Beast of Burden Read online

  Just as she rounded the curve that would take her to the edge of the wood, a dark figure stepped out from the path. At first, she couldn’t make it out, but as it stepped into the light, the arrogant gait revealed it to be Lord Lescoux. Sascha rolled her eyes and considered bolting from the path. Unfortunately, the serpentine smile and inviting nod alluded that he had already seen her.

  “Beautiful Sascha!” he called to her with a friendly wave.

  She had no choice at this point but to continue toward him, as there were no concealed escape routes. Clutching her book to her chest, she smiled and approached him. “Lord Lescoux,” she said. “Hello there.” Remembering her station, she stopped short and bowed low before him.

  He stopped her with a slight grasp of her elbow. “No need for such ceremony, child. It’s only just the two of us now.” He grinned again toothily and slid his fingers down her arm to take her hand. “Please. Call me Ioin.”

  “As you wish, Lord…I mean, Ioin,” she stammered, her flesh crawling as he brought the back of her hand to his lips. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I do enjoy getting out in the crisp afternoon air on occasion. And Monkshood is an ideal place for refreshing one’s self. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course,” Sascha replied, somewhat nervous at his sudden appearance. “It’s an excellent place to hide.”

  Without warning, Ioin took her arm and began leading her down the path. She thought of pulling back, making up some excuse to return to the castle, but thought better of it. She could hear Anya’s voice in her head scolding her for rudeness and reminding her that she needed to be excessively kind to all of Lord Marek’s guests. Instead, she smiled and wound her arm through his, allowing him to steer her toward the forest beyond.

  “And what would one so cherished as you have to hide from?” Sascha detected the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice and it made her blush. Suddenly, she knew that he was well-aware of the encounter that had led to Lord Marek’s flight. “It would seem that Cianan is hell-bent on protecting you.”

  “What do you mean by that, my…Ioin?”

  “Well,” he began, clearing his throat and leaning in conspiratorially. “Cianan and I have been friends for quite a while. Came through the Outland Wars together, you know.” Sascha nodded, trying not to tense as he gripped her arm more tightly. “We’ve always shared everything, as good friends often do,” he paused then added, “except you.” He chuckled mirthlessly as Sascha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t look so stricken, love. Surely you understand your role as Cianan’s slave.” His lips seemed to linger on the word slave, bringing a chill to the back of her neck. “I merely suggested that he allow you to keep company with myself and Neesa.”

  “What?” Surely he didn’t mean for her to participate in their escapades.

  Ioin patted her hand reassuringly. “Under Cianan’s careful tutelage, of course. But he wasn’t having it. Insisting to keep you all for himself. I think it’s rather selfish.”

  “I’m sure I don’t take your meaning, my lord.” She looked around nervously, suddenly aware that the forest around them had become thick, blocking out the sun overhead and any view she’d once had of the castle. “I came here to settle a debt for my master, Thaddeus Longwillow.”

  Ioin laughed again. “Poor, naive girl. Is that what they told you?” He shook his head in a look of condescending patience and paused, taking her by the shoulders to turn and face him. “What exactly are you doing to earn your keep?”

  She started to speak, but realized that she still couldn’t answer that question. “I…”

  He smirked. “I thought as much.” Leaning into her side, he whispered in her ear so close that she could feel his lips brush the cuff. “I can smell your virgin’s blood.”

  With that, she did pull away and back up, nearly stumbling over a blown down branch behind her foot. “I don’t think that Lord Marek would approve of your being so bold, Ioin.”

  Lescoux’s mouth spread into a wide grin that made Sascha’s blood turn to ice in her veins. His hand still held tight around her wrist, nearly bruising the tender flesh. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Ioin snarled, pulling her toward him again. “After all, he isn’t here, is he, little one?”

  “He’ll be back…” she stammered, trying to show this man no fear without much success.

