Page 72 of The Wolf

Heat filled her cheeks and relief seeped down to her bones. Maybe she wouldn’t be made a spectacle after all. His arm tightened around her legs, and she found herself annoyed that he still hadn’t put her down.

“Why did you dismiss the guards?”

“I don’t want an audience for what comes next,” came the gruff reply.

She was grateful for it. She didn’t want them there. When the two men were sent on their way, Brine opened the door with a creak. He slowly pulled her from his shoulder and she slithered down his body until her bare feet were on the ground. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, neither of them moving.

He politely inclined his head for Scarlet to walk through first.

She turned and faced the door. There would be no threshold carry. In fairytales it had been a sign of luck on the marriage.

This isn’t a real marriage. Your life has been nothing like the stories.

Scarlet gathered her courage and entered the cottage, heart hammering in her chest more painfully with every step she took across the hardwood floor. Save for a fire roaring in the hearth, the house inside was dark, but Scarlet could clearly discern the edges of a large four-poster bed that would seal her fate. She turned to face Brine just as he jostled the door closed and secured it.

“You should get some mimkia on those wounds,” he mumbled with his back to her.

Scarlet pulled a tiny tub of the salve from her pocket, which had thankfully not been lost in the fight. “Great minds think alike,” she said, sitting down on a wooden rocking chair by the window of what appeared to be a tiny living room. Scarlet had to struggle out of the top of her dress, just a little, to apply mimkia to her shoulder, hissing between her teeth when the cooling drug began working on her wounds.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Brine inspected the room and then ended up standing in the center of the cottage, staring over his shoulder at the fire. Completely blank. She felt a sting of disappointment that he hadn’t offered to help with applying the mimkia.

You blackmailed him into this. What did you think was going to happen?

“Um…” she said, replacing the lid on the pot and placing it to the side, then stood. “Brine?”

He didn’t respond. It was like he was lost in his own head.

She forced her feet to move and approached him cautiously.

“Brine?” she said, sharper than before.

His head snapped in her direction. The moment she was within touching distance, he came back to life as if Scarlet had pressed anonswitch.

For the first time since they were children, Scarlet saw uncertainty on Brine’s face. Fear. Confusion. The mask he had been wearing so well up until now had completely cracked.

His silver eyesburned.

He was as torn up inside as Scarlet was.

“We’ve really done it,” he muttered, as if someone were around to listen in on them. “We—”

“We had to,” Scarlet replied, trying to reassure him. She reached out as if to hold his hand, then stopped herself. Despite what they were about to do, it felt altogether too intimate a gesture.

They weren’t lovers. They were comrades.

“We just painted targets on both our backs.” He cursed and ran a hand through his hair. “So stupid!”

“The targets would have painted themselves on our backs eventually, no matter what we did.” Scarlet was surprised by the strength of her voice, and how certain she was. But it felt true in her soul. The two of them would be targeted at some point in their lives, sooner or later. It made sense for them to take action first—to take their own fate in their hands.

Plus, Arwen had been coming for Scarlet for years. This was nothing new.

Brine looked like he was about to lose it and had no intention of moving from his spot. But they didn’t have time to dawdle. Arwen could ruin Scarlet’s carefully laid plans any moment.

You’re going to have to take the lead.

She squared her shoulders and walked toward the bed. Goosebumps broke out along her arms as she started sloughing off her tattered, but still beautiful, dress.

“Wait, Scarlet, stop,” Brine barked, stricken.

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