Page 1 of Trapped By Vengeance

Chapter One

Konrad

It shouldn’t be so easy to be villainous.

I clench the goblet of ale provided to me by the innkeeper. My seat may be in the shadows, but surely,she’sfelt my stare by now.

Yet the woman sitting at the bar hasn’t glanced my way once. Does she have no intuition to alert her to the danger she’s in? Or has her wealthy upbringing prevented her from ever developing such a skill?

Unlike the little girl upstairs. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most. If she hadn’t been trained in how to survive from a young age, she wouldn’t be alive for me to protect her now.

I unclench my teeth enough to throw my ale back, moving in synchronization with the woman at the counter.

Her metabolism isn’t nearly as efficient as mine is since I was forced to undertake the Rite of the Moon as a child.Her porcelain skin isn’t as flushed as the obviously drunk man trying to flirt with her. But her giggles are far too frequent, and her perch on the stool is becoming more and more unsteady.

The woman is wearing a target on her back. Not that she had any chance of escaping me when I have been on her trail sinceshe sneaked out of her father’s keep. I’m a mercenary by trade and a werwölfe by the Rite of the Moon.

The moment this drunkard is finished bothering her, there are two more in the wings, ready to harass her. I do not like the malevolence in their gazes as they watch her.

Not that I can blame them for looking at her. Even if she were not my bounty, I wouldn’t be able to help glancing back at her. Her dark hair falls to her waist instead of being pleated around her head like what is currently the style for modest mortal women. That it flows so freely, with only a portion pulled up by a red ribbon, seems both scandalous and enticing.

And that is without considering her sparkling black eyes, bright red lips, and the heart-shaped face that has no doubt haunted many a poor fellow’s fantasies. Her gown, a deep mauve, is a simple cut but is clearly made from the finest silks money can buy. The bodice that seems tighter than a corset and the flowing lengths of the skirt make Lady Valda of Schwerin impossible to ignore.

I glance around to locate her traveling companions, but I don’t see any evidence of someone here knowing her. Everyone is just gawking at her.

“This must be a lark somehow,” I mutter. No noblewoman travels alone. There’s alwaysat leasta lady’s maid, and usually a chaperone as well. And for a woman with a father as powerful as Valda’s, there is also an armed guard.

For so long, I’ve determined exactly how to lose the servants in each of those roles. Now that they are all absent, I am at a loss. I’m not used to life being easy.

“Hey there, little lady.”

A rather beefy gentleman leans toward Valda, crowding out her drunken conversationalist. By the stench of metal, embers, and sweat emanating from the newcomer, I’d venture that he’s a blacksmith. He won’t be easy to beat in a bar fight withoutexposing myself as an illegally living werwölfe— at least not until he helps himself to another cup or two of the house special.

Valda glances back and then immediately dismisses him, turning back to the meal the barmaid put in front of her. It’s the closest to a three course meal this inn has probably ever provided.

The blacksmith doesn’t take Valda’s hint and leans closer, putting a hand right next to her platter. “I said hello. I have some plans for you and me.”

Unconcerned, Valda takes a sip of her ale. She glances at him up and down and shakes her head. “Well, I don’t.” She waves for a refill.

I glance around the room and see that the other men have taken great interest in this exchange. None of them appear to have chivalrous intentions.

I think I would prefer to have a few loyal servants to fend off than this entire inn of brigands. I mean, this will still be simpler for me. But whatwasher father thinking? Does he care as little for her as he does for his own people?

If so, my plan is about to crumble into vanity. I can only hope that Lady Valda is a little runaway.

The blacksmith plants his meaty hand on Valda’s slender shoulder. “I said we have plans, and so we do.”

Valda glances at his hand, which is squeezing her tightly. She leans back and looks ready to fall off her stool.

I’m at her side just as she tips. One hand is on her back, pushing her back into place. My other hand grabs the blacksmith’s wrist. I give it a quick twist, and he pulls back, releasing Valda’s hand.

I flash my teeth at him. “The lady said no.”

The blacksmith sizes me up, and I know he’s determining how easily he can snap my lean frame. My musculature was built by surviving on my own and then surviving for others, so most wouldconsider me a formidable foe even if I’m not as large as he is.

Before he can come to the terrible decision to challenge me, two other men are behind me, smelling like stale ale and sweat. “Yeah, the lady said no. It’s our turn.”

Valda glances back at them, her eyes glassy. How much alcohol has she consumed, exactly? “I’m sorry, boys, but my husband is here now, so . . .”

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