  “Perhaps,” he replied. “Though should he decide to abandon Monkshood, I’d be more than happy to have you join me in Yarik.” His words were delivered with such sickly sweetness and false concern that it made Sascha’s stomach turn uneasily.

  “I don’t believe it will be of concern, my lord…”

  “Ioin, please.” He pulled her in slightly, his beady eyes glistening with lust. “I insist.”

  “That’s very flattering, but...” she started, frantically thinking of how to get away from his piercing gaze. His breath, so close to her, smelled of stale whiskey, and she had to try not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. “I really must be getting back.”

  “For what, my little love? Another etiquette lesson from the old woman? Why bother?” He purred, pushing his nose into the locks of her hair, inhaling deeply. “I rather like your riotous nature.”

  “I shall take it as a compliment.” She laughed nervously, squirming a little to try and loosen his grip. “But I really should be going…”

  “It is true that you’re in need of education, but not in the field of manners.” His other arm slid more tightly around her waist, pulling her body obscenely against him. She whimpered softly, starting to panic. It was beginning to seem that he had lured her out there for this express purpose, and she didn’t like where this was going.

  “Let me go, Lord Lescoux…”

  “Why do you struggle so, little one? I only wish to give you the attention that has been so long overlooked by your current master.” He leaned in this time and brushed his lips across hers.

  Sascha pulled back. “Get away from me!” she shrieked, pushing her fists against his chest as he squeezed tighter, restraining her. “I thought Lord Marek was your friend!”

  “Clearly you don’t understand the depth of our friendship, love.” He chuckled, closing a bony hand over her breast and gripping tightly. “We share everything. Including little slave whores.”

  Before she could protest further, Lescoux was covering her mouth with his own, scarcely allowing her to breathe. She knew that she had to get away from him. Her cries of mercy would fall on deaf ears. She could feel his cock, hard against her center as he held her tighter. He meant to rape her and go back to the castle as if nothing had happened. He pried her lips open with a few savage bites to the corners of her mouth and pushed his whiskey-soured tongue inside. The taste of him made her gag, but it brought her back to herself long enough to bring her knee up fast into his groin.

  He let her go as he stumbled backward, his face the picture of disbelief at her violent retaliation. “Sascha,” he started, but didn’t get far as she brought her book down hard across the top of his head, making him stumble to the ground.

  “Stay away from me!” she shrieked, throwing the book down and taking off running into the forest.

  She could hear the rustling of leaves behind her, and she knew that he was getting up. “Get back here, bitch!” he screamed after her.

  She turned to look over her shoulder and could see him closing in behind. Sascha panicked and grabbed the end of her skirts, pulling them off the ground as she ran. Branches and overgrowth snatched at her face, leaving bloody scratches in their wake. She screamed, hoping against hope that someone might hear. But he had set her up well. They were so far from the castle now that no one would hear her pleas for help. She stumbled over a branch, nearly losing her footing, but it was enough to slip into his grasp. She looked over her shoulder again just as his fist connected with her cheekbone.

  “Stupid whore!” he shouted, delivering a kick to her ribs as she crumpled to the ground. “Your pitiful life is worth only what I�
�m willing to pay, bitch.” He reached down, taking her by the throat and hoisting her to her feet. She coughed and sputtered, trying to wriggle from his grasp, but it only made him hold tighter. She could feel the air seeping from her lungs. “And I think choking the life out of you might be well worth the pittance I’d have to pay Cianan.”

  Just before she passed out, he released her, throwing her forcefully to the ground. “But not before I get to make you moan like the little whore bitch you are.” Sascha heard the ripping at the back of her bodice. She could only go limp, knowing there was no escape. She felt the cold autumn wind against her back and she blushed, knowing she was exposed, knowing the bruises and welts left by Lord Marek were visible. Lescoux laughed slimily. “Perhaps I was wrong about my old friend.” His fingertips found the edge of a welt and dug into it brutally, drawing a scream from Sascha. He pulled her up by the hair, bringing her ear close to his mouth. “You enjoy the pain…”

  “Please stop,” Sascha whimpered, feeling his calloused hands slide down her front and under the loosened fabric of her gown. He pinched her nipple between his fingers. “Please…”

  He laughed in response, using his free hand to push her skirts high. Sascha struggled, squirming away from the contact of his hand on the inside of her thigh. “Why fight it, girl? This is what you’re made for,” he whispered against her ear wetly. “I saw how hungry you looked the other night, spying on us.”

