by Jan Delima
Like a perverted ray of sunlight in a charred forest, Rosa thought, promising warmth and growth while all she offered was destruction. Except she didn’t trust this light, having followed it once before only to learn that some secrets were better served on burnt toast. “There is no other way.”
“There’s always another way.” A smug smile spread across his too-pretty face. “And from what I can foresee . . . this one could work in your favor.”
“Please,” Rosa seethed. “Spare me your foresights.”
“One day you’ll learn that I’m not your enemy.” Taliesin paused as if waiting for a response, then sighed when none was given. “Prophecies can change, Rosa, and yours has never been entirely clear to me.”
“And why would that be, I wonder. Has your penchant for wine finally pickled your brain?”
Her mockery earned her a sneer. “I find vodka far more effective toward achieving that goal, but I have not partaken in that luxury for many years. I must admit that I am feeling the urge now.” Taliesin shook his head in self-disgust. He swore under his breath. And then again, only louder. “Fuck me to hell and back . . . but when I’m around you I talk like a Victorian sot and feel like an ass.”
Rosa shrugged. “Maybe that is because you are one.”
“And maybe you should’ve snuck out of your castle more often, Rosabea, and joined the modern world. It may have opened your eyes to another perspective.”
“You are not my family, or my friend, and have not”—she paused to combine the word—“haven’t earned the right to call me by that name.” Current dialects felt foreign, because she had lived in forced isolation, and in part because of him. But sometimes, when no one was around to listen or make fun, she had practiced. It was becoming more natural to combine words—but occasionally she reverted back to her learned way of speaking, especially when agitated.
“Enough!” Dylan interceded, giving Taliesin a pointed glare. “You were about to say something, useful I hope, before you’d begun to antagonize our guest.”
Taliesin smirked. “She started it.”
“Just tell us your idea,” Dylan said with a mixture of weariness and censure, “before I regret asking.”
“A contract.”
“What sort of contract?”
“A marriage contract.”
Rosa fisted her hands until her nails dug into her palms. She’d sensed victory until his interruption. Unfortunately, she’d been coveted for far too long not to assume this notion might surface, as Gareth had alluded to earlier.
She wanted to avoid adding herself as an option to these negotiations. But if given no other choice, she would be forced to consider it.
Hoping she sounded indifferent, or at the very least bored, she let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve no interest in entering a second unwanted marriage.”
Unless the terms are to my advantage.
Sophie frowned. “From my experience with the Guardians, I doubt they’d respect a marriage contract anyway.”
“They might,” Dylan said, sounding too interested for Rosa’s comfort. “It’s one of the oldest institutions and bartering tools of our kind. There is a chance they’ll go along with it. For a while, if Rosa chooses a potential mate the Council has no grounds to refute. At the very least, it may buy her some time.”
“She has other bartering tools at her disposal to convince them her plan is in their best interest.” When Taliesin spoke everyone listened, and all she could do was cringe at his not-so-subtle referral to the Beddestyr.
“You’re the reason this is happening.” Rosa lifted her hands and let them fall back to her sides, losing much of her anger to desperation. “You could change it all with just a word . . . if you went to the Guardians and recanted your prophecy.”
“You’ll not believe me when I say this, but my interference would only do you more harm than good.” Taliesin’s gaze held hers with a mixture of emotion, bluish-green like spring and dead like winter. “These events must stay in motion as they’re meant to be.”
She’d heard him give similar cryptic warnings in the past, enough to know not to push him further. “And Dylan gets control of my territory through marriage.”
Through me.
“I’m already married,” Dylan pointed out.
“And mated,” Sophie added, earning a look of approval from her husband. “I’m learning that their marriages are equal.”
“Forgive me,” Rosa said, “but that’s not been my experience.”
Having met Math while chained in Castell Avon’s dungeon, Sophie’s expression softened with understanding, but then she ruined the effect by asking, “Is there anyone here who the Council would accept as Rosa’s husband?”
The Irishman took a step forward. He had a stalky build, wide shouldered, and was undoubtedly lethal or he wouldn’t hold a position in Dylan’s household. Except Rosa suspected he was also human, or mostly so, having never come across his description or lineage in the Council’s ledgers.
More obvious, he sported tattoos, but unlike Luc’s, they had faded with time and permanence on skin that never stretched and morphed between shifts.
Human or not, he must have some wolf under that inked skin of his to be drawn to her. She recognized the look in his eyes, having seen it countless times before. “Take another step toward me and I will . . .” She carried no weapons, none other than her own wolf, but it was enough if given free rein. “Take another step and I will bite you.”
The man had the gall to chuckle. “Please tell me that’s a promise. It’s been a while since I’ve had me a good nippin’.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Rosa said, but soon regretted her impatience.
His stance stiffened and his eyes lost their mirth. Apparently, he’d rather be bitten than slighted. Flirtations were as tedious as men’s egos.
“Ease off, Porter,” Luc warned.
Porter? Rosa thought. How curiously discreet. He’d disguised his features with ink and taken the name of his title. Why?
