Cloaked in Blood

by T. F. Walsh

  Levin’s sharp voice carved through my fantasy. “We’ve been promised a unique style of entertainment tonight. Please put your hands together for Selena.”

  Right. Time to entertain the monkey—Levin. For a smidgen of a second, I contemplated my dance. Then I pictured Marcin’s wink and his words of encouragement. Yep. I was sticking to my original plan.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Marcin

  More dishes with sliced venison shank were set on my end of the table, and the aroma had my stomach growling for more. My second-in-command, Vincent, drew one plate toward him. I gulped several mouthfuls of blood wine—three parts fresh deer blood, one part red wine to water down the thick consistency—a popular drink in Hungary among wulfkin. Then I dug into my gamey, almost sweet meat.

  At the same time, my stomach spiraled with distaste at the idea of my brother sitting in an isolated wing of the castle, guarded by Father’s wulfkin, not invited to the family meal. I had spent an hour of convincing Father not to force Enre and Daciana back into the dungeons, and while I’d won the argument, his deathly glare promised retribution for defying him. I didn’t give a shit.

  Voices around me grew to a mundane buzz. The smacking of lips and tearing of meat escalated, grating on my nerves. I shoved my plate away.

  On my other side, Father had barely touched his food, deep in conversation with the sultan about the early onset of winter and game hunting as if the pair were best buddies now.

  When I glanced over to the empty seat next to the sultan, the unsettling ache in my gut deepened. My wolf stretched inside me, whimpering for release, for a real chase, for Selena. Then he nudged me with a sense of an exciting memory. Selena and I in our wolf forms during the full moon, running wild in the forest, tracking our prey in Turkey. She had meant the world to me, but was that because I craved escape from Father’s dictatorship and heavy-handed punishment? Back then, Selena had offered me a glimpse into a new life filled with freedom.

  I gulped down the rest of the blood wine, and my bladder called for time out.

  But the single drumbeat ringing through the room had me remaining in my seat. The tempo picked up, and Vincent slapped me on the back. “My friend, I do believe this performance is for you.” He gulped back his wine.

  I glanced up.

  Selena strode toward the U-shaped table, barefoot and dressed in a black skirt sitting dangerously low on curvy hips. Her hands were tucked behind her back. With each step, the slits running from the top of her thighs to her ankles peeled back, revealing long, lean legs.

  My pulse lunged into a competition against the quickening tune. The black bra did little to conceal her bust that bounced with each step. Tiny bells dangled from the bra and swayed across her trim belly.

  I couldn’t deny Selena’s beauty. Ink-black hair fluttered behind gently sloped shoulders and draped behind her hourglass body. From halfway across the room, her green eyes, framed by dark eyelashes, called to me. And for a crazy moment, I imagined myself going to her, taking her into my arms, but it was my wolf’s insatiable desire to claim Selena.

  Her gaze met mine, and the corner of her mouth curled upward in that sneaky kind of way that told me she was up to something. I couldn’t wait to see what she had in store.

  Then the music morphed into a single violin piece, melancholic, thin in tone. It vibrated through me.

  Selena halted in the middle of the room, tilting her head forward, but her hands remained behind her back. The nostalgic melody played by the bow, graciously gliding across strings, sang of subtle sadness mixed with hope.

  Selena slid a leg forward, the fabric gliding aside to reveal her thigh, her toes poised toward the ground.

  My stare fastened on every inch of the beauty I craved. She’d never danced for me before, and now with everyone’s gazes lingering on her, a tinge of jealousy swept through me. My black-hearted father was to blame, stealing the private dance meant for me alone. Arguing with him had gotten me nothing but frustration, and when the sultan agreed, I had no leg to stand on. Didn’t make this moment any easier to swallow.

  Selena’s hip lifted and dropped in slow motion, and my throat dried. She took several steps, her gaze still lowered. Undulations flowed through her body like a wave, rolling through her pelvis, along her waist and to her chest in a rhythmic pulse, mesmerizing me. I gulped more wine, almost choking in the process.

  Then the music sped to a bassy tune, and her head shot up, gaze locked onto me.

  My insides tightened.

  Her green eyes reminded me of the river in the woods. I’d fantasized about waking up next to her every morning for years ... but that was a long time ago, a memory. Then why did my wolf still demand she was ours?

  Selena’s hands pulled out from behind her back, and in her right hand, she gripped a sword the length of her arm. She raised the weapon above her head as she bounced into a crouched position and up again.

  I glanced over to the sultan and noticed his grimace. The way his jawline hardened and his rigid posture indicated he was ready to stand up in protest. Was this not the dance he’d expected from his daughter?

  The music climbed to a crescendo, and my attention fixed back on Selena, who now had the sword balanced across one shoulder, the hilt in front, the blade behind her. She broke into a spin, faster and faster, the jingle of her costume a constant chime in the background. Her long hair flung around her as a cape might do, her arms stretched outward. I swore her eyes were closed, and her spinning made me dizzy, but the weapon on her shoulder wasn’t going anywhere. Now, this was the kind of control my pack members needed. She’d grown into an impressive wulfkin with outstanding abilities. But it was so much more than that. For years, I’d told myself she was the past, to be forgotten. Now, staring at her, my body betrayed me, my wolf refused to listen to reason, and even my heart pounded as if we’d just met for the first time.

