Page 26 of The Wolf

His right as alpha.

ELEVEN

SCARLET

Scarlet worked in the storeroom near the edge of the estate, surrounded by all manner of bottles, round flasks, tall cylinders, and old, cube-shaped frosted glass. Every bottle was familiar to her, every tincture, every salve, every poison. This was where she did her most important and deadly work.

She placed a poison that made a person vomit themselves to death on a shelf above her working station and frowned at the vast array of poisons she’d brewed over the last few weeks.

What would Mother think of you? What would she think of you using your healing skills to harm?

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath to keep the shame from drowning her. That question had haunted Scarlet for years. In fact, it flittered through her head at the start of just about every day she was working in the storeroom. Her mother had been a healer, using her aptitude for medicine to save people rather than to kill them. If she knew how Scarlet had used her own talents…

She’d disown you.

Scarlet shook her head. It would not do her well to think about it now. Both of her parents were long gone. There was only survival now.

She lifted a wooden spoon and stirred the poison she was brewing for the day. It was a vibrant, punchy red. This was due to the spicy powdered peppers added into the tincture to hide the taste of the deadly nerve agent hidden within. It was brutal stuff—not a peaceful death by anyone’s measure. It was by far and away one of Scarlet’s least favorite poisons to produce and made her eyes water for days, yet she had no choice but to follow her stepmother’s orders and make it.

She pitied the soul of whoever this poison was being made for.

She jumped when the storeroom door slammed open, rattling the tinctures above her workbench. Scarlet stilled as the door closed. It wasn’t Arwen or Bright. That wasn’t their style of entry. The pit of her stomach quivered as she set the wooden spoon down. Slowly tucking her hair behind her ears, Scarlet turned around.

Her breath caught, but she managed to keep her expression bland.

Tarros, pale-faced, covered in bruises, leaned against the door, panting. Scarlet glanced down to his mangled legs and fought a wince. They looked horrible, but deep down she knew he deserved it, and more. He truly was a predator.

And she was alone with him.

Scarlet sidled around the large worktable in the center of the room to put distance between them. A move that Tarros unsurprisingly did not miss. He took a lazy step farther away from the door, using his cane to support his weight. Even severely wounded, he still moved better than Scarlet. Shifter genetics gave them such an unfair advantage over humans.

“Tarros,” Scarlet said carefully. Her voice was infuriatingly small in the storeroom, for its walls were insulated to keep the room at a constant temperature.

The red wolf grinned at her, twisted by the wounds on his face that were well on their way to becoming wicked scars. “It’s been a long time, Red,” Tarros said. “Far too long since we’ve been able to talk.” He took another step toward the table and her heart raced.

Keeping her eyes on Tarros, Scarlet nimbly grabbed the bag of powdered peppers she had been adding to the poison and slipped it up her sleeve.

“I can make you something for your pain,” she said, casting a gaze up and down Tarros’s frame as he stalked purposefully toward her. Though he was moving well, the flash of pain that filled his eyes every time his mangled legs hit the floor was not something he could hide. “But you’ll have to come back for it later. I’m busy right now.”

She rounded the table and reached for the door, only to find it locked.What the devil?The key hook next to the exit was empty. The hair at the base of her neck rose.

“Looking for these?”

Her heart battered against her ribcage, her mind racing as she panicked over how trapped she was. Surely if she would scream someone would hear her? Her eyes darted to the oven. She could burn the whole place down if she had to.

She tried again: “I’m not sure what you need, but if you tell me I’ll make sure to brew you something special.”

Tarros’s ears twitched; his face broke into a horrible smile that made her pulse thunder in her ears. He could hear her fear. He yearned for it.

“I’m not here for medication. You know that.”

“…so what are you here for?”

“I come for what’s mine,” he snarled, and then without warning he darted around the table.

Scarlet screamed and threw a stone bowl at him, knocking the keys from his hand. He growled, swiping at her hair with a clawed hand. She scrambled away from him, attention focused on the keys. There would be no escape without them. Scarlet managed to scratch the keys from the floor and bolted to the door.

Tarros snarled and launched himself toward her. With shaking hands, she managed to shove the key into the lock. The key had only just turned in place when Tarros slammed into her.

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