Page 67 of The Wolf

Pyre chuckled. “The one thing I’ve learned in my life about women is that they’re uncontrollable. Be careful, my friend. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Brine’s lips flattened. He would have to acquire a heart to get hurt. His grandmother had beaten and whipped it out of him as a child. “I will.”

“Protect yourself. If she steps over the line, show her the big, bad wolf.”

Brine smiled, his fangs peeking out.

He liked the idea of unleashing his wolf on little Red all too much.

Yet not in the way Pyre was insinuating.

THIRTY-THREE

SCARLET

For what felt like the millionth time in several weeks, Scarlet thought she might be sick. Her own actions caused nausea to roil her stomach. She hadn’t even eaten all day, she had felt that unwell.

Tonight was the ball, the final night of celebrations for Brine’s trial, his introduction back into the pack, and the night he’d choose his bride.

Scarlet could not mess up.

Her dress for the event was old and tattered, a faded blue that was almost white with age. But it was still pretty on her, and she was fiercely proud of it. It had been her mother’s, and was one of the only things she still possessed of her. Scarlet considered it a great honor to wear the dress for perhaps one of her greatest challenges.

Dris had ensured the garment was pressed and ready for what was to come next. Within the province of Betraz, among the wolves, picking a bride was not so simple as a man and a woman choosing each other and saying, “I do.” Scarlet would have to fight off her competition, and win. There would be multiple simultaneous bouts, and then Brine would have to choose from the top three competitors. The female wolves were all faster than Scarlet, and stronger too—but none of them trained the way she did. None of them trained with the men. Or spent their days working as a spy and an assassin. She had strengths they did not possess, and Scarlet was determined to let them all be on show tonight.

Even though the dress was dated and in need of repair, a swift and harsh inspection of her reflection informed her that she still appeared pretty and presentable. Her hair was woven away from her face—the better for fighting with—in a style that imitated the way Brine braided his hair back.

But Scarlet’s hair wasn’t covered in the usual grime and sweat of her day-to-day life. For once it was clean and shiny and lustrous, and smelled strongly of ginger, earthy cinnamon, and pine— her favorite scents.

Her face was clear and largely unadorned, though at Dris’s insistence Scarlet had added just a touch of dramatic black liner to her eyeline.It gives you fox eyes, the housekeeper said,fox eyes to fight the wolves. Scarlet thought of the fox shifter in the woods—a kindred spirit—and smiled.

Like a sly fox, she would best the female wolves, claim Brine as her husband, and overthrow her stepmother.

It was only right.

But as Scarlet made her way through the manor toward the prepared battle arenas, which were set up on the courtyard where Brine’s initial celebrations had taken place, she ran into her stepmother doing the very same thing. The two women paused in their tracks as they took in the appearance of the other.

Arwen’s viper face broke into a heavenly smile. “And whatever do you think you’re doing, Red?”

“…going to the ball,” Scarlet said carefully, knowing every word counted now. “There is no law expressly forbidding me from doing so. As a lady of the manor, I have every right to be there.”

There. She’d marked her stake. Arwen could do nothing against it—not legally.

The smile slipped from her stepmother’s face to be replaced by a snarl. She closed the distance between the two of them, grabbed the upper hem of her blue skirt, and yanked down, ripping the dress in two. “It appears your dress is ruined, daughter,” Arwen said, all humor lost from her voice.

The blatant act against her caused something to snap in Scarlet. Her plan would not be stopped because of aripped dress.

So she did something stupid. Foolish. Dumb.

Scarlet struck her stepmother.

Arwen responded in kind. Of course she did.

Scarlet didn’t even try to run from the blow. But Arwen’s slap hit far harder than Scarlet’s did, her elven blood giving her strength that nobody her size should ever have. Scarlet hit the floor hard, rubbing her hands along her jaw as it buzzed with pain.

With a dismissive wave, Arwen indicated for her two bodyguards to pick Scarlet up and drag her back to her bedroom. She yelled as they slammed the door shut and locked her inside. She pounded her fists against the door and fought back tears at the state of her dress.

Another thing of her mother’s ruined.

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