Chapter 4 : Who Bought Me?

*Gemma*

The car ride was long, bumpy, and yes, dusty.

It gave me a long time to think of nothing but that male I had seen in the square. His stormy gray eyes wouldn't leave my mind's eye. I hadn't been able to discern any emotion in them, but I thought that if I never let the image go, I'd be able to figure it out.

"What do you know of the West?" Cillian asked me.

I wasn't sure how to feel or what to think at this point, so I just told the truth. "That Hazel Coast and Sun Mountain have been at war for the past twenty years, it doesn't have as much… advancement as the East, and it's very large."

Cillian's laugh was sharp, short, and humorless. "It's alright to call us archaic. Trains, cars, anything metal… it's all just defying our roots. We're wolves, Gemma Brooks. Why waste our teeth and claws? And this war? The last thing we need is better, faster transportation. The iron smells horrible too."

The Beta couldn't have been more than fifty years old, I deduced, judging by his profile alone. His rich tanned skin looked dry and was thinly wrinkled from sun exposure, and his light brown hair was short and choppy and streaked with gray. Such normal features for someone who gave off a cold and calculated air.

He also seemed like he liked to hear himself talk. "But we boast our military might. Teeth and claws are all you need to win." He looked back at me. "Do you think you'd like to embrace the archaic?"

"Sure," I said, unable to find any other response.

Cillian glanced at the driver as if checking to see if he was as disappointed with the answer as he was. "Sharp claws, teeth, and a razor-sharp tongue," he said. "That's what it takes to stay alive here, pretty. Take care of who you cut with it—or try to."

***

Just as I was about to claim sickness—way, way, way too much voyaging for long periods of time in moving transportation—Cillian said, "Ah, home sweet home."

I peered out the window.

We'd been driving along a cliff for the past few minutes, seemingly endless and empty, and I'd been pretending it was my own East Sea, even though somehow it looked nothing like the ocean I knew. But now the end was in sight: a jut-out bluff with a massive sandstone fortress overlooking a black sand beach.

Well, screw the Moon Goddess; my dream wasn't so stupid after all.

It wasn't a mansion, and I didn't expect black sand… but it was close enough. At least the sunset scene was stunning.

The dirt road curved all the way to a plain, sudden front entrance of two double doors with giant gaslight torches on either side that were making shadows dance on the dry grass.

There were two guards below them, and as the car came to a stop, I found five more on the battlements, and two on the circular turret.

I guessed, when you were at war, you protected your home with all you had.

The car stopped, and Cillian opened the door for me. I climbed out, immediately struggling to breathe again.

Cillian chuckled; I decided I hated the sound. "This is the freshest air you'll get. Don't cough too hard when dust coats your lungs."

As he strutted toward the entrance, I stuck my tongue out at him and thought, 'One day I'll show you how sharp it can be.'

The two guards—dressed in brown armor with a sigil of a wolf head with a bone in its mouth, the lower halves of their faces hidden by a realistic painted-black wolf muzzle mask with the bared teeth painted red—opened the doors inward with a great, echoing groan.

I wasn't sure that I signed up for a fancy entrance, but for a selfish, delirious moment, I basked in the grandeur of it.

But I didn't get lost in that.

The driver nudged me from behind. I stumbled forward to follow Cillian, deciding not to glare over my shoulder as I crossed the threshold into an entirely new world.

My whole life was modest, grounded in modesty. This? This was on the opposite side of the scale.

There was silver and gold coating every inch of the foyer that could have fit every damn wolf in Opal Springs inside. I craned my neck as far as it would go to see the ceiling that dripped a massive gold chandelier with a dozen lit red candles. While speechlessly gorgeous, it all seemed quite unnecessary: luxurious furniture with dark cherry-colored end tables with vases on either side, a fireplace as long as the car was wide, all atop a black marble floor with veins of red.

Then again, Alphas were not known to be humble.

"Welcome to Hazelstone."

I jumped and whirled at the smooth female voice.

"Ah," announced Cillian, sounding obnoxiously welcoming, "you're right on time, Raisa."

Ahead was a stupidly wide staircase. Coming down it was a curvy female dressed in the skimpiest outfit I'd ever seen—if you could even call it that. It was more a near-sheer scrap of fabric held up by a silver chain around the back of her neck that pushed up her breasts; tied around the center of it was less sheer silk that fell down her front just shy of dragging on the ground, meaning there was a double-slit baring both her legs and bare feet.

