's chest curled as I gripped his shirt for support. I don't know what happened next. I was too busy weeping as I hadn't since I was a child. There were murmurs and grumbles around me and then I was swept up and held close to a warm, massive body. It didn't matter to me which, I burrowed closer and cried some more. I could feel the easy gait as we moved through the house, but it wasn't until we'd cleared the stairs that I was able to catch a breath through my stuffy nose and scented Gatlin.
My heart ached as I looped my arms even more tightly around his neck.
"I'm sorry I'm a brat," I muttered against his wet shirt. "I don't mean to be. This is just...it's all so hard. If I'd known..."
Then what? I'd have passed on the king’s “offer”?
My tears gave way to another inane laugh that turned into a hiccup.
Okay, so I might not have passed even if I'd known what I was getting into, but not for the reasons anyone on the outside looking in might have thought. It wasn't the king, or my fear of my father's wrath.
Not anymore.
It was them. The Saint John brothers, who had proven yet again to be the fairest, most caring males I'd ever had the privilege to come across. If it took this to have met them, I'd have risked it all. And if it was all gone again tomorrow?
I'd still be thankful for what they'd given me.
"You're not a brat, little one," Gatlin murmured against my hair. "Not most of the time, at least."
As overwrought as I felt, I was grateful for the joke and the tears finally ceased.
I looked up as he slowed to realize we were about to step through the threshold of my bedroom.
"Did you put that book in here?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. "The other night when you caught me reading it...did you bring it or did you send one of the maids?"
It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, but I tipped my head back to look into his eyes as he answered.
"I did," he admitted softly. "You wanted it and I wanted you to have it. Don't worry, you were asleep and I didn't stay..." He trailed off as he strode to my bed and set me gently onto the mattress. I could just make his features out by the light of the full moon streaming in through the window. "But I wanted to."
His voice was all grit and it sent a jolt through me that was almost enough to chase away the effects of the scotch.
Almost.
Without warning, my vision blurred and Gatlin swam before my eyes as they drifted closed and the room began to spin around me.
"Sleep well, little one, and sleep late,” he murmured. “When you awaken, find Michael for your next lesson. It’s an important one.”
For an instant, somewhere in the fog surrounding me, I felt the warmth of his breath and firm, fleeting pressure of his lips on mine. Then, he was gone.
I didn't stay...But I wanted to.
I held the words close as I slipped into oblivion.
Chapter 12
Surprisingly, I slept like a rock. No bad dreams, no tossing and turning. Even the strife and fear seemed manageable if I didn’t think about what had happened. The scotch had done me a favor.
When I finally made it downstairs for my lessons after nursing a slight headache, I was more than a little apprehensive. Yet again, I had no idea what I was walking into.
When I reached the massive room at the end of the hall that Hattie had pointed to when I’d inquired about Michael’s whereabouts, I slowed to a stop and swiped my damp palms on the skirt of my dress.
I'd been here less than a week, and every day had produced a new and terrifying adventure. As vague as Gatlin had been, it only made sense that I'd be both curious and nervous about today's lesson.
But they’d proven yet again how worthy they were of my trust last night, hadn’t they?
With that notion lodged in my mind to bolster me, I pushed the door open and peered in.
Michael stood about ten yards away, shirtless, head bowed, arms at his sides. Of all the Saint John brothers, he was probably the most physically astounding, and that was saying something with this lot. He had an almost preternatural beauty that made it difficult to look at him for too long but, at the same time, impossible to look away from. Like a master painting, the longer I stared, the more amazed I was by the perfection of his face.
A straight, strong nose with nostrils that flared slightly whenever he glanced my way. A mouth that should have looked a hair too full for a man but only managed to look positively sumptuous on him. A lean jaw that could've been used to carve stone.
But it was his eyes that did the most damage to my psyche.
Liquid gold with flecks of green and bronze that changed with his mood or maybe the winds.
I suddenly felt a deep-seated need to see those eyes focus on me and went to call out to him, but before I could, a flurry of action on the other side of the room caught my attention. A massive male was rushing toward an oblivious Michael, a dagger gleaming in one hand, a club in the other.
"Michael!" I gasped in horror.
But I needn't have worried. Michael had already snapped to attention, dropping low into a fighting stance not a moment too soon.
His attacker let out an aggressive bellow and swung his knife-wielding arm in a wide arc directly at Michael's face.
I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold back a scream, unsure of what to do. In a series of elegant movement, Michael sent the man stumbling back and the dagger clattering to the ground after a lightning fast blow to the other man's wrist. The club swung out next but that too was rendered useless as Michael swept his leg out, taking his attacker out at the knees and sending him crashing to the floor with a muttered oomph.
"Son of a bitch," the man said, sounding annoyed but not angry as he rubbed at his wrist and glared up at Michael. "I swear to god, my friend, you get faster every single time. I'll get you one of these days, though. Count on it."
Heart still pounding, I cleared my throat as Michael bent and helped the other guy to his feet with a wide smile.
Both men turned to face me.
"You must be Anaya," the other man boomed, his bearded face stretching into a grin. "You were right, she's gorgeous," he murmured to Michael before releasing his hand and crossing the room toward me. "I'm Colin McKirk. I'm the king's lead huntsman. Sometimes Michael and I train together when I feel the need to see if I've grown soft."
He stuck out a massive hand and I took it.
"Nice to meet you, sir. I have to admit, I was a little off-put when I walked in to see you attacking my friend."
I shot a quick look at Michael, who stood, watching us in silence.
"Ha!" Colin's laugh was like thunder in a barrel. "If I didn't at least try to sneak up on him, I'd have zero chance of taking him. Even when I'm in grizzly form and he's two hundred pounds smaller as a lion, he humiliates me. One of these da
ys, though." He shrugged his barn-sized shoulders and bowed over my hand before releasing me. "Anyway, tomorrow is a new day. I should be off. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am."
I offered him a polite smile and nodded. "Same to you."
He fixed his fingers into a crude gesture and aimed it at Michael before sailing toward the side door.
Michael's lips were still spread into a smile by the time the door shut behind him.
"Wow," I murmured, making my way across the room until I was only a few feet away from Michael. "So is that how friends greet one another in the big city, then?”
His enigmatic smile didn't waver as he kicked the weapons he'd stripped from Colin aside with his bare foot.
He flicked both hands at me in a "come closer" gesture and I did. From the corner of my eye, I could see us a few feet apart in the mirrors that covered the back wall, floor to ceiling, and I marveled at how small I looked. I was no featherweight, it was just that all these dang men around me lately were huge. Even Michael, who was the shortest, towered over me by a solid six inches. His leanly muscled frame was on display, and my fingers itched to trace the indents of his abs, but I shoved the need aside.
"Okay, so do I get to know what my lesson is today?" I asked, wetting my lips nervously.
He dropped back into the same stance he'd been in to thwart Colin's attack and jerked his chin in my direction.
I blinked and shook my head slowly. "You...you want me to do what you're doing?" I asked with a frown.
He bobbed his head and waited patiently while I stared at him, nonplussed.
"Are you going to teach me to fight?" I asked with a soft chuckle.
I half expected him to break into a grin and then lead me to another room for our actual lesson, but he just looked back at me, his expression a little less patient.
"Oh my god, seriously?"
His long-suffering sigh finally clued me in to the fact that this was really about to happen, and I shot a glance to the position of his feet and legs and tried to replicate it.
"Is this because of yesterday?" I demanded, mind reeling at this strange turn of events. There was no question that the brothers had kept me on my toes to this point. I never knew what to expect, but so far, everything I'd been taught had made perfect sense for a new member of the Royal Harem.
