“Cianan?”
The sound of her voice made his breath catch. He was afraid to look up at her, but knew it was inevitable. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed afraid to move. How much had she seen? The terrified look in her eyes told him that she’d seen plenty. Her lips were parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Sascha,” he croaked, still having trouble finding his voice.
“My God...what are you?”
“Please...” he began, starting toward her. “I’m not what you think I am…”
Sascha stumbled to her knees and crawled backward, huddling behind the same tree on which she’d smacked her head minutes before. “Stay away from me!” she shrieked. She pulled her skirts around herself, as if trying to hide from the undeniable truth.
“Just let me explain…”
“There isn’t anything to explain,” she answered nervously. “You’re a monster. Just like Sera and Penny said.”
“I’m not a monster,” Cianan began, taking another step closer to her.
“Just stop!” she shrieked, putting a protective hand in front of her as if to ward him off. “Don’t come any closer.” Her voice was heavy with a mixture of terror and tears.
“Please, Sascha,” he pleaded. “Take me at my word. I have no intention of hurting you.” He took another step and stumbled, still not used to the awkwardness of his human body. “I promise.”
Suddenly, Sascha’s knees buckled beneath her as the world swum around her sickeningly. It was all too much to bear and her brain was having trouble making sense of it. Just as she fell forward again, Cianan rushed to her side, supporting her weight before she could fall. She tried to struggle from his grasp, but found she was too dizzy and weak. She could only let him hold her until her head stilled again.
“And what is that? The word of a monster? A werewolf!” she cried. She couldn’t actually believe the words were coming out of her mouth. She’d heard the legends of men of the Outlands being able to change into giant wolves, but she’d always assumed those were just stories Sera had made up to frighten her. But now she’d seen it with her own eyes. Had watched him shift right in front of her, an image of agony and power. Her mind couldn’t deny her senses.
He turned her around, forcing her to face him. “Do you doubt my honor, slave?” he asked, his amber eyes sparkling angrily. “I could have killed you easily before and thought nothing of doing so.” He pulled her body against his tightly, despite her fighting. The warmth of him was intense, and she immediately leaned into it, seeking out his heat. “Is that what you want, Sascha? For me to be that beast from your childish fantasies?”
“I…” She stared, dumbfounded, into his face. His closeness was overwhelming. She was terrified of him, but the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around her was clouding her head. She could smell him, a musky scent of spice and the forest.
“If you want me to be a beast, I can be a beast!” He shook her roughly. “Tell me what you want from me, Bella!” His breath caught in his chest as he realized his mistake, and he looked stricken. His grip loosened, and she crumpled at his feet. “Sascha,” he finished, dropping to his knees before her. “Not...Bella...” he murmured.
The desperation and longing she saw in his eyes softened her resolve and she reached out, touching his arm tentatively. At first she was sure that he would lash out at her again, but he stayed motionless. He was exhausted. His eyes, usually wide and piercing, seemed to be sunken into their sockets and dull. His brow was creased with lines of fatigue, and his hair was a wild mane around his face.
“I’m sorry,” she replied simply. “I wish I understood all of this.”
“As if you could be expected to.” Cianan chuckled darkly under his breath. “I wish I could explain it, but you probably wouldn’t believe me.” He followed her fingertips as they ran along his skin, tracing every curvature of muscle until she alighted on the scars across his chest.
“My God...” She sighed. “What happened to you?”
He stared down at the deep gashes that ran from the edge of his shoulder to just over his right nipple. Though time had faded them to a coppery brown color, they stood out in harsh relief against otherwise unblemished skin. Her fingertips touched the edge of the scar and he groaned audibly, but did not move. “There was a battle,” he began, “in the Outland city of Greyhym. The Outland captain had hired wolfen mercenaries from the east…”
“Wolfen? You mean—”
Cianan nodded. “It’s common enough. The Eastern tribes have even been known to breed werewolves to use in battle. One of them, the alpha of his tribe, attacked me.” His voice seemed far away as he recalled the fight, so many years ago. “He was so strong. I just remember thinking that I was going to die. That I’d never see my Bella again…” His words trailed off with his train of thought. “Anyway.” He took her hand, holding it fully against the scars. “He thought it was a killing stroke when he bested me. He left me for dead on the outskirts of town.”
