Page 163 of Wolfkissed
“If you go on a hunt,” I decide, “I’m going with you.”
His brows lift. “Certainly not. That’s not a lady’s place.”
“Isn’t it? That woman is going with you, isn’t she? The one you’ve been sitting with at dinners?”
“She’s not a lady,” he sneers. “The rules don’t apply to her.”
My hands ball into fists. “I won’t accept that you’re seen sitting with other women anymore. If you want respect, you show me the same.”
His cheeks flush with fury. “Mind what you’re saying. You don’t give me orders.”
“And the wolves protect us. They aren’t our enemy.”
“Are you crazy? Or are you a dark fae sympathizer now?”
I hesitate. I’m standing on a precarious edge. Or maybe it’s the void. I can’t tell how far I’ve overstepped. “Let me come with you on the hunt.”
“Or what? Will you cry? Tell me what I can and can’t do?” His face is now mottled with anger. “Cry me a river, lady. You’re not coming, and that’s final. You will stay at the manor. Better still, stay in your room and embroider, or whatever it is you do to pass the time.”
“Please, my lord,” I whisper, but he’s already walking past me and striding away.
You need time,I tell myself.You can’t know someone after just a handful of days.
But I knew Valen pretty quickly.
Nonsense. You hated Valen. You only warmed up to him during your journey. Surely, Lord Eorl also deserves that journey.
Right?
Lord Eorl told me to stay in my room. I didn’t think he’d hold me there by force.
In the early morning, when I try to open my door, I find that I can’t. Incredulous, I keep turning the handle, certain that it got stuck, but after a while of fruitless effort, panting with exertion and anger, I have to admit that it’s locked.
I’m locked up.
Locked up just like I was in the wolves’ den as a child, the den where my nightmares return me every night, lost in a darkness of teeth and claws.
It’s not the same,my rational mind tells me.Look! There is the window, letting in light and fresh air. You have a nice bed, a desk, and a mirror. Your things.
But I feel caged. I pace back and forth, occasionally stopping to bang on the door and yell for someone to open it.
To no avail.
How foolish to think this would work out. That he would be the hero I imagined, modeled on men from stories. I’ve observed terrible marriages from a distance. Hells, my stepparents’ marriage is a sham. Though I have also heard of arranged marriages that were successful.
Time to admit, though, that those are few and in-between. Novels and fairytales make you think that every girl who meets a beast will live a happily ever after, but who is the beast here? Lord Eorl is a monster compared to my wolf.
My wolf. Gods…
Wanting Lord Eorl was a childhood dream. An illusion. Wanting Valen is real. It’s what my heart desires. How can I deny it any longer?
A voice has me looking up. Someone is saying something behind the door, their voice high-pitched with what sounds like fear.
Valen?
But it’s not him. I know that, because the next moment the door is unlocked, and Lord Eorl appears at the opening.
My utter loathing for him has me rooted in place. I want to rake my nails over his face, gouge out his eyes. I want to slap and spit on his hated face.
