Page 14 of The Wolf

For good reason.

“There’s a story behind this, I’m sure.”

Brine nodded. “A story for another day. Or never.”

Chesh snickered. “Some things never change, my friend. Well, you know where I am if you ever decide to become a sentimental mess of a person and let it all spill out.” Movement out of the corner of his eye by the bar caught the feline’s attention. He sat up abruptly. “That’s Ali. If you’ll excuse me…”

Brine rolled his eyes. The cat was insatiable.

Brine couldn’t blame him. It seemed everyone these days was either courting their mates or creating families of their own.

Pyre had Tempest.

Damien, of all creatures, had Robyn.

And Chesh was out here chasing anything with long hair, swinging hips, and a promising swell of breasts.

But Brine…

His fingers tightened around his ale once again.

Thoughts of blond hair, large blue eyes, and a playful smile invaded his mind. Brine wasn’t surprised by this. After all, he had only just been telling Chesh that he missed home. But what he missed about home wasn’t just the place; there was a person.

Be honest. You missher.

After his father had been killed, Brine had been taken to the province of Betraz. He’d been young—so young that nowadays Brine held few memories of his father—but he had been old enough to understand the fluttering of his heart when he first spied her. A little girl, with long, wispy blond hair, like dandelion fluff upon the wind. Her hopeful blue eyes had urged Brine not to be scared, even though he was.

Every time he hid on the grounds, she found him. Even when he snarled for her to go away, to leave him alone, she resolutely did the opposite. She found him, every time, and without a word she handed him a chunk of bread and a peach. It was her kindness that he remembered, and the sweetness of the peach.

Perhaps it was true that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, for after that Brine and the girl had become best friends. It still haunted him to this day that when he couldn’t bear his life in Betraz any longer, he had left the girl behind.

Even now, as his eyes began to droop sleepily downward, Brine wondered what happened to her.

SIX

SCARLET

“He’s an incompetent imbecile!”

She kept her expression placid as her stepmother raged at her cronies. Scarlet scanned the room from beneath the rim of her blood-red hood. All of the loyal wolves bowed their heads in submission. Her stepmother paced beside her long rectangular table, her black crinoline dress rustling in the silence.

“Well, has everyone nothing to say?”

That was a trick question. Scarlet knew it and so did everyone else.

You did not speak unless directed to by the alpha. Or at least that was one of her titles.

Old Mother.

Alpha.

Arwen.

Duchess of Betraz.

Stepmother.

Monster.

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