Lila's Wolf (Out of Time Book 1) (9 page)

His fingers tugged at the knot for a second then he paused and moved his head closer, to rest his forehead against mine. The intimacy sent a jolt through me, heating my blood and sending my pulse wild. “Listen to me,” he whispered against my cheek, his breath a warm puff against my bruised skin. “I’m going to get you out of here.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he carried on, his voice fierce and urgent, though quiet. “I’ve seen your
ghardian
. He’s locked up on the other side of the hall. They’re going to make him face some challenge at the solstice, so maybe there’s a chance then to free him.”

“What do you mean, a challenge?”

He struggled with the knot, and I felt it loosen a fraction. “The warlord’s mother said he was to be used for a
Blót
. That’s a challenge, isn’t it?”

The name cut a fresh shard of fear through me. “A
Blót
? Are you sure that’s what she said?”

His fingers stilled. “Yes, I’m sure. Something to do with the festivities.”

“Jared, a
Blót
is something I’ve only read about. We never thought they performed those here, in this timeframe.” I wasn’t sure I could say the words. “It’s a blood sacrifice.” I began to tremble, shudders running down me from head to toe. “Oh God, Jared, they’re going to sacrifice him. We have to stop them.”

Footsteps approached, and Jared pulled back, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes flashing a warning.

“Time to go, slave.”

“Lila, I
will
get you both free, but you have to trust me.” He sucked in his breath when the guard yanked him to his feet, hauling on the iron collar as though he was a badly behaved dog. I watched, helpless and numb, while he was escorted from the cellar and the light was abruptly extinguished.

I huddled against the wall and tried to control my breathing, to slow my racing heart. Closing my eyes, I retreated into my imagination. I pictured myself in a sun-washed library, sorting through archive material, Jared by my side. He’d pass me a datapad and our fingers would brush. He’d smile, suggest I look at something, and we’d stand together as we examined it.

There’d been so many hours spent like this. Quiet, safe, and utterly familiar. From our first shared assignment in early school, to our last disastrous jump, he’d been the best part of my life.

But how well did I really know him?

His parting words rang in my head.
Trust me
. Last time I trusted him, I nearly died.
God help me, please let things be different this time.

Jared

Jared sucked in a deep breath before entering Mistress Rowena’s quarters. Other slaves busied themselves in the outer room with an unexpected level of activity. Perhaps she’d be too busy to need him at the moment? He ducked to the side as two young women carried out a stack of rugs and then he stepped carefully out of the way of another carrying a bucket of water. Rowena appeared in the doorway of her bedchamber, her lips compressed to a tight line.

“I said
fresh
petals for the floor, not these dried husks.” Her screech must have been audible in the courtyard. She bent down, scooped a handful, and threw them in the face of the slave next to Jared. “And flowers. I need flowers in here. Enough to cover the stink of his breath.”

Her eyes flashed to Jared, and his heart sank at the knowing smirk on her face. “Wolf. You took your time. In here. Now.” Another two slaves were piling fresh blankets onto the bed, and Rowena chased them out, clapping her hands, before closing the door. “My husband is due back tonight, a day early, along with a party of visitors for the solstice celebrations.” She glided to him and gripped his chin, twisting it up so that he met her eyes. “I want my newly appointed body slave to give me a massage.”

“Mistress,” he murmured. Calling her an evil bitch would not be helpful, even if it would be satisfying. While Rowena stripped and lay down, he selected a mixture of perfumed oils from those on her shelf and bought himself another minute as he pretended to deliberate over them. His mind buzzed. The warlord would be here tonight.
Jared wouldn’t be needed by Rowena
. There would be more opportunity to move around with all the strangers here. This would be his best chance to free Lila and Marc.

He moved to Rowena’s side and cast his eyes up and down her body. She lay on her back, wearing nothing but a smile, arms folded behind her head, and glossy hair draped across her shoulders. There were no words to describe how much he detested this woman. His stomach roiled at the prospect of touching her

“I think it would be best if you were naked too.”

With a resigned sigh, he loosened and dropped the loincloth, and then rubbed his palms together to warm the oil. He would do the bare minimum and spin it out as long as possible. There were slaves working in the outer chamber, the low rumble of voices and sounds of cleaning in the background. She couldn’t keep him here for long.

