Page 12 of The Bull's Beauty
“Oh, spare me the noble restraint,” Ulric groans, throwing his head back. “You marked the trees. You were practically writing her sonnets in your seed.”
I grit my teeth, exasperated. Half-wolf, full pain in the ass.
“Just shut up and track her.”
“Fine, fine!” he huffs, slinging an arm around my shoulder, ignoring the way I stiffen. “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go see how we get your girl out of an Orc prison before you end up humping another bush.”
I elbow him in the ribs. Hard.
Chapter Ten
Beatrice
I wake up with a stiff neck, straw tangled in my hair, and the distinct, nagging feeling that my life choices have officially hit rock bottom. My gaze drifts around the small, grimy cage, and I can’t help but think of all the things I should have done differently to avoid ending up here.
Cassia is already awake, sitting cross-legged on her straw bed, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve with the kind of absent-mindedness that makes it seem like she’s at a garden party instead of imprisoned by a pack of overgrown, green-skinned brutes. She glances at me, one eyebrow arched. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”
I groan, rolling my shoulders. “Like a baby.”
She snorts, “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it,” I mutter, yanking a twig from my hair and glaring through the bars. Outside, the Orc camp is already alive with activity: females stirring pots over roaring fires, children wrestling in the dirt, and, of course, Rurak. The smug bastard lounges on a nearby tree stump, lazily sharpening a knife, his golden eyes flicking toward me every few seconds. I flip him off, and he grins.
Cassia watches the exchange with amusement. “You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm if you keep scowling like that.”
“I’ll stop scowling when I’m not in a cage,” I snap, stiffening.
“Fair enough,” she says, leaning back and stretching like she has all the time in the world. “So. What’s your deal? How did they catch you?”
I sigh, the sound puffing a stray strand of hair from my face. “I was running away.”
“From?” she prompts, her eyes sharp with curiosity.
“Minotaurs.”
Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “Oh.” For once, she seems genuinely at a loss for a smart remark. She doesn’t press further, which is a minor miracle. Instead, she says, “I was running too. Arranged marriage.”
“To?” I ask, my own curiosity piqued despite myself. What could be worse than this?
“A Lycan alpha,” she says, her pretty face twisting into a sour grimace.
“A…what?” The words feel clunky and foreign on my tongue. Lycan. Alpha. It sounded like something from the scary stories the elder Thompson told to keep girls from straying too far from the fence line. My life in the sheltered, sun-drenched pastures of Havenmoor had featured stubborn rams and irritable geese, not…whatever that was.
“A Lycan alpha,” she repeats slowly, as if I were a simpleton.
The blank look on my face must have been a proclamation of my ignorance. A flush of heat crept up my neck. Great, now I look like a country bumpkin on top of being a captive. “I—I don’t know what that is,” I admit, the words coming out more sheepish than I’d like.
Cassia sighs, a little exasperated. “Awolf.The leader of an entire pack of them. My father fed me to the wolves, quite literally.”
I wince. The Minotaurs…yeah, they’re arrogant, full of themselves, their stronghold basically a monument to their egos,but at least they never actually threatened to hurt me. Maeve and Annie have their mates and live in some fantasy version of happiness. Me? I got ripped from my village and everything I’ve ever known. I hate them. I hate Orcs. I hate this stinking place. I just want to go home to Havenmoor. To my normal, boring life.
All I can muster is a weak, “Yikes.” I immediately cringe internally. Yikes? That’s what you say when you spill milk on a clean floor, not when someone’s father condemns them to be a wolf’s bride.
“Yeah,” she says grimly. “So I bolted and was headed for the Sky Cities before these chuckleheads caught me.” She gestures to the Orcs outside.
I glance at Rurak again, my stomach knotting. “Think they’ll let us go?”
Cassia snorts, shaking her head. “Doubt it. But hey, at least the food’s decent.”