  “I would rather put my hand in the fire than touch you,” she spat, turning as much as she could and sinking her teeth into his arm hard enough to draw blood.

  He shouted and pushed her forward again. She fell forward hard and struck her head on a root from the oak tree. She felt the warm blood bead on her skin and then start to weep down her forehead. She crumpled to the ground, clutching her head and whimpering groggily. She couldn’t even respond as he pulled her up on her knees, but could hear the rustling of fabric behind her as he fumbled with the laces of his pants. She closed her eyes, steadying herself for the inevitable, when she heard the low growling.

  Lescoux must have heard it too, as he paused, letting Sascha go and walking toward the trees. “Who’s there?” he shouted into the dusky darkness of the forest.

  Another threatening snarl answered, this time louder and more threatening. Whatever it was seemed closer now, stalking them. Suddenly, Sascha wasn’t sure of the lesser of the two evils. Raped and beaten by Lord Lescoux and left for dead, or devoured by whatever that creature was.

  “It seems,” she began breathlessly, still holding her head, “that you’ve awakened something in the dark more evil than yourself, Lord Lescoux.”

  “Shut up,” he hissed, creeping around the edge of the clearing. “Whatever it is will go away if you keep quiet.”

  Obviously, Lescoux didn’t see the towering black wolf that trotted into the clearing. Sascha shrank, afraid to make a sound for fear of the animal seeing her. She suddenly remembered the story Anya had told her about Lady Isabella, and her blood ran cold. She made a small noise and tried to back up on her knees behind a tree, but the wolf detected the movement and turned his head toward her. She froze, locking eyes with the animal. Its amber eyes stared at her with an almost humanlike intelligence. Curls of breath emanated from its open mouth as it let out a howl of warning.

  Ioin stood motionless, and Sascha could see his hands shaking. What a coward, she thought. So brave while assaulting an innocent girl on her own, but pissing down his leg at the sight of a wild animal. He looked at her, his eyes pleading. She knew the beast had him cornered and would spring if he moved so much as a muscle. And though she wasn’t too keen on watching a man torn to shreds, she was certain this may be her only escape from Lord Lescoux’s designs.

  “Sascha,” he said, his voice calm but quivering. “My dagger…” She looked down by her side and noticed that his sash and dagger lay on the ground where they’d been discarded in preparation of his attack. The sight filled her with rage and power, and she fixed her gazed in a stoic expression. “Slave! Do as I say!” he hissed. “We’ll both be killed, you stupid whore!”

  He took a step toward her and the wolf sprang, landing between them. Its roar was deafening and Sascha screamed, covering her ears. She thought that surely it was going to tear her throat out then, but instead, the beast turned, taking a protective stance in front of her and snorting at Ioin. It was as if the wolf was waiting for the man to make another move. Sascha could see the powerful muscles of the animal’s back moving up and down with its breath and for a moment, she was sure she could hear its heart beating. It made a barking noise at Lescoux as if to challenge him. Sascha could see that the man was terrified, still as a stone, afraid even to breathe. Ioin reached out for Sascha, but the wolf roared again, indicating that this was as close to the girl as he was allowed to get. He backed off slowly, keeping his eyes on the wolf as he picked his way through the clearing and into the forest behind. The last thing Sascha remembered before swooning were the fierce eyes of the wolf staring down at her.