  She came to a dead stop, her eyes opening, the blade in place.

  Goddess, how could I be so blind not to see how much I’d missed her before now? Admitting I actually missed her became imperative. Had I made a mistake to stay away from her this long?

  The explosion of clapping that flared around the room was quickly overshadowed by a fast-paced number of hand drumming. Selena had the hilt in her grip now, whirling the weapon with a precision that sliced through the air, all the while her body shimmied on the spot. One slip and the flying sword would decapitate several spectators.

  Her movement sped up until I couldn’t decide between staring at the hypnotic jiggle of her breasts or the blade that now spun so fast, I could easily mistake it for two.

  A clip-clopping tune started, and Selena swayed her hips in a figure eight. She headed toward my father, her eyes set on him, while twirling the blade without pause.

  I slid to the corner of my seat, fearing the worst. If she killed my father, she’d be slaughtered on the spot. Surely she wasn’t that insane?

  Several guards stepped toward Father, but he simply brushed them away with a wave of his hand, smiling at Selena who now stood directly across the table from him. The sword spun above her head in one hand, her body shimmying and entrancing his attention.

  The sultan sighed loudly.

  Selena set a hand behind her back and withdrew a red silk scarf, which she waved in the air. She calmed the spinning of the blade and lowered the tip to the side of Father’s cheek, never touching him, but I noticed the way his back flinched.

  A few gasps came from the audience.

  Selena hurled the silk scarf into the air above Father’s head, and within the same second, she swept the sword upward and swiped it through the fabric.

  Two halves of a scarf cascaded over Father’s head. He chuckled and caught the fabric, inhaling its scent.

  That small act made the hairs on my arms prickle. Wasn’t this dance supposed to be for me? Was her focus on Father a little game to lure him into a false sense of security so she could kill him? She wouldn’t be the first person who attempted
to finish him off, but Father was too smart for that.

  Now she was doing large circles with her hips while holding the sword at both ends, the music quickening.

  Selena could handle weapons. Good to know.

  She broke into a body wave, her smile playful yet sultry as she held my gaze. I wasn’t sure how to take it—a threat or something else?

  My bladder tightened worse. I’d be ultrafast. I pushed away from the table and hurried toward the side door before taking one last glance at Selena in a beautiful back arch with the sword balanced across her stomach. A thousand images slammed into my mind of her naked and in that position.

  Once in the hallway, I rushed to the bathroom.

  Tibor, the head councilman emerged. He was the last council member I needed to gain support from to go against Father.

  I glanced behind me and spotted no one. “Tibor, I wanted to speak to you and—”

  “Listen, Marcin. I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve spoken to the council, and we’ve agreed not to take action at this point. Save your breath.”

  An invisible fist collided into my gut. “We’ve talked about this. You agreed his actions were affecting all wulfkin.”

  He laid a hand against my arm, his touch frosty. “We still agree, boy. But with the sultan here, this is the wrong time.”

  “It’s the perfect time.” I squared my shoulders and struggled to keep my voice low. “We strike now, show Boran the old ways are gone and that we are serious about a truce.”

  Tibor shook his head.

  “This is our chance to show the sultan we are changing. The old threats are the past, and we plan to forget them for a better future.”

  “And does that include you forgiving the Turks for attempting to assassinate you?”

  The response wedged in my mind and refused to come out at first. “Of course.”

  Tibor stared at me, long and hard. He patted my arm. “Well, make sure you first convince yourself of that before you insist on a complete overthrow with the enemy in our midst.” He pushed past me.

  I snatched his elbow. “Now is the time. You’re making a mistake.”

  He pulled free and brushed down the fabric of his coat. “The council will not back you.”

  I watched him disappear into the dining hall, along with my plans to guarantee Enre’s and every other wulfkin’s immediate safety. Sitting back and doing nothing wasn’t an option. I had to take action and now.

  The severity of the council’s decision skewered into my chest, along with the dire consequences of not removing Father from his position ... sooner rather than later. That realization left me with one option—win the boon by any means possible. When the sultan went home, the council would have to back me. Then I’d correct Father’s mistakes.

  After a quick bathroom stop, I headed outside to enter my name in the well. Thoughts of Selena floated through my mind along with the emotions she’d reawakened, the urgency to touch her and spend time together like we had so long ago.

  Maybe Father was right. My mating with Selena could be a blessing in disguise after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Selena

  I dragged myself into the snowy courtyard, heat from my dance sizzling my insides. The lanterns above the doors painted the cobblestone walls in silhouettes, and for those few seconds, I could have sworn I’d stepped back in time.

  Behind me, clapping and cheers from the dining hall still echoed, but my intention had never been to gain favor with the locals. Rather, I was making it clear to Levin that he shouldn’t mess with me.

  That backfired big time.

  My skin crawled at the way he leered at me and sniffed my scarf. A normal wulfkin would have instantly seen the underlying threat and glowered at me with a death stare. Not Levin. Did I just give him extra reason to pay me the wrong kind of attention? My flesh rippled with goose bumps.

