She must have read his stunned silence as an invitation, because she stepped towards him. Her hips swayed as she approached, and under his shock, a part of him recognized just how beautiful she was. Her skin was like polished walnut, and though she was barely half his height, she carried herself like the tallest person in the room. Her hands lifted to trail down his chest, toying with the collar of his shirt. When she looked up at him, she held her lower lip coyly between her pearly teeth.
“I’ve been curious to see how the Wolf makes magic.”
His embarrassment flashed to shame before landing on a resigned sort of anger. He suddenly understood what laybehind the stares, and he didn’t like it. To any one of these nobles or highborns, he was an idea, and a titillating one at that. A dangerous sort of conquest. A villain for their fantasies.
He grabbed Magda’s wrists, pulling her hands away from him before he lifted them over her head. Her eyes went wide, her smile turning hungry as he stepped her back. She let out a quiet gasp as her back hit the stone wall, her hands clenching to fists in his grip as he pinned them over her head.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Arlon growled, but if he thought intimidation would make her back down, he was mistaken. It only seemed to stoke the fire of her fantasy.
“I think I do,” Magda said, breathless with excitement.
He sneered down at her before he roughly released her wrists. “No, you don’t,” he said shortly. He turned to find the quickest route to the transmutation yard before he said or did something he regretted. He could almost feel Magda’s baffled gaze following him and was grateful when he descended the stairs out of her sight.
The whole interaction made his skin itch, a sour feeling settling in his stomach. It left him in a poor mood he couldn’t seem to shake, but at least Magda’s tip paid off. As he stepped through the archway to the transmutation courtyard, he finally caught sight of the wizards he was looking for.
Among the well-bred nobility of the Crux, they seemed… familiar in a way that Arlon wasn’t expecting.
Garrett sat in the grass, skin as gray as a storm cloud, his face made of hard angles that were not quite human. An orc, or at least part one like Arlon’s pack-mate Pashka had been. He was a tough-looking man, his nose ridged like it had been broken more than once, but his slate-gray eyes looked fondly down at the woman whose head rested in his lap. Small tusks jutted up from behind his smiling bottom lip.
Where he seemed made of rock and earth, Bridgetteseemed to be made of starlight. She was beautiful, skin as pale and smooth as marble with hair like spun silver. She toyed with the end of Garrett’s long braid as she said something that Arlon couldn’t hear. It made Garrett laugh, a deep, resonant sound that only dissipated when he leaned down to kiss the woman reclining against him.
It felt like a private moment. Something between lovers. Something not meant for him. The sour feeling that Magda had left him with solidified to stone. Arlon left before either of them even noticed him.
Yet days passed without so much of a glimpse of them, and Arlon began to feel like he’d lost his chance. They didn’t take meals in the mess hall, didn’t seem to use the baths at normal times. Arlon didn’t like lingering in the common areas, but Fawn had refused to even tell him which tower their rooms were in, so he didn’t have another choice.
Grudgingly, Arlon grabbed his loaned copy ofFundamentals of Magicand used it as an excuse to sit in the shade of the transmutation yard. It felt like loitering. Itwasloitering, and he had to remind himself that he wasallowedto be here, dammit.
The Wolves hadn’t been welcomed anywhere. Trying to insert yourself into places you didn’t belong earned you contempt or worse. Arlon found a compromise and made himself as unobtrusive as possible, choosing a spot on the grass against the far wall.
A week later, his patience finally paid off. Well, kind of. Instead of meeting the two wizards as they entered the transmutation yard, Garrett and Bridgette had beat him there.
“Thumb on theoutsideof your fist,” the man’s deep voice rumbled. “Fingers tight. Yup, there you go. Now, throw it like you mean it.”
Bridgette scrunched her face up as she let her fist fly. It slapped against the man’s big palm, but the strength behindher attack carried the rest of her forward. It put her off balance, and she yelped as Garrett caught her around the waist to pull her flush against him.
“Love your enthusiasm,” Garrett chuckled. “But throw yourfist, not your shoulder. Remember to keep those feet wide and drop your center down.”
“Poor instruction,” she laughed, face flushed before she caught sight of Arlon. She cleared her throat as she straightened her skirts out, though she couldn’t quite wipe the smile from her face. “Sorry. You can use the yard if you want. We’re not doing anything important.”
“No, it’s alright,” Arlon said. He felt so awkward that it was nearly painful, but he forced the polite question out anyway. “Are you two sparring?”
The gray-skinned man gave a sly grin. “That’s a strong word for it.”
“Ass!” the woman said through a laugh as she shoved him away. “You’re the one who insisted on this little lesson.” She brushed a strand of silver-white hair behind her ear as she turned to grin at Arlon. “I’m Bridgette.” She jerked a thumb at her companion. “This is my husband, Garrett.”
“Arlon,” he said as he studied her face. She was even more beautiful up close, but something about her tugged at a memory. Yet it wasn’t until Bridgette’s blue eyes sharpened to a glare that he realizedwherehe had seen her before.
“I know you,” she said, voice hardening.
The realization dropped like a stone. It felt like a lifetime ago that Vian and his Wolves had paid their last visit to Frostcliff. The brothel had been warm and welcoming, but like so many of the brothels in the mountains, it had an air of desperation about it. One that had made Arlon take very little interest in the offerings.
But Vian had.
He’d gone upstairs with a beautiful, silver-haired woman and returned with a bloodied knife.
That same woman glared at him now. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step away from Arlon. “You’re the Wolf.”
The title felt like a stain that he couldn’t get rid of, yet unlike the interest he’d garnered from Magda, the immediate hatred was familiar. It was the rejection he’d been bracing for the past two months, and hearing it so plainly in Bridgette’s voice made it easy to return to old habits.