  Chapter 11

  Sascha lay on the ground limply as Cianan stared down at her. She hadn’t come around yet, and he was starting to wonder if he should worry. The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to run again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her, and the confusion was stealing his clarity. He paced around her unconscious body, wondering what to do next. He couldn’t change back. She’d see him and wonder why he was out in the forest naked. But in his current state, when she opened her eyes, she’d be terrified of him. Of course, she’d probably be terrified no matter what. Not that she could be blamed. Their last meeting had been less than amiable. He’d lost his temper, something he’d vowed not to do ever again. Underneath his rage, he’d also felt something he thought long dead. And it frightened him.

  The sun was setting fast, and soon it would get cold. He was already starting to see her breath curl from her lips. He paced around her, circling a few more times, finally sinking down beside her. His enormous, wolfen frame would offer some protection from the cold, he thought, as he settled. She groaned a little in her sleep, and the sound made him relax a little, though she did not wake. At least she was showing signs of life.

  He watched over her as she slept, his eyes studying every nuance of her countenance. Soon, the source of her unconsciousness was clear. A gash began at her hairline and slanted in a jagged tear toward her temple. Blood pooled in a magnificent show of crimson against her pale cheek. He growled, looking off in the direction of the castle. How could he have been so stupid as to leave her alone with Ioin, knowing his friend’s callous disregard for women? Rage bubbled under his skin, but he tried to swallow it. Now was not the time to settle such things. The matter at hand was to get the bleeding stopped.

  He stared down at the blood, and it made him hungry. Before he could help himself, he was leaning over her, his heavy pants thrumming audibly in his chest. Gently, he nudged her head to the side with his muzzle. She groaned, but did not stir. He moved cautiously, not wanting to wake her just yet. Starting with soft flicks of his tongue, he tasted her blood. The bittersweet flavor made his mouth water and for a moment, hunger raged just beneath the surface. To his credit, he was able to swallow it. He knew that cleaning her wounds with his tongue would ease the pain and stop the bleeding in an instant. With this in mind, he began lapping at the wound in earnest, no longer caring if she awoke. The blood slowed after several minutes, and the wound began to close, to his satisfaction. He pulled back and examined her body. Ioin’s fists had left bruises up and down her arms, at her cheekbone and shoulder. It made him want to tear the other man apart. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t before. Some misguided sense of holding onto humanity, he supposed.

  When he’d first been changed, his rage had been savage, as the man and as the wolf. His temper had always been somewhat unpredictable, but once the werewolf had infected his blood, it became impossible to control. King Sebastian, while pleased with his enhanced strength and skill on the battlefield, had
begun to fear him. His men had started whispering about Lord Marek’s late night disappearances and unexpected fits of anger. One had even noticed the three deep gashes above his heart where the soldier wolf had torn into his body, leaving him for dead on the forest floor. Soon after, Sebastian had resolved to send him home as Lord of Kaspar, if only to protect the courage of his army. After Bella’s tragic end, he was bent on learning to control the beast. Which he had. Until now. The night he’d disappeared after the encounter with Sascha was the closest he’d come to changing involuntarily in a very long time. He’d been so angry, so full of rage and lust. The emotions shot through his system like Greek fire, and he’d been helpless to control them.

  The sky overhead had gone purple in the twilight. Soon, Anya would come looking for Sascha, and it wouldn’t do to have her find the girl like this. He had to get her inside and see to her wounds properly. Not to mention now that the sun was down, the air had become biting. But she showed no signs of rising. Her heartbeat was still slow in her chest and her breathing even. He’d have to carry her. Stepping back, he inhaled deeply, readying himself to shift back to his human form. It would be painful. He hadn’t felt his own flesh in days. He stretched his muscles, willing them to shift to their former position. His front legs elongated as his jawline twisted, returning to its human shape. As he fell forward, the fur along his back split down the spine, falling away like a discarded snakeskin. Within seconds, it was over and he lay on the ground, naked and panting as his eyes adjusted to the near dark of twilight. His entire body ached with the exertion of the changing, and he could only lay on the ground motionless for a few moments, trying to gather the strength to pull to a standing position. It never got easier.