The Road to Wolfe (The Sanctuary Series Book 4)

by Nikita Slater

  Since he didn’t greet me, I assume that Wolfe is in his private rooms, so I decide to wait for him while tending to the plants. I immediately dig my hands into the dirt and go to work pulling up weeds. I'm pleased to note the soil is now moist, not nearly as dry as it was a few weeks ago when I'd been in here. The weeds are much fewer, too. Someone has begun taking care of the solarium plants.

  "You look beautiful."

  I look up sharply at the sound of Wolfe’s voice. I frown at him and let out a skeptical laugh. "Beautiful?" I've never heard him say anything like that to me or anyone. Hell, I've never even heard him say a mountain or a tree or a flower was beautiful. The very idea that this man sees things in terms of aesthetics is ludicrous. He only sees blood, death and war. Not growth and beauty.

  "You are uncomfortable with the idea that I think you're beautiful?" He circles around the table to the other side, as he did the last time we were in this room together. He gazes at me through the foliage as I work.

  I can feel myself blushing and want to curse at my damn skin for betraying my discomfort. I don't look any different than usual. In fact, I haven't even changed that much. I continue to wear leather, though instead of pants I’m now wearing a floor-length leather skirt split up the front for easy movement in case I'm attacked. My top is a light, sleeveless shirt with a corset over top that Hannah helped lace me into. It looks good with the skirt. I'm devoid of jewelry, but that's a personal preference. Though I can appreciate a nice piece of jewelry, I've never liked having it on me. It's a hindrance when I need to move freely.

  "I didn't know you could see beauty," I say sarcastically.

  "Before you, I didn't know what beauty was." His words are simple, but they cause my heart to speed up in anticipation. Again, I want to curse at my physiology. Why am I so excited by a basic compliment? A compliment from a bloodthirsty Warlord. It should mean nothing to me.

  "I never expected romance from you."

  His gaze burns into me as he pauses before he speaks. I feel uncomfortable, so I drop my gaze to the soil where my fingers are working diligently. "Truth is not romance."

  I'm becoming uncomfortable at the way my heart is pounding too hard. I want to grab my chest and force my heart to calm down before I have to loosen my corset, but my hands are now covered in dirt. I lift them up and look at them.

  "Come with me, we’ll get your hands washed and then we can eat." Wolfe circles the table and reaches for me.

  I step quickly away, not wanting to feel his touch. Not right now. Not while we’re speaking so honestly and intimately. It feels too real, too much.

  Instead of grabbing me as I thought he might, he simply waves his hand toward the Warlord’s bedchamber. I walk through the door ahead of him, moving toward a bowl on the table next to the window.

  I use the pitcher next to the bowl to fill it with water, then dip my hands in and rub them together, scrubbing the dirt from beneath my fingernails. I smile down at the water as I realize the irony in dressing up for a fancy meal with the Warlord and then immediately sticking my hands in dirt. It's as though I think they belong there. In the dirt, in the trenches with the common people. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of being elevated. I always have been. Even when I lived in the palace harem with the other women, I longed to be part of the bustling city below. To live in a house, maybe with a family, to work a real job.

  I jump as Wolfe steps up to my back, the barest hint of his chest touching me. He reaches around either side of me and dips his hands in the water with mine. I freeze, unable to move. I don't push him away, don't ask him to stop. Instead, I just feel.

  Feel as his long, strong fingers slide down my wrists and wrap around my hands in the water. His hands are so much bigger that they cover mine completely. I watch, mesmerized, as one at a time he scrubs each of my fingers. He takes his time, going at a leisurely pace as he touches me.

  My body grows warm as heat trickles through me, starting in my hands where he's touching me, in my back where his chest is touching, rushing through my body's nerve endings, sparking sensations throughout. This is a seduction. He’s seducing me. It's the strangest seduction I've ever known, though. He makes almost no moves on me, but then invites me here for a meal and washes my hands for me. It shouldn't be so erotic, but I can feel my body flooding with desire. Feel the press of his cock against my lower back.