“But you were stronger than he thought,” Sascha finished, looking down at her tiny palm silhouetted against the hard lines of his chest. “You rose as the wolf.”
“You do know the stories, don’t you, little one?” he whispered, holding her hand tighter against the uneven landscape over his heart. She could feel it beating, heavy and fast, beneath his skin. It felt so warm. Impossibly warm. “But I am not that monster that you fear.”
With his other hand, he tipped her chin higher to stare into her eyes. The truth of his words were evident in his cold stare, and Sascha allowed him to envelop her in his arms. They were like steel traps that held her to him with gentle rigidity. For the first time in her twenty-odd years, she felt as if she was where she belonged. The safety of his embrace was the sanctuary she had longed for her whole life. Tears of relief tumbled over her cheeks, and she buried her head against his shoulder with a heavy sob. She could feel tension at first, but soon he sank to the ground, pulling her into his lap and rocking her gently as her body shuddered with the force of her cries.
Chapter 12
It was late when Cianan arrived back at Monkshood, Sascha thrown over his shoulder. She whimpered softly with the cold and sadly, he didn’t offer much warmth. Changing back to his human form had left him naked and exhausted, but he hurried as fast as he could. As he approached the gates, he could see Anya and Mr. Kincade rushing toward them.
“Lord Marek!” she shouted, her voice hoarse with urgency. “It’s Sascha…” She stopped short, seeing the crumpled girl over his shoulder.
“She’s fine.” Cianan snarled, shifting the girl from his shoulders and into the old man’s arms.
“What happened? She went out this morning and never came back! I’ve been all over…”
“It’s all right, Anya,” Cianan answered. He knew she feared that he’d blame her. But it was clear where the blame truly belonged. He took the cloak the old woman offered and covered his body quickly. “Take her to my chambers, Mr. Kincade. And don’t you leave her until I get there.” He nodded and carried the girl off toward the castle.
The two of them watched the old man disappear through the front doors before making their way to the side entrance that led into Cianan’s cellar.
“Is the girl all right?” Anya probed.
“She’s fine,” he answered through gritted teeth. Now that the fear for her safety was over, anger like none he’d ever felt washed over him in bone-crushing waves. Not since Bella had he felt such vengeance, and this time not for himself. Not only had Ioin hurt her and simultaneously betrayed his trust, but Sascha was his mate. Though she may not know it and he may not be willing to admit it just yet, he’d marked her for his own, and no other man would ever touch her again. Unless he held little value for his life. “Where is Lord Lescoux?” he asked, his expression stony.
“He took his supper in his chambers with those women. He said they would be leaving in the morning.”
“Tonight. He’s leavi
ng tonight,” he replied calmly, though his jaw was set in a hard line that dared questioning. He pulled on leggings and a loose tunic quickly. “Have the boy bring his carriage around.”
“But...my lord...it’s the middle of the night. They’ll never make it through the rocky terrain in this darkness.”
Marek rounded on the old woman menacingly. “Just do as I say, woman!” he shouted. “Lescoux will not be sheltered one more night under my roof!” With every word, he moved forward until Anya was pinned between him and the wall. “Get his fucking carriage!”
Anya nodded and gave a slight bow, her eyes wide with genuine fear. “Yes, my lord,” she mumbled, slipping past him and out into the corridor.
