Page 10 of Wicked Prince of Carnage
“Yes, my prince,” Alvena added when he said nothing.
Winter watched as she scurried in the direction of his home. When the woman was finally brought to him, he’d waste no time toying with her.
The townsfolk meandered away from the spectacle in the square, making it difficult to avoid them as the prince took the main roads. They, however, did most of the work for him by crossing the street or darting down side alleys at the sight of him. He smirked to himself as he edged toward where the woman had vanished.
While he couldn’t pick her scent from the crowd, he knew his pack would keep track of her. He followed their path to the east side of town, where homes became more spread out with small patches of land. Not enough for a farm, but a handful of chickens or a patch of herbs. Clean laundry hung on lines stretched between the windows of tiny cottages, and, somewhere nearby, a pig grunted.
Bael turned a corner, his expression hard, and hurried toward the prince.
“Did you find her?” Winter asked.
“Not yet, but we’ve asked around to find where she lives.” He gave a sideways nod and led Winter down a curving street where another wolf, Lijah, waited. “There. She lives with her younger brother. Her name is Sterling, and her kin is Cyan. She owns the meat shop in the market. The boy is there all day, even when she’s gone.”
The roof of the small cottage was covered in moss, the shutters clung haphazardly to the home, and a few bricks were missing near the top of the chimney.
“Someone lives in this piece of shit?” Winter scoffed, his gaze sweeping over the rotting window sills and sloping doorframe. The only decent-looking thing was the even rows of herbs and vegetables growing along the side of the dwelling.
“The house reeks of her,” Bael said.
“Good.” He approached the front door and tried the rusty knob.Locked.
“She didn’t return home after the hanging.”
Winter nodded. “So she’s not a complete imbecile.”
“The back door was unlatched,” Lijah muttered.
Winter rolled his eyes. Was she that trusting of her neighbors? He walked around the pitiful hovel and pushed inside. He inhaled, exploring the scents of the home. The lack of dirt and dust was unexpected given the state of the cottage. A hint of tart apple. The stale smell of dried blood, although old and faint. Not human—wolf. Winter scowled and sniffed the air.
Something wasn’t right… Winter thought about her kin—her grandmother. Sterling had been pathetic with a bow, but that was eight years ago… Could she have improved?
If necessary, he would use Cyan against Sterling to get answers. He’d seen it dozens of times. Whenever a child went missing, the humans reacted almost as passionately as wolves. Tearing through the village to search for them, knocking on doors. All the screaming and crying. The begging.
“Go to the meat market and keep watch. I’ll wait for her here,” he said as he ran his fingertips over the small dining table. His fingers came away clean, but he still wiped them on his trousers. Turning, he surveyed the room and its paltry furnishings. “It’s just one woman—if she returns before you locate her, I’ll bring her home myself.”
Bael and Lijah exchanged knowing grins. As if Winter would fuck the woman if she were a wolf hunter. He was more likely to kill her on her own floor and watch her blood stain the wood.
When they left to follow his order, Winter circled the small home again. He picked up a cast iron pan and tested its weight, then moved on to the dried herbs hanging along the ceiling. He plucked off a sprig of rosemary, flicking it across the room. A paper sat, artfully folded into a rose, at the center of the table.
Not bad,he admitted to himself. It was a strange craft, though unique and well done.
The prince lifted the flower and crushed it in his palm before dropping the crumpled paper back in its original spot. Poking his head into the first bedroom, he found an array of other folded creations sitting on a short dresser, a rickety desk and chair, and a child-sized bed with perfectly tucked blankets.
It was Sterling’s room that interested him though, so he made his way to the only other door in the house. The scent of apples slammed into him harder when he entered—tart and crisp. He dragged a finger along the footboard of her bed and pressed a palm down on the mattress. His lips curled in disgust at the thin layer of straw that hid beneath the comforter.
A trunk called to him in the corner, but as he stepped toward it, a floorboard creaked beneath his boot. Winter shifted his weight, testing to see if it was a fluke. “What have we here?” he mused.
Kneeling, his fingers trailed along the edge of the floorboard to see if it would lift. It disappeared beneath her bed, and he followed it. Until something new caught his eye.
Something tucked into the rails of the bed frame above a bow and quiver full of arrows.
Something red.
Winter pinched the small triangle of material that hung down and tugged it free. After a moment, it hit the floor with adull thud. His smile grew as he slid the fabric out from beneath the bed and realized what he’d discovered.
A red cloak…
He’d found Red Riding Hood.