  He lifts my hands from the bowl and turns me on the spot. Water drips from my hands onto my skirt and onto him, as he holds them aloft. He reaches behind me, his shoulder brushing first my face then my shoulder. He picks up a cloth and then proceeds to dry my hands, individually drying each finger as though prolonging the moment. By now I can barely breathe. Heat has taken hold of my entire body.

  He drops the cloth, ignoring it where it lands on the floor. He lifts my hand to his lips and lingers over my flesh as he presses a kiss to my knuckles.

  This is the most intimate, romantic moment of my life and I'm sharing it with a man who at times can be more enemy than friend. It's a strange moment fraught with tension… but it also feels right.

  "Let's eat." His voice is unsteady as he takes my arm and turns me, leading me from the room to the Warlord’s dining chamber. I follow without complaint, still trying to sort myself out. We were both affected by that hand washing moment.

  Wolfe holds a chair out and I sit. He pushes my chair to the table and then takes his place directly on my right. I look at him with a frown as I realize I'm sitting at the head of the table, in what would've been Silas’s spot, while Wolfe is taking the right-hand position. Second-in-command to the Warlord. I don't correct him though. He knows the correct positioning. Either he doesn't care or he’s making some kind of statement.

  As if on cue, one of the kitchen staff starts bringing in plates. It's unfortunate that Wolfe has chosen this night to fuck with my equilibrium, because the food is an amazing display of what a Sanctuary can pull together with limited resources. Baked potatoes smothered in cheese curds, chives, cream and butter. The potatoes are accompanied by goat meat stew, made with onions, carrots and fresh herbs. A plate filled with mouthwatering fresh biscuits is also set in front of us.

  Yet, despite the sumptuous meal, I barely taste a thing as I put bite after bite in my mouth, chew and swallow on reflex. My entire being is focused on the man next to me. It's like that moment when he washed my hands woke me up in a way I've never been before. I feel strange, uncertain, off-balance. The feeling makes me want to lash out at the person who’s causing this.

  "So, when's the wedding?" I demand, my voice as hard and brittle as I'm starting to feel on the inside.

  Wolfe places his fork and knife down next to his plate and lifts his golden gaze to my face. I can feel the rebuke in that look even as he says, "What wedding?"

  It's not like him to pretend he doesn't understand what a person is saying, so I'm led to believe that he wants me to spell out what I'm thinking. I follow suit and set my knife and fork down. I pin him with a glare.

  "Our wedding, of course. You’ve informed me that I'll be your wife. I'd like to know when the nuptials will be so that I can prepare myself. It's not easy finding bridesmaids, dresses or a feast on short notice during an apocalypse." My words are sarcastic and biting and I can tell that they're having the desired effect of destroying the intimacy between us. I almost want to snatch them back, but it's too late.

  "Skye." He says my name warningly, telling me in a single word not to go down the path I'm recklessly headed.

  I choose not to take his warning. "You have everything planned, right? The big bad Warlord, bullying a woman into doing his job for him and threatening her with a marriage he knows she doesn't want. You treat women as equal to men in one breath, then talk about forcing me into subservience in the next. Tell me I'm wrong?"

  His eye blazes at me and his lips become a jagged line of disgust. I can tell when I've crossed the line with him, when he's disappointed in me. I can feel a responding disappointment with myself. I miss
the spark that flared to life between us just a few moments ago. Now, I'm destroying it in my mindless pursuit of fighting this man. But I can't seem to help myself. I'm also a truth seeker. I want people to be plain with me. I don't want Wolfe’s ultimate plan to just unfold at his will. I want to know what the hell is going on and I want to be a part of it.

  "I won't tell you you're wrong," Wolfe says, his voice a deep growl of displeasure. "But your truth may not be my truth."

  "So… no wedding date then?" I ask sarcastically.

  Of all the things I've said and done to Wolfe, for some reason that one sentence is the thing that pushes him over the edge. He shoves his chair back and stands to his full height, towering over me. He takes me by the arm and jerks me from my chair, forcing me to stand with him.