He watched her go, making sure she was well out of the corridor before his pacing began. He pushed his hands through his hair, trying to breathe deeply and get control of himself. It would not do to tear Ioin limb from limb as he wanted to. He was a dangerous man with powerful connections. To let him see the beast lurking within would cause trouble. He knew that on an intellectual level, but thinking purely from his gut, he wanted to taste his blood. The thought made him smile with an animal ferocity. His teeth elongated threateningly and his mouth watered. “Stop it!” he ordered himself. Out of the corner of his eye, the portrait of Bella seemed to stare at him, her eyes narrow with warning. But in those eyes, he could see Sascha looking back too, and it only made him more determined to confront Lescoux.
****
Sascha was still groggy by the time she reached Lord Marek’s bedchambers. She’d never seen the caretaker, Mr. Kincade, before, but at this point, she didn’t care. So long as someone would carry her and she didn’t have to walk on her ankle anymore. It throbbed with a fiery pain that stabbed whenever she put any of her weight on it. In the forest, Cianan had assured her that nothing was broken, but she wasn’t sure. The only time she’d ever felt worse was once when Sera jabbed her in the side with the poker she’d been using to stir the fire.
More disturbing than the pain was this uncertainty and fear that had now crawled into the pit of her stomach. Now that she knew what he was, would Lord Marek send her away? Despite all appearances, she was still his slave. He could sell her away from Monkshood at any time. Or back to Mr. Longwillow. Now that she had been here, would she be content to go back to Sera’s insults and Penny’s orders? As strange as it seemed to admit, Monkshood was her home now. And the safety she’d felt in Cianan’s embrace seemed to drip from every wall and corridor.
Then she remembered Lord Lescoux and her belly rumbled with that sickening feeling. As she became more conscious, she remembered his grimy hands pawing at her flesh. The center of each breast was sore with where he’d pulled and grabbed at them with sloppy abandon. Every violent grope, kick, and hit replayed in her mind and by the time Kincade set her down on the edge of Cianan’s enormous bed, she was sobbing heavily.
“Are you quite all right, child?” The old man’s voice broke the silence of the room and startled her.
“Pardon?” She sniffled, trying to sound as polite as possible. Her tangled hair stuck to her face from the sweat and tears, and she knew it was streaked with dirt. She must look a fright, but was determined to act as Lord Marek expected.
“Are you all right?” he asked again. His voice was heavily accented, and something about it was vaguely familiar. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Mr... Kincade, is it?”
He nodded and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder then crossed the room to take a seat on the bench by the door.
She stared at him for a few moments, wondering why he wasn’t leaving. “You don’t have to stay, sir. I’m really all right,” she stammered. She wasn’t quite sure she was done crying and she’d like to be alone when she did.
“Lord Marek asked that I stay with you…”
“I won’t run away!”
“I don’t think that was his concern, love.” He smiled knowingly, and Sascha blushed. Perhaps she wasn’t the only resident of this household who had fallen prey to Lord Lescoux. Before she knew it, she was crying again and kicking herself for doing so. Not only had he violated her completely, but now he was humiliating her as well. Upon noticing her tears, the old man was up and across the room, apologizing nervously. “I’m sorry, love…I didn’t…” Having no one else to cling to, before she could stop herself, Sascha had thrown herself into the caretaker’s arms. He tensed at first, but then embraced her with a fatherly warmth that Sascha appreciated. “There, there now, love. It can’t be so bad.”
“Yes, it is,” she sobbed. “You weren’t there.”
“Aye, but you’re safe now. No need to go crying about things that are done.” He stroked his gnarled fingers through the soft waves of her hair reassuringly. “I may be an old man, but some things I can still see.”
Sascha sniffled. “I wish I could see as clearly.”
He smiled, pulling back from her and holding her shoulders at arm’s length. “You will, love.”
Sascha gave a sheepish smile, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “I hope so. And thank you for being so kind to me…” She stopped in mid-sentence when she noticed his expression. His eyes had gone wide and were staring at her with the oddest glint of confusion. “Mr. Kincade? Is there something wrong?” She glanced over her shoulder, for a moment afraid that Ioin had come in behind them somehow, but saw nothing. “Is something wrong, sir?” Sascha asked. “You look pale.”