Porters were the protectors of homes, the heads of security where masters and alphas slept; a prestigious position. Gareth was her porter, once Math’s, but his loyalty had always been hers.
Now she wondered at this porter’s given name, and would wager her right pinky toe that it was in the Council’s records. She might even have asked if his embarrassment hadn’t turned to spite.
“I pity the poor bastard who’ll be taking this one to their bed,” Porter muttered under his breath. “I’m betting she’d be killing them while they slept.”
“Were that the case,” Rosa felt compelled to remind him and everyone else in the room, “Math would have been dead long before now.” Still, amends were in order. “I didn’t mean to cause offense. I’ve come here for your help and I’m running out of time. At this moment, the guards have become aware that I’ve not returned from my run. A search party will have been sent out. By morning, or sooner, the Guardians will begin to torture the Hen Was for information. Knowing my aunt Neira, she’ll be anxious to begin, so I would like to be back in Avon before that happens.”
A red flush crawled up Porter’s neck and mottled the patterns on his skull. His eyes shone feverish blue, made more prominent by arching black brows. Those brows appeared to be the only unshaved hair on the man’s body. Well, at least on his head; she wouldn’t begin to presume what grew in his nether regions.
Without giving it much thought, she acknowledged that Porter was handsome, or would be to other women—as well as a few men. Cadan might even refer to him as delicious, her cousin’s favorite endearment of late toward men he found attractive.
Porter gave a slow nod in her direction, which only served to reveal more of his cranium than she cared to see, but it was an apology of sorts, or at least an acknowledgment of poor behavior.
And for that, she was grateful; it made
an inevitable surrender less distasteful. If she’d sensed even a hint of wolf under the Irishman’s tattooed skin, she might have considered him further for her plan. No doubt he’d be more manageable than the one whom she intended to barter a piece of her freedom.
Having arrived at a decision, Rosa ran her hands over her face, refusing to look in Taliesin’s direction when she fulfilled yet another one of his predictions. Regrettably, she wished she could do this alone, but wishes were for dreamers and her dreams had turned to nightmares a long time ago.
She was a realist. And these negotiations had gone on long enough. She needed to be in Avon, with reinforcements by her side, by any means necessary. Putting selfishness aside, she made an offer. “I would entertain an arrangement with Luc.”
Silver eyes landed on her, not as pretty as Taliesin’s, or Porter’s for that matter, but far more unsettling. The weight of his gaze felt like a physical force. He gave little indication of his thoughts, other than a brief flash of surprise that also hinted of curiosity.
Tension filled the room, made worse by Luc’s blatant assessment. In a few strides, he loomed above her. His hand reached out and lifted her chin. “You know who I am.”
“Of course.” Had they not already established routine introductions?
His grip remained firm while awaiting a better answer.
“I know what the Guardians call you, if that’s what you want to hear.” She felt inspected like cattle so wasn’t kind with her words. “You are the Beast of Merin, the first of our race born in wolf form. You are loathed as much as you are feared. The Council will not be pleased with our arrangement—if you agree to my terms.”
He leaned forward and whispered next to her ear, “Do you think I give a fuck about the Council’s opinion?”
“If I’d thought that . . .” She paused, suddenly breathless as the edge of his jaw brushed against her neck. “I wouldn’t have proposed an arrangement with you.” Flutters unsettled her belly—which was a result of her not eating, and had nothing to do with the fact that his scent was glorious. It rolled over her like a river after a storm, fresh like rain and just as destructive. “If you agree, they will try to kill you.”
He snickered. Men, in her experience, found the oddest things amusing. “And that would be different how? They’ve been trying to kill me for centuries.”
“I’m sure that they have,” she said without doubt. “Even so, they haven’t been successful.” Her conscience made her add, “But that was before you took something that the Guardians consider theirs.”
“If you were theirs to steal, Rosa, then you wouldn’t be here now.”
“True.” It was her turn to smile. “But I was referring to Castell Avon.”
That made him pause. Dark interest exuded from his stiffened stance. It seemed rock and mortar held more temptation for him than bone and flesh.
Five
Luc stepped back and searched Rosa’s face for deceit, only to find a serene smile and downcast eyes. It was a guise he’d seen on Elen often enough, a mask of indifference honed for survival.
Like with his sister, he had an urge to rip it off to expose what stirred beneath. “I think you are a talented liar, but I’ll hear the truth from you now . . . Is your offer of marriage genuine?”
“I offered an arrangement,” she corrected him, “not a marriage.”
“You mock me with semantics.” He sliced the air between them with his hand, impatient with her wordplay. “Calling a marriage an arrangement won’t change the outcome, not once vows are given and the Guardians assume we’re husband and wife.”
“Forgive me,” she said with bite in her tone, “but since it’s only been three days since my last one ended, I will use any tactic at my disposal that helps me cope with the idea of another.”
His gaze narrowed with concern. Her façade had slipped to reveal her dislike of men, or maybe not men in general, just a binding contract to one. Understandable, given her circumstances.