  "Leave." That one simple word is spoken with a wealth of meaning.

  Tears leap to my eyes and I feel crushed. Even though I goaded him into this response, I’m hurt that he wants me to leave. Then hurt quickly morphs into anger. I came here at his command. I even dressed up for him. I’m eating his damn food, conversing with him. Just because I'm not saying what he wants to hear doesn't mean he gets to throw me out early before I've even finished eating.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" I jerk my arm from his grip and step back. My ass hits the edge of the table, but I ignore it. "You act as though every move I make, every word I say is wrong. I don't know what you want from me!" Frustration wells up inside me and I shout in his face, my finger in his chest, "What the fuck do you want?"

  He slaps my arm out of the way, grips me by the neck and shoves me back. I fall with a gasp, reaching up to grip his wrist so that my fall is controlled. He slams me down on the table and I gasp in pain as something hard digs into my back. I flail out, trying to grip the edge of the table so I can roll away from him, but he holds me pinned. Food flies everywhere as I scramble on the table. Wolfe covers my body with his, holding me in place, showing me how pathetic my struggles are.

  "Fight me, woman," he snarls down at me. "You want a fight, you got it."

  Fury sweeps through me and I give him exactly what he demands, reaching for the slit in my skirt and dragging the dagger from the sheath between my legs. I'm not in a good position for stabbing so I slash at him, trying to force him off me. He knocks my hand aside as easily as though I'm a child with a child’s strength. When I refuse to give up the dagger, he wraps his fingers around my wrist and squeezes so hard that my hand goes numb, then he slams my hand into the table until I'm forced to let the dagger go. As soon as my grip loosens, he reaches to shove the dagger out of my reach. I grab a plate and slam it into the side of his head.

  The plate shatters against his skull in a satisfying crunch. I follow it up with a sharp knee to his hip. I can't gain enough momentum to do any real damage, but the flurry of my limbs must be bruising the shit out of him and that at least is somewhat satisfying. I know that Wolfe isn’t trying to do any real damage to me, so I can do whatever I want to him – cause as much damage as I can without any real retribution.

  It takes him a few minutes to fully subdue me, and when he does he's bleeding from the head from the broken plate, blood dripping down his cheek and chin onto my chest. There are bite marks on one of his hands and most likely bruising around his hips, waist and arms where I hit him with as many solid punches and kicks as I could get.

  "You done?" Wolfe asks darkly, his hand tightening on my neck threateningly. He's telling me that he can break me if he wants to.

  I shrug negligently on the table as though I'm not lying in a mess of food, my hair now a wild tangled halo around my head. "You started it. You tell me."

  He lets out a growl of frustration and shoves me away from him. I fall sideways off the table and land on my hands and knees on the floor. I immediately scramble to my feet, picking food out of my hair and corset. I glare at him.

  "Can I go?" I ask coldly.

  He gives me a half nod, his own gaze just as cold as I step quickly back. I whirl around, my leather skirt snapping around my legs, and head straight for the door. My booted heels tap against the stone floor with angry intent as I try to get as far away from him as fast as I can. If I don't leave immediately, I will find a way to stab this man.

  His voice stops me before I can leave the room. "You want to know what I want from you?" I glance back at him. He’s tall, broad, muscular and still angry. "Everything. I want everything from you. And I won't stop until I get it."

  His words reignite the spark between us and the room feels like an inferno of emotion. The intimacy, the fight, everything since the moment I stepped into the Warlord's chambers is raging between us.

  I shake my head. "What if I don't want to give you everything?"

  He stares at me for long seconds and I think he won't speak. I'm about to leave when finally his voice reaches out to me, quiet but ringing with authority.

  "I live for the fight, Skye." His voice is a deep purr as it touches my name. "I will fight for you, I will fight with you and I will fight against you until I get what I want." His amber gaze holds me in place as he says the final word. "Everything."

  Twenty-Three

  "You need to take your head out of your ass and start thinking clearly, not with all this close-minded prejudice. If you can't figure it out, I'll figure it out for you!"