He started with her feet. Digging his thumbs into her soles, swirling the oil up and over the arches, long sweeping motions around the ankle. He could do this in his sleep.

Rowena fidgeted. Her hands came down to her sides then back up to her head for a moment before she sat up and grabbed Jared’s wrists. “Enough. I’m bored with the massage. I want you to service me properly. I know your mouth works fine; this time I want to feel you inside me.” Her lips curled in a smile, and she opened her thighs, bending one leg at the knee. “See how ready I am for you.” She trailed one hand across her pussy and raised it to his lips. He almost gagged.

“Come now, Wolf.” That sly, girlish voice. “Let me see if you can do the business with someone your own age, or if you can only get excited by old women.”

Her hand dropped and brushed against his dick. It failed to respond, and she frowned. She closed her fingers around his limp member and squeezed hard enough to make spots fly before his eyes. He stayed resolutely soft.
Fuck
.

The frown turned glacial. Jared blinked and concentrated, summoning every sexy image he could.
Failure
. Even when Rowena tugged on him and scraped her fingernails across his balls, he remained unaroused. Her scream of fury made his ears ring.

“You worthless, useless piece of dog shit. If I want you, I will have you. Make no mistake.” Rowena climbed down from the high, soft bed and stood before him, trembling with rage. “You’ll regret refusing me.”

Maybe he would, but God help him, he didn’t seem capable of fucking her. She picked up a long, thin, whippy length of birch tree, closed one hand around it, and snapped it in front of him in a showy move. He couldn’t drag his eyes away, and his stomach cramped at the prospect. Her eyes gleamed and he knew then, this was going to be bad.

“Hands,” she snarled. A millisecond of relief. His hands were tough and hard-skinned. He kept his face blank and held out his palms to her.

“Try again.”

Huh?
Puzzled, he turned his palms to present the backs of his hands. He heard the whistling noise first. The impact came with a dull crunch, pain blooming out and shooting up to his elbow. He stared at his hands. A bright red stripe bisected them. Painful, but bearable. She raised the birch again and smacked it onto his fingers this time. Another crunch. His fingers tried to curl in a reflex movement but she noticed.

“Keep them flat, or I’ll nail them down.”

All his fingers throbbed, but he forced himself to straighten his hands. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down, a light sweat breaking out over his forehead.

A third strike, but he was ready this time and breathed through it.
See, bitch? You won’t break me.
He growled at her silently, taking some small measure of satisfaction from her increasing frustration.

“
And the fronts
.” He hesitated. “
Now
!” Okay, this was going to hurt. He sucked in a breath and couldn’t hold back a grunt when she blasted the birch across his palms before he was ready for it. Blood danced and shimmied across his hands, the pain detonating deep into his nervous system. He sucked in another breath and tried to brace himself. One slash followed another, until he thought he would fall over with the strain of holding his arms still. A long moment passed with no more strokes, and his eyes flickered open. Nausea engulfed him.

His palms were a bleeding, oozing mess, the skin hanging in ragged tatters. She’d ripped into him from his wrists down to the lowest knuckles. Somehow, he managed not to retch.

Licking dry lips, he focused on her and saw her triumphant smile.

“Say, ‘thank you, mistress.’” Her tone was as savage as her easy brutality.

“Thank you, mistress.” The words grated out.

“Now get out of my sight. I’m going to let you have a treat; you can work outside today. I’m sending you to the fields. A day of pulling thistles and carrying stones will make you appreciate your indoor duties.”

Lila

I sat in the darkness, drew up my knees, and rested my chin on them. There was nothing to do in there but think. Jared had loosened the knot that bound my hands just enough to get the blood flowing again, and it’d been painful at first, as my digits came back to life. I wiggled them now and felt a wave of gratitude toward him.

How had he ended up as a slave? What had happened to Flavius, and Ness, and the others from the village? My heart contracted when I thought about Marc, about what would happen if we didn’t find a way to stop the
Blót
.

