Page 16 of The Bull's Beauty
“Because, the Bull’s offering twenty obsidian blades and a pouch of sovereigns for the return of his little runaway.” He jerks his chin at me. “The angry one with the great tits.”
My hands fly to my chest. “Excuse me—”
“Twenty blades for one female?” Rurak strokes his tusks, considering. Then he snorts. “Fine. The cow goes back. But the other one stays.”
Cassia goes pale, grabbing my arm. “This is bad,” she whispers. “If they take his deal—”
“Then, I get out,” I whisper back.
“And I stay trapped here!”
Before I can respond, Ulric’s head snaps up. His pupils dilate as he stares at Cassia, before he lifts his head and inhales deeply through his nose.
Rurak notices. “Problem, wolf?”
Cassia goes rigid as Ulric stalks toward us, his mahogany eyes locked onto her and he sniffs where her fingers grip the wood.
“You,” he breathes.
Cassia kicks dirt through the bars at him. “Back off, mutt!”
He does take an involuntary step backwards, then visibly wrestles himself back under control. His voice comes out strangled. “New terms.”
Rurak raises a brow.
“That one comes, too,” he grits out, pointing to Cassia.
The Orcs laugh. Rurak crosses his arms. “Why would we—”
Ulric’s lips peel back in a snarl. “Because she’smine.” The growl in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
Cassia makes a sound like a teakettle boiling over.
Rurak, however, looks delighted. “Ah! A mating scent!” He claps Ulric on the back hard enough to stagger him.
“Congratulations, the price just doubled!”
Ulric doesn’t hesitate. “Done.”
Cassia makes a sound of pure outrage. I step on her foot before she can ruin our escape.
Chapter Thirteen
Silas
A rustle shakes the thick tree line ahead, and just like that, my entire world narrows and sharpens, zeroing in on that single point of movement. Figures emerge from the pines; Ulric first, shoved forward by an Orc, and behind him a scrawny human female with ginger hair hanging in her face. My gaze barely lingers on her. She looks half-starved and frightened, but she is not the one who matters.
Beatrice is.
She’s dragged out next, and my body goes so rigid I feel like stone, every primal instinct in me screaming to charge forward and tear them apart for daring to lay a hand on her. She stumbles, her boots catching on the uneven ground, but the two Orcs holding her arms just yank her upright without a care, and the casual violence of it makes my vision pulse with a red haze. She’s a mess; dirt is streaked across her cheek, her hair is a wild tangle of gold and straw, her clothes are rumpled, but her chin is tilted up in that defiant way I know so well, and the look she shoots the Orc beside her is pure, undiluted fury. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Gods, she’s beautiful. My female.
Then, my focus snaps to the Orc stepping forward from the main group to meet them, and the recognition hits me like aphysical blow, making my blood run cold. Rurak. I’d know that particular arrogant swagger anywhere; he’s the chief’s son of the Bone-Tusk clan. We met once, years ago, during a tense stand-off over hunting territory, and even at that time, when he was younger, he wasn’t just some mindless brute—he was smart and calculated, his eyes missing nothing. I’d marked him then as one to watch out for. This isn’t just some random raider. This is a political nightmare.
“She’s spirited,” he rumbles, appraising her with amusement.
He’s talking about my mate like she’s a wild horse he’s thinking of breaking, instead of a living, breathing person.