  Considering no one ever said no to him, I might have just dug my own grave.

  And Marcin ... he left the room halfway through my dance and never returned. I huffed and rubbed my arms as the cold now leeched through my performance clothes.

  An icy wind blew. I’d left my coat in the dining hall, but I wasn’t ready to return and face Father’s wrath, Levin’s creepy stares, or anything else.

  Several feet away lay the stone well. White powder dusted the circular wall and piled into small mounts along the base. A notebook and pen peeked out from beneath the swell of snow. Inside the well, I found a wooden bucket dangling from a chain, its lid sealed with nails. A slit had been roughly cut into it. Levin’s words rushed forward in my mind, the ones about anyone participating in the venery having to submit their names in the bucket.

  The boon. I could win it; then maybe Father would have to reward me with the position of alpha. If Daciana could hold the title, then why not me? I could use the boon to finally end the war between the two clans, though it wouldn’t help Aisha and me to pick our own mates. But Father would never agree to that, as females were never made to be alphas, according to him.

  Besides, the moment my name was found in the ballot, I’d be ridiculed, and Father would have a stroke. Females don’t fight or participate in male sports. I cringed every time he said those words.

  The more I stared at the bucket swaying in the breeze, the tighter my chest grew. Put your name in already.

  I chewed on my lower lip. Should I? Father was pissed at me, but how much worse could it get? Well, a lot shittier—he could break off the agreement and still mate Aisha to the alpha in Turkey. He might even mate us both to him. I gagged at the thought. Besides, what message was I giving to the Hungarians if I entered? The main reason for my mating was to create peace. Competing could easily be misconstrued as a threat.

  Coldness snapped around me, and I couldn’t peel my gaze off the bucket. Only one solution if I won—I’d use it to free Aisha and, if possible, myself from Father’s shackles. I crouched and wiped the snow off the notebook near the well.

  Snow crunched in front of me.

  I jerked up as a dark figure shifted in the shadows.

  Marcin stepped into the light, his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, and his long, chestnut hair waving in the wind. How long had he been watching me? When the breeze changed directions, slapping me in the face, his scent filled my nostrils—musk and the freshness of newly chopped wood. My wolf rose inside me, insisting she say hello ... or maybe more than hello. She nudged me, yearning to come out and play.

  Marcin always had this instant effect on me. Even in his smart-casual gear—blue-gray jeans that hugged those perfect hips, a white shirt, and dark-blue blazer dotted with snowflakes—my heart thrummed under my breastbone. Long, tawny strands draped over his shoulders, and his blue eyes sparkled against the light across from us.

  “Have you put your name in?” he asked.

  His directness stole my voice, and I hugged myself to help with the cold drilling into my bones. “N ... not sure if I w ... want to.” I could hardly talk from my teeth chattering.

  “Why not?” Sidestepping around the well, he slipped out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

  I slid my hands into the sleeves, his scent overwhelming me. My wolf was clambering for release. Not now. Shoving her back, I pulled the jacket tight around my neck and glanced at Marcin. “Thanks.”

  “Come, let’s head in until you decide to put your name in the bucket. We haven’t had a chance to properly talk.” He brushed past me and toward a side door, not the one leading back to the dining hall.

  Marcin strode alongside me and down a hall heading deeper into the building.

  “What would your father think of my entry into the venery?”

  Behind us, the wind whistled beneath the door, and the torches on the walls flickered, giving the area an eerie ambiance.

  Marcin didn’t seem to notice as he dragged open a monstrous door. “I don’t care what he says. If you want to enter, go ahead.”

  His response startled me at
first. Marcin’s voice wasn’t layered with any underlying meaning. Sharp, convincing, and truthful. But also flat and lacking emotion. He truly didn’t care what I did. In fact, his drifting gaze told me his thoughts were miles away and had little to do with me.

  I hurried inside the room, instantly embraced by the warmth of a blazing fireplace against the back wall. Above it stood a stuffed bear, twice my size, in an attack posture, its head just shy of scraping the ceiling. I detested seeing animals treated as trophies but swallowed the protesting words. My gaze shifted to the side walls covered with weapons—parrying daggers, bows and arrows, swords, axes, and shields.

  “Wow.” I approached a curved, double-edged knife and reached out to touch the golden hilt. “Isn’t this a jambiya?” I fingered the handle of the blade, a symbol of manhood in Yemen. “So glad to see this isn’t made from rhinoceros horn.”

  “Father tracked it down from an old craftsman.” Marcin’s footsteps closed in behind me. “Figured after your dance earlier, you’d appreciate this room.”

  “If I had this room back home, I’d train with each weapon until I mastered them all.” I glanced over my shoulder at Marcin, who studied me, unabashed at being caught. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Why was he smirking?

  Dropping my gaze, I slipped past him, angled around the brown leather sofa cradling the fireplace, and warmed my frozen fingers.

  “So, were you the first to put your name into the bucket outside?” I spoke with my back to him, though the light footfalls behind me told me he’d crossed the room.

  “Haven’t done it yet.”