  I'm startled at hearing Dr. Summers’s angry voice as I walk into her new lab, located a couple of blocks away from the palace. I realize right away that she’s speaking to her new assistant, Dr. Starr, the man she predicted she might have some trouble with. I stand back, watching the scene play out. Waiting to see which side things will fall on. If I need to step in, I will.

  "I am convinced more than ever that you are the wrong person for this job. You think with your emotions, not the logic born to doctors." Dr. Starr’s nose is stuck up in the air in a way that makes me want to punch it to see if I can straighten him out.

  "You mean the logic born to male doctors," Dr. Summers says scathingly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "That's bullshit and we both know it. The fact is, you don't like that I’m the lead on this project. You don't like being put into the position where a female is superior to you."

  "You're no one’s superior," the soon to be dismissed doctor shouts back at her. "Your ideas are half-baked and based off poor science. The very idea of a cure, or even a treatment, is idiotic at best. It’s impossible and we both know it. The best we can do is a better vaccine."

  I feel my blood begin to boil. This man clearly doesn't realize that he’s insulting me along with Dr. Summers, since this whole idea is my conception. It doesn’t matter that he’s echoing the same words Dr. Summers said to me when I asked her about a cure. At least she didn’t call me an idiot.

  "Then why are you here?" Dr. Summers demands. "You're an intelligent man. Your expertise is welcome in this lab, but your ego is getting in the way of your work ethic. If you can’t contribute, then you shouldn’t be here."

  "I'm here because the project sounds exciting," he snaps back at her. "Unfortunately, your methods leave much to be desired. If you can't come up with better medicine, then I'm out."

  "The door is that way." Dr. Summers throws her hand out and points directly to where I'm standing in front of the door. Both sets of eyes turn to me.

  Dr. Summers smiles wanly and drops her arm, pulling her shoulders back in an attempt to look more professional. Dr. Starr doesn't bother, he turns his annoyed gaze on me and scowls. I walk straight toward him, my gaze travelling him as I move. He's a small man, shorter than my 5’8”, slim and younger than I'd expected.

  I keep my cold gaze on Dr. Starr as I speak. "You were showing yourself to the door?"

  He looks startled for a moment and then shakes his head. "You're the one in charge of this mess, aren't you?"

  I narrow my eyes at him. "I am in charge of the functioning of this entire city, including this lab. Any problems you can't solve with the head scientist will be addressed to me
."

  A slight smile curves Dr. Summers’s lips as I acknowledge both her position and mine in one sentence. Dr. Starr is starting to look distinctly uncomfortable. He’s standing in the same room with two powerful women while throwing out some very reckless comments.

  "Of course, ma'am." His voice takes on a tone that is fractionally more respectful as he realizes he's talking to the woman who has the Warlord’s ear.

  "Do you mind telling me why you're describing this lab as a mess?" I ask him calmly.

  The fury rises to snap in his eyes as he flings out a hand to point directly at Dr. Summers. "This woman is reckless and she lacks a basic understanding of the science behind medicine. A cure will not be possible, but with the proper leadership, we may be able to strengthen the current vaccine."

  "Oh," I say, my voice reflecting fake surprise. "Please explain why a cure won't be possible. One of the best doctors on this continent has already sanctioned the idea and is giving his advice when we need it. Have you heard of Dr. Bishop from the Tucson Sanctuary?"

  Dr. Starr looks startled and his gaze falls back on Dr. Summers, a look of accusation in his eyes.

  She shrugs. "You didn't ask who was involved in the project, you just freaked out at my plan."

  "What plan?" I demand looking at her.

  "In order to even begin working on a cure, we need to have a better understanding of Primitive physiology."

  I nod my understanding. "That makes sense."

  She waits a beat before finishing, "Live physiology."

  I raise an eyebrow at her as I realize what she means. "You require a live specimen to study in order to begin work on the cure? Am I getting this correct?"

  "Several live specimens preferably." Her voice is deadpan and her gaze flat as she essentially asks me to bring her several live zombies to work on.