What would she have done if Oliver were not there? How much harder would she have fought—voices became clear, just outside the door. All in foreign tongues.
She got on her knees and placed her shaking hands in her lap, bowing her head in the act of submission, just like Gally had instructed.
Everyone was submissive to the Alpha.
She knew then that if they hadn't brought Oliver into this, Rem would probably be punished by now. What shewantedto do was stand there and face him directly as he entered, to tell him she refused to engage inanyof this—
Without warning, the door opened.
Nerves ran amok inside of her, her gaze roaming the floor, looking at nothing in particular. She tried to steady her breathing, but her heart was beating too fast. It didn't help that she knew shifters could hear such things.
She heard someone walk into the room and could barely see through her peripheral, unwilling to break her posture for a better glance. Calculated footsteps walked over the worn wooden surface as silence bound them.
Whoever they were was finally close enough that she could hear them breathing; it sounded like they sat on something.
"Hjarta þitt slær hratt," said a deep, smooth male voice that was so much more pleasing to her ears than she ever would have guessed.
She gently twiddled her fingers in search of what to do. She didn't understand a word he said. Should she say something or continue to wait?
"Rise," he said with the thickest accent, his voice warm and yet coarse at the same time.
She eagerly looked up. His word in English was such an odd source of comfort. She gently pulled her body back when she met his gaze, figuring this had to be Ronan, based on how Gally described him. His eyes were a striking, pale blue, his skin a warm beige. His chestnut-colored hair was pulled back into a low bun—a few strands loose around his face—that had escaped the tight rolls along his skull. The hair was shaven on the sides, although nowhere near as extreme as Jackson's hair. The Alpha before her wore a loose black tunic tucked into a thick belt around his waist, and the way it shaped his body made her stare longer than she should have.
She hated herself for enjoying the way he looked. They didn't have many men that looked like him back in Ashmire. Even the hunters were more lean than stocky.
His muscular body moved with a robust rise and fall of his chest, and she couldn’t stop looking at him. His nose was large, but it fit his face well. She eyed his nicely shaped lips and the light stubble on his face before noticing a scar running along his outer cheek, slashing through his eyebrow.
His imperious, shrewd gaze bore into her. Not an ounce of warmth was to be found.
The lack of emotion grounded her in reality. These creatures just seemed to be that way.I am so far from home.
Rem wanted to immediately tell him of the Elder Witch, to ask for help, to offer herself in any way he wanted, if he just freed her brother. Which made little sense, given how stiff he was. Trusting him appeared to be as risky as trusting Gally.
Perhaps Rem was just that desperate for support and knew that his word was the law of these lands. Mentally reaching for him felt like grabbing a shield.
She looked over to see a dark-skinned male with thin dreadlocks enter the room. She didn't know if she felt comfort or disturbance at another partaking in this. What if Ronan wanted to touch her or smell her? She didn't like that someone else would watch.
What she hated even more was that she was considering allowing such an act at all.
The dark-skinned male cleared his throat, and her eyes went wide as she realized she was just staring around the room. She quickly stood up and bowed her head before straightening her back.
Ronan relinquished his gaze to examine her. He stood up, with Rem coming to his chest. He walked around her, his body interrupting the ambient noise of people talking outside.
He was intense, and she was grateful for that. It made it easier to focus on the task at hand, leaving little room to think about anything else... Although the task seemed so far away now, anxiety swelling in her chest from being so close to someone so intimidating. She could even smell him. He had a curious musk she didn't mind and a strong hint of leather.
Everything about him was foreign, commanding, and robust.
He smelled her from behind, and a surprising sound escaping her. His voice rumbled in Icelandic, and the dark-skinned male said, "He says he likes your smell."
"You speak English?" she asked, staring at the third party.
"I will translate for you two. Sorry. Forgot to say that. Bit nervous. My sister usually does this."
Ronan came back into view as he carefully took her in. His eyes were smoldering, and she felt ridiculous for thinking that. A fierce intelligence burned through his pale gaze, singed with a primal element. He made all the toughened men back in her village seem like boys playing with stick swords.
To her dismay, she did not know what to do. Gally had told her that a conversation took place about one's role as a Luna and what those expectations were, but Rem could nothavea conversation. Gally had thusly instructed Rem to remain still and allow Ronan to lead.
That seemed wise at the time, but now Rem was just uncomfortable standing there.