I hoped there was another scrap hiding her privates, because if she moved too fast and the silk swayed with her…

Her skin was a rich gold with a rosy glow, her peachy blonde hair falling in gentle waves down her back that I hoped was covered at least a little. Her green eyes were a pale shade that reminded me of sea glass.

She was so breathlessly beautiful that I momentarily forgot about the mysterious male in Niburgh's square.

Sea glass was smooth and round, but it could be jagged and sharp, too. I watched her gaze turn from demure to disgust, and the sweet bow of her mouth directed at me flipped to a somehow still beautiful curl of disdain at Cillian when he walked past her up the stairs.

Just as effortlessly, she turned back to me with flawless poise, as if she hadn't just shown a very snakelike shift.

A shiver ran down my spine.

But it was hard to feel uneasy when she approached with a gait as elegant as the rest of her. She was at least an entire foot taller than me, and she tipped her chin forward down slightly to meet my gaze. Her expression was pensive and temperate.

"I'm Raisa Marigold. You're prettier than I imagined."

I wasn't sure if it was intended as an insult, but my lack of response made her eyes widen.

"Oh, sweet, I didn't mean it that way." She tucked my hair behind my ear. Even her fingers were elegant. "Westerners tend to exaggerate Eastern appearances. As a pup, I was told those who lived by the sea were somehow disfigured by it. But I am glad you do not have gills."

Raisa laughed, and Moon Goddess damn it all, that was stunning, too.

She took my wrist, but compared to the seemingly endless males handling me, she was gentle and guiding. Tucking me under her arm in a surprisingly motherly way, she led me up the staircase.

"What's your name, sweet?"

"Gemma Brooks," I said a little too eagerly. "Of Opal Springs, Oceantide."

She beamed, showing perfect white teeth. "Gemma. I hope you're as tough as a gemstone."

The comment was encouraging, but I sensed a subliminal warning.

How terrifying our wolf instincts were.

Raisa led me down one dark corridor after another as I quickly realized the foyer was just a ruse—a pretty curtain to hide scarcely lit hallways with wood walls and cold stone floors. We didn't pass a single window even as we went up a long spiral staircase damp with stale water that smelled like something had died and rotted.

I loved the beachside fortress. I just really wanted to live outside of it.

"Raisa," I breathed as we landed on a new floor that was suddenly nicely lit with a velvet runner between the many closed doors. "What's going on?"

"Here," she said instead, stopping at the end of the dead-end hallway. She opened it and ushered me inside, easily closing it behind her… and locking it.

The room looked like a prison cell disguised as a pretty bedroom. Stone floor, stone walls, both emanating icy cold, and a single window barred with thick poles.

There was a four-poster bed—surprisingly large with a mountain of fluffy pillows—with an ugly cream comforter, a vanity with a stool and grimy mirror, a dresser with six drawers, and a separation screen that I could just see a wooden bath behind.

I couldn't name all the smells, so I just decided: Goddess-damned awful.

I turned to Raisa with another question on my tongue, but she took my wrist again—blessedly gentle—and guided me across the room to the tub. It was already full of water, but somehow I already knew it would be freezing.

Though I doubted she would shove me into it, I dug my heels in and resisted her tug. "Raisa, please explain to me what's happening."

I was surprised and irritated at the quake in my voice. I sounded timid and naïve and that was the last thing I wanted to be—the last thing I needed to be—if I was going to survive from here on out. If I was to trust Raisa right away, I had to follow her advice: be tough. Be a gemstone. Be sea glass—pretty but capable of being a warning not to seek out lest you be cut.

Be a damn wolf. Teeth and claws.

The beauty's brows knitted and she tsked, releasing me. I didn't like the troubled expression she gave me. "Oh, sweet. Why do you think you are here?"

I didn't like the depth of that question either. It made me second-guess everything from the point I told Lynn I'd go in her place. "A… breeder…"

Raisa took my hands and led me to the bed where we both sat. I hated to admit it was softer than my own had been. "I'm afraid it's much more complicated than that, sweet."

I swallowed and breathed, "Why did I figure that?"

Raisa crooked her knuckle under my chin to lift my face up to hers. Now her expression had darkened, less motherly and more serious. "And do you know who you are here for?"

Dread was sluicing through me. "No."

"I think you do, but you don't want to admit it."

I was quick to another realization: do not underestimate her.

Of course, I knew. The name Hazelstone was clue enough.

I'd been sold to the Hazel Coast's Beast of the West, Alpha Connor Herrick.