Page 17 of The Wolf

Scarlet gazed down the stairs that led to the dungeon.

You can’t pretend this didn’t happen.

Forcing herself down the curved staircase, she made it to the dungeon, her feet moving silently across the stone floor, down the long-curved corridor that held cells on each side. She might not have had shifter skills, but Scarlet had learned a few things over the years.

Stealth was one of them. She could even sneak up on some of the wolves despite their heightened hearing.

Mourne, one of her stepmother’s wolves, spotted her from the end of the hallway.

Scarlet cocked her head and arched a brow. “Just you?”

“Do you really think they pose any threat now that they are in chains?” Mourne replied, his tone gruff like most wolves.

Scarlet flicked a glance to the left, eyeing three of the Hood’s men they captured—one with a very familiar face. She kept all recognition from her expression and sighed. “No doubt you’re right. I do need you to take a break.”

Mourne’s amber eyes zeroed in on her. “Interrogation so soon?”

“No time like the present,” Scarlet answered. “Please station yourself at the top of the stairs.”

The wolf’s eyes narrowed. He knew the pecking order, and she was at the bottom except for times like these.

Scarlet touched her red cloak. “Do you know why the alpha has gifted me these colors?” she asked softly.

“Because you are her property.”

She smiled. “Also to hide the blood.” Scarlet pinned him with an intense stare. “Unless you want to interfere with what the alpha has assigned me to do, I suggest youleave.”

That got him moving. Mourne nodded and strode toward the exit.

“Make sure no one interrupts me,” Scarlet murmured. “That duke and his sheriff are awfully nosy.”

The wolf huffed and then disappeared up the spiral staircase.

Scarlet held completely still and listened for a few minutes to make sure Mourne wasn’t listening. Most wolves wouldn’t dare mess with orders from her stepmother, but every once in a while one would start getting a little too independent. Those didn’t survive very long.

“Are you here to torture us?” a deep masculine voice asked.

She turned her attention to the large man who sported a red beard. “I’m not here for you.” Scarlet focused on the man in the middle, who gazed at the ceiling with no expression, blood dripping from his black curly hair.

Will.

How many years had it been since she’d seen her friend? Six or seven? He had been a gangly young man the last time Scarlet had laid eyes on him and helped him escape. Now he was a man in his prime. And from the vacant look on his face, he hadn’t lost his training. Will knew what her stepmother did with prisoners and deserters.

Scarlet reached for her hood and slowly lowered it, revealing her golden hair. She pressed closer to the bars and held on to them.

“Will,” she called, managing to keep the wobble from her voice. He didn’t stir. “Will, it’s me, Scarlet.”

The third man, tall and thin with dark-brown hair, frowned. “How does she know his name?”

“Quiet,” the redhead admonished.

The brunette snapped his mouth shut and studied his hands.

That told Scarlet many things.

First, that either the redhead or Will was in charge. Second, they trusted each other. And third, they had prepared for this eventuality.

Smart men.

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