Something brushed against my foot, and I froze. Had I imagined it?
No
, there it was again. I shifted to the left, swinging my feet away, and banged against something soft. It squeaked. I wailed and tried to stand, to move away out of reach even while I heard a pattering, scratching noise move away. Mice.
Rats
. “Go away,” I shrieked. “Get away from me!”
Would they bite me? Oh God, please don’t let them attack me.

I sobbed in relief when I heard the door being opened. Same as before, a flickering torch was set into the wall holder. I squinted. Two people I didn’t recognise approached: another fully armored soldier, sword hanging in a scabbard from his waist, and a dumpy middle-aged woman in a dark tunic and sandals. I shrank back against the wall, my heart already pounding from the rats, and I tried to find my voice. Any words disappeared when the soldier came closer and produced a thin dagger from his belt. I couldn’t even breathe. It took forever for him to walk past me and cut through the rope that attached me to the wall. Another eternity as I slowly reinflated my lungs and forced them to start working again. Meanwhile, the soldier tossed the cut end of rope to the woman, and she tugged it, jerking at my wrists.

“Come with me, child.” Her accent was thick and harsh.

In an unexpected gesture of kindness, the soldier helped me stand, and then took a position walking behind me. I followed the woman much as a dog on a lead would. I had no idea where she might be taking me. It was unlikely to be a stroll in the garden. A hysterical laugh threatened to emerge, but I managed to swallow it down. I felt dirty and dishevelled after the cellar. My hair tumbled loose around my face, and I had splatters of blood across my tunic. Heaven knew how I looked after being hit by the guard earlier. My cheek still felt numb.

I followed the woman along a series of corridors and outside into a bright, sunlit courtyard. After the bleakness of the cellar, I was dazzled and disoriented to be out in the light again. I paused and turned my face to the sky, closing my eyes for a moment and revelling in the warmth on my eyelids. A sharp tug had me moving again and I traipsed behind her into a large outbuilding, realising at the last minute it was a forge, of sorts. The ringing of metal on metal drew my eyes to a gorilla of a man bent over a massive anvil, hammering at something. His leather apron looked greasy and stained, and as we approached he wiped first his hands on the leather then the whetstone he’d been using. He drew it along the edge of the apron, adding another layer of dirt.

My eyes scanned left and right, taking in the giant pincers, tongs, and axes that hung on the wall. Why had they brought me here? As if in slow motion, the smith dipped into a bucket of water and pulled out an iron ring.
A thrall ring
. Adrenaline surged through my veins.
No!
My heart skipped into overdrive. I yanked hard on the rope, trying to pull it out of the woman’s hand—trying to break free. She let out a surprised yelp and stumbled as she overbalanced and she tried to grab the loose end that slipped through her fingers. Too late. I feinted right then darted left, my sandals skating over the loose wisps of straw on the ground.

My rebellion was short lived. I’d forgotten the soldier.

He caught me easily, threw me over his shoulder as lightly as a feather pillow, and hauled me back to the forge, where he dumped me in a heap on the floor. For the second time that day, my body protested as it hit the ground. They had me cornered. I had no escape, but I drew satisfaction that it took two of them to hold me down. I refused to believe this was happening to me.
Me!
Everything I’d thought I knew was useless.

I wriggled and squirmed, swung my legs and arms, kicked, arched my back, and tried to bite the hands that gripped me. My screams and shouts were silenced by another blow to my face. I didn’t even see who delivered this one. It pounded into me, a solid wall of pain that collided with my jaw and made me dizzy. The world spun before me, and it was as though I looked down on myself. I was a mess. Hair tangled and dirty, blood and snot across my face, tunic ripped and bloody. Quiet sobs escaped when I realized the hopelessness of the situation. I was pushed to a kneeling position, my head tilted forward to rest my throbbing chin on my chest. Hands grabbed at my hair and it began to rain down around me. Hanks of yellow blonde hair—
my hair
—being cropped from my head. I tried to shout but had no breath left for it.
Not my hair
,
please not my hair.
More and more flew down, and I dimly noticed the woman scooping it into a coarse sack. It would make a fine wig for some rich Saxon. My head felt light, unsteady, as though my neck had stretched. I shivered. It was colder too.