“My God...you’re the very picture of your mother.”
“What?” She searched his face for hints of some trick. Had he really uttered that word? “What did you say?”
“Your mother. Her name was Karina, was it not?”
Sascha nodded. “She died long ago. I was so young. I can barely remember her face.” She turned away and stared into the cold fireplace.
Kincade smiled and turned her face back to his, examining every line. “All you need do is look in the mirror, child.”
“You knew my mother?” she asked, still harboring some disbelief. Her heart pounded in her chest. For years, she’d wished for some shred of memory of her mother. Some memory from the time when they’d all lived together in the little cottage at the edge of the woods. Before her mother got sick. Before her father had become a saddened, poor shell of the man she’d known as a child. From when she was happy.
“Of course, love. Everyone did. She was the most beautiful in our village.” The old man looked thoughtful, as if remembering a pleasant dream. “It was said that she had a twin sister just as beautiful.”
She shook her head. She hadn’t even known that her mother had a sister, much less a twin. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. She died before you were born.” He looked down sadly at the floor. “Terrible tragedy. Your father was so worried for your mother.”
“You knew my father, too?”
“Knew him? I know him. He has been my friend lo these many years.”
Sascha gasped, sitting up on her knees excitedly in front of the old man. “You know him? Have you seen him?”
Kincade laughed and took her hands. “Just last month, it was. He lives over in Falkin. Kaspar was too painful for him after your mother’s death and then having to send you to Thaddeus Longwillow.” He stared into her eyes again, the corners of his own crinkling with tears. “When Anya told me that Lord Marek’s new slave was a girl named Sascha from Kaspar, I knew it must be you.”
“Can you take me to see him?” she asked, her voice quaking with excitement.
“If Lord Marek permits it, my lady.”
Sascha squealed with a renewed joy, hugging Kincade around the neck. “You’ve made me so happy!”
He laughed again. “I’m so glad, child.” He allowed her to embrace him again and patted her back gently. “There now, dear. No more crying. You really should be getting some rest.”
He turned to leave her, but she grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Mr. Kincade,” she sai
d eagerly. “You said my mother had a twin that died? Did my father know her as well? Did she live in Kaspar?”
“I don’t believe your father ever met her. Your mother was from a village on the other side of Falkin. She only moved to Kaspar with your father, leaving her sister behind.”
Sascha wrinkled her brow in thought. “Seems strange that he never mentioned her.”
“No one does. For some of us, it is forbidden.”
“But why? I’d like to know more about her.”
Kincade shook his head. “You see, love. Her sister was Lady Isabella Marek.”
****
“But why do we have to leave so soon, master?” Neesa drawled sleepily. Ioin had awakened her from a sound sleep to begin packing up their belongings.
He threw a pile of his clothing into his large trunk and slammed the lid. “Never you mind. All you need know is that we're leaving.” He snarled. “Get the others up.”
“Shall I call the old woman to help us?” She eased out of the bed slowly, looking around at the mess they'd created.
“Absolutely not,” he answered a little too curtly through pursed lips. “Just hurry up. We’re leaving at dawn, with or without your finery.”
“You’re leaving now.”
Ioin turned to see Marek stalking into the room. He was shrouded in shadows, but his eyes glowed with a dangerous light. He stopped packing and stared at him uneasily. Instantly, he knew that Sascha had told him everything. “Cianan,” Ioin started, “I can explain…”
“There is nothing to explain,” he rasped quietly with a deadly calm, closing the distance between them. “Do yourself a favor, Ioin. Leave this place quickly and forget you ever knew me.”
“Cianan...we’ve been friends for years,” he sniveled. “Surely you wouldn’t burn the bridges between us over a woman. I saved your life many times during the wars.”
“A debt that has been repaid sevenfold,” he replied, clenching his fists at his sides. “You’d better hurry, Ioin, before I change my mind and send you back to that shithole, Yarik, in a casket.”
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