But knowing the root of a challenge only made it easier to defeat. He would need to be gentle with her. “If I accept your offer, if I choose to give vows, they will be real, and they will be honored. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes . . .” Her voice all but seethed venom. “I understand all too well. I’m negotiating carnal obligations to one man instead of eight.”
He scowled at her choice of words but didn’t deny them. “Yes.”
“You would have to agree to my terms first,” she returned.
“That won’t be necessary,” Dylan interrupted. His voice was low and heavy with displeasure. “This is my debt to pay, not my brother’s. We’ll help you—”
A guttural growl erupted from Luc before he could contain it. “Don’t speak for me!” He whipped around to face his brother. “I’ll hear her terms before we agree to help her.”
Dylan stilled at the verbal challenge. His stance emanated authority. This time Luc refused to back down and gave a small taste of the volatile power he’d buried for too long.
Energy gathered along his skin, called from nature through glass windows. The scent of elements swept through the room, like a breeze in a moonlit forest, where shadows danced and prey fled, and alphas fought for the right of first kill.
His beast howled in silent triumph, echoed by indrawn breaths.
Dylan’s black gaze bled streaks of green and gold as he fought to contain his wolf. “You cannot seriously be entertaining this idea. The Council will execute you as soon as they learn of it!”
“They can only try.”
Taliesin cleared his throat, not keeping silent as he should. “This union will cause an outrage, but also dissension.” He sounded enthused by that prospect and Luc began to understand Rosa’s dislike. “You have allies in places that may surprise you.”
Sophie put a hand on her husband’s arm, a cautionary gesture before she addressed Rosa. “I believe we should hear what you have to offer.” Her voice was strained.
Appeased, Luc’s wolf paced with restless anticipation, too content to cause much internal damage. Little did Rosa realize that her territory was the perfect solution to his personal dilemma, with it being close enough to his family so as not to feel like a betrayal, and challenging enough to pacify his darker half.
And all the while he would gain access to a territory that the Guardians must not repopulate, especially now that they were aware of the power that bred in their neighbor’s untamed wilderness.
He would have Castell Avon.
And if the beauty who resided within was a part of the contract, marriage, or arrangement—call it whatever she damned well liked—then so be it.
Rosa lifted her chin, preparing for a battle that she hadn’t yet realized she’d already lost. “I would like to ask Luc a question first.”
“Then ask,” he said, assuming her concern related to liberties for herself.
“How will you treat servants under your command?”
He concealed his surprise—and his approval that her final appeal had not been a selfish one. “I don’t believe in servants. Employment will be voluntary and compensated fairly. Your Hen Was will have their freedom, land to build if that’s their choice, and our protection if they do.”
“I’ve seen your town,” she said wistfully. “With its quaint houses and tidy gardens, your people are free to live normal lives, while your secrets have remained secure.”
“Avon will be the same, once we expel the filth.”
She worried her bottom lip in deep contemplation, while wearing the look of someone who’d never received a gift, hesitant to open it for fear the unwrapping would reveal an empty box, or worse—a curse.
But she was determined, this Rosa with a castle moated by rivers, willing to use her thorns to make that first tear. “In return for your support,” she offered, “I propose an equal partnership for Castell Avon and the s
urrounding territory. As long as your decisions are rational, made for the betterment of our territory, and with compassion for the people who choose to stay, I’ll support you, and any allies who take a stand against the Guardians.”
His lips turned slightly in appreciation. She’d kept her offer vague, no doubt, for leverage later on. “I accept the terms.”
“You do?” Again, Dylan tried to voice another solution. “Teyrnon might be willing—”
“No.” Luc kept his tone firm with conviction. “I’m the one she chose, and I accept.”
His brother scowled. “You can’t be interested in this woman.” He sighed, softening his stance as his gaze fell briefly to his wife, perhaps remembering why he owed Rosa a debt. “Before last week, she’s always done the Council’s bidding.”
“I’m interested in Avon,” he said without compunction.
Throughout their scrutiny, Rosa stood poised like a wolven queen. Proud and unrepentant, she’d lain with a monster king, and would do the same with a beast if it meant protecting the people she loved.
Her burgundy gaze met his, stricken with her wolf yet fiery with challenge. “I must warn you that I’ll not be submissive.”
“Good.” A slow, predatory grin tugged at his lips. “I’ve no interest in a submissive wife.”
Indeed, Luc found this whole bargain less distasteful than he ought. And for the first time since Koko’s death, the idea of a woman’s flesh wrapped around his was more tempting than his conscience cared to admit.
“You truly want to leave Rhuddin Village?” Dylan asked, his voice raw with disappointment. “This is your home—our home.”
“It’s time.” Luc searched for the right words. Even his wolf quieted out of respect. Most brothers would have tossed his beastly ass into the barren forests of their homeland to starve and be exterminated. But Dylan, only thirteen years his senior, had cared for him, fought for him—chose isolation for him, and raised him as a father would a son. “Was it not you who taught me that not all battles need end in blood, for the ones who pay that price are often the innocents? And if given a choice, choose the option that will spare more lives.”
