Page 83 of The Wolf

“Come, come,” Arwen called out impatiently after a long moment of silence, indicating for Scarlet to join her in front of the mirror on her large, silver vanity. “Comb my hair.”

Scarlet dutifully complied, padding across the room on silent feet to stand behind Arwen. With a careful, gentle hand she began combing through Arwen’s long, lustrous hair before changing the black-tooth comb for a sinfully soft horsehair brush. Scarlet brushed and brushed until her stepmother’s hair began to shine in the dim light of the fire.

“My mother used to brush my hair,” Arwen mused. Scarlet kept her mouth shut and listened. “She used to make me wash my face ten times a day and brush my hair a hundred times before bed.” Arwen’s dark gaze grew distant and almostpained. “She was never convinced I was clean enough or perfect enough.”

Scarlet’s strokes slowed as she watched her stepmother lost in her own mind. Just what kind of woman had raised Arwen? Her hatred and animosity toward her people was deeply disturbing. Just what had happened to her stepmother to make her this way?

In a way, she almost felt bad for Arwen.

Who hurt you?

“How are you feeling, Red?” Arwen asked, after a few minutes of surprisingly not uncomfortable silence passed between them.

Scarlet blinked slowly. When had her stepmother ever cared how she felt?

She focused on brushing Arwen’s hair. The mundane task was helping to calm Scarlet down and set her at ease, though now she wondered if that had been the point all along. For Arwen had never cared to ask Scarlet about her well-being before. It was an unusual question to ask.

Just what was going on?

“I’m fine,” Scarlet lied, knowing her stepmother could not do anything with that answer. And she would never reveal anything of her true feelings to the woman.

“You aren’t tired?” Arwen pressed. Her pale, dark reflection in the mirror gave nothing away of her intentions. In truth, neither did Scarlet’s. “Have you been sick lately? Feverish? Nauseous?” Scarlet shook her head after each question. Arwen raised an arched eyebrow. “And what about … your menses?”

The brush in Scarlet’s hand froze. It was all she could do to stop it from crashing to the floor.

Over the last two or three months, Scarlet had been too busy to even think about them. She’d been taking herbs since she started her monthly bleedings—even before she knew that she would be chosen as Brine’s bride—but it was true that she’d been super tired and irritable lately.

And sick.

How often had Scarlet thought she might vomit? How many times had she passed it off as a physical reaction to the horrors all around her? What if ithadn’tbeen a reaction to anything external—or, at least, not every instance? What if it had been internal?

It’s not possible.

She had been giving the herbs to women for years and they’d never failed any of them.

She’s trying to play mind games. Don’t trust her.

A howling gust of wind enveloped the two of them through the open window, a chill running down Scarlet’s arms no amount of warmth would temper. She placed the brush on the dresser and backed away from her stepmother. “All finished, my lady. Good night.”

“I’m not finished.” Arwen swiveled to face Scarlet, a triumphant smile twisting her lips. “No need to run away, dearest.”

Scarlet was no longer able to maintain a neutral expression. “Dearest?”

“Of course, daughter of mine.”

Bile burned at the back of her throat. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was pallid and horror-struck. She took another step toward the door. “You are not my mother,” she said through numb lips.

“No, I’m better,” her stepmother purred. Grinning, Arwen rose to her feet, pushed back her stool and stood. “Look how strong I’ve made you.”

“You’ve done nothing but try to break me.”

“And yet, you’re still here.” A pause. “Carrying the heir to all of this.”

“No. I’m not.” She would know, wouldn’t she?

“You’re pregnant, my dear,” Arwen said.

The words were a curse in Scarlet’s ears. An impossible curse. “No,” Scarlet mouthed. “No. I can’t. I don’t believe you. I—”

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