Page 63 of The Wolf

With the exact locations of the fields of mimkia confirmed, at least the Court could move against them. But so far Lady Arwen had been tightlipped on the location of her diamond mines. These, of course, were her true treasure, so Brine understood why she wasn’t keen to talk about them. Mimkia was her way of exerting control over the kingdom of Heimserya; the diamonds were her way of amassing wealth to become a force to be reckoned with farther afield—to overthrow the rule of Queen Ansette and become a mover and shaker on a global scale.

It was something the Dark Court had to stop, and quickly.

He sighed and sank deep into the tub. It was a wide, deep, steamy marble monstrosity, taking up half of the bathroom, and deep enough that Brine could kneel in the middle and submerge his head. It was nothing like the baths he’d taken within the Dark Court. It was almost sickeningly luxuriant, though Brine had to admit he enjoyed the smell of peppermint in the air to clear his senses. He had spent all day sparring with his new and old pack members, pleased that the old pack members, at least, were an especially tough bunch.

From the newer members there was Mourne, who was good enough to be impressive, though Brine had identified a tell of his after they fought twice. Tarros had apparently been an excellent fighter, though now he was of course functionally useless.

His uncle, Brine knew, was stronger than him, but they were yet to spar against each other. Was it that Bright was afraid to fight him—to discover that Brine might actually be stronger now? Or was there another reason?

The thought of his uncle dragged Brine’s mind back to the topic at hand: his grandmother and the diamond mines. He doubted she would reveal anything to him until he had a bride and an heir on the way. Only then would she be secure in her hold over him, and the province at large. The thought alone made Brine want to vomit, even though the peppermint was clearing out his sinuses.

There was no bride Brine wanted to pick except Scarlet. And he couldn’t pick Scarlet.

She was human.

And your true mate.

He couldn’t endanger Scarlet that way, even if he knew for sure that she would actuallywantto marry him. Brine had a notion that she was at the very least attracted to him, if her physical reactions to him were anything to go by. But more important than that was the fact that Brine didn’t trust the woman. Scarlet showed no hint that she was anything but loyal to Lady Betraz.

So what was she doing in the magazine of Arwen’s ship?

With a growl, Brine remembered the celebration dinner from three nights ago. Tarros’s hands had been all over Scarlet, feeling her up despite the audience. Brine had wanted to tear him apart from his head to his toes, leaving nothing but entrails across the floor. It wouldn’t have mattered if Brine had been thrown in prison for such an act; any punishment would have been acceptable simply to see the reprehensible creature die.

He touched my mate. My mate.

Not yours. Yet.

It galled him how protective of her he was. He’d come across several potential mates over the years but none of them had affected him to this degree. Was it because he felt guilty for leaving her here in this hellhole?

He partly felt responsible for what she’d become and endured. And yet, he’d shamed her at the table. It was only on Arwen’s demand that Tarros let Scarlet go, not Brine’s, which caused Scarlet’s torment to end, though his grandmother let Tarros degrade Scarlet in the first place. She degraded Scarlet every minute of every day. Who were they to each other? Master and slave? Or did Arwen really view Scarlet as her daughter, but also her pawn?

You’re a lost cause.

He ran a wet hand over his face. It seemed he was doomed to think about Scarlet even though he knew he shouldn’t. He closed his eyes, for once resigning himself to his fate, and allowed his mind to focus on her more positive aspects. Her sapphire eyes. Her gilded hair he’d like to see wrapped around his fist. Her pale, delicious skin that he wanted to taste. And the scent of ginger and peaches and green earth on the air, relaxing him down to his very core…

His body heated and he inhaled deeply.

Her scent was imprinted so clearly on his mind that he actuallycouldsmell these things through the peppermint oil he’d put in the bath. They were faint but definitely present in the air.

His eyes snapped open as the scratch of steel settled across his throat. He huffed. His little mate was good. Brine hadn’t even heard her approach. She would have made an excellent member of the Dark Court, should she have been raised with them instead of Arwen.

“What do you want?” he asked lazily, careful not to react in any other visible way. Below the sudsy water, however, Brine’s entire body was reacting to Scarlet’s scent, and how close she was. It was impossible not to. His hands twitched to grab her—to pull her close.

He resisted.

Barely.

“We need to speak.” The words were cold.

“That we do.”

The blade wavered by his throat; all his resistance went out the window. With one smooth movement Brine reached over his shoulder and bodily pulled Scarlet into the massive bath.

The water rolled over the rim of the tub in a mass flood, giving Scarlet the distraction she needed to wrestle Brine away from the bath’s edge and into the deeper middle section. He was only too eager to comply, grappling with the woman in a way that made his body come to life.

He growled as she kneed him in the gut.

Even the pain couldn’t diminish what he felt for her.

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