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Chapter seventeen

I let the men use the downstairs bathroom and waited for Gemma to finish. When it was my turn upstairs, I took my time.

Cold rivers and lakes had been our only source of water for days. The bathwater was hot on my skin, drawing sweat and tension and death out of my pores. Renewing me. It was glorious.

When finished, I changed into a pair of tight black pants that Gemma had lent me days ago.

They were hers, a little long, but I was able to tuck the extra fabric into the ankle of my boots to hide it.

I found a sage-green, bell-sleeved shirt with a tight cross-wrap tie around the midriff and a very generous neckline.

The fabric was like velvet with a floral design in a darker forest green.

The blouse had been another gift from Gemma.

She’d surprised me with a few items from Freyburn, but I hadn’t had the chance to wear most of them.

I let my hair—still damp but brushed, smooth, and free from the binds of a braid or messy bun—fall down my back and across my shoulders.

The vanity’s mirror showed me someone I struggled to recognize.

My breasts were fuller than I’d realized, despite a frame that felt too frail to belong to a warrior.

Always hidden beneath loose-fitting sleep gowns and baggy shirts, I’d never paid too much attention to the curves of my body. Had never cared.

But this outfit hinted that the curves I used to have were slowly coming back. The tight black pants showed off the subtle wave of my hips. My breasts felt a little more sensual. Just one of them was almost too large to fit in my small hand, but not—

I sucked in a breath, then blew it back out, sending the suggestive thought with it.

If I failed to control my wandering imagination, I wouldn’t last very long out there at all.

With my hand on the doorknob, I paused. As if to give myself a chance to change my mind. But everything was covered . And Gemma, who did whatever she wanted, wouldn’t think twice about wearing this. I could, too, on my birthday.

I took a long, deep breath and opened the door.

Gavin abruptly straightened from where he leaned against the wall, eyes wide with panic. He wore all black, his short sleeves showing off every bit of gloriously inked skin. “No.” The sound he made was throaty, choked off, and foreign. Like a plea.

And I swear, he audibly gulped.

“What?” I demanded.

“No, Aryella.” Deep and firm this time—panic and plea nowhere to be found.

“No, what?”

“You are not wearing that.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, and his eyes flared and heated. Blood rushed to my cheeks when I realized my movements had pushed my breasts together. “Excuse me?”

“No,” he uttered, the sound a low, distressed rasp as he shifted his stance, wincing. “No fucking way.”

My stomach plummeted. I must have looked worse than I thought.

“What say do you have in what I wear?” I hissed, the burn in my eyes an embarrassing nag.

“I don’t care. Go change.”

“I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

It was an effort not to melt beneath his glare. To return that heat in the form of defiance.

“What are you going to do, take it off of me yourself?”

Sweat beaded at the nape of my neck as he lifted one eyebrow and took his time surveying me head to toe. I swallowed anxiously when I realized he might be considering it.

And that maybe I didn’t look bad, but… good .

I stepped closer, and instantly, his monstrous body tensed. Interesting. It seemed my mighty protector might not be the one in control, after all. At least, not tonight.

I narrowed my eyes and tilted my gaze. “Did you not just apologize to me an hour ago for being an overprotective hothead?”

A sigh through his nose and a deep and growly rumble in his throat were all he gave me.

“Did you not mean what you said?” I pressed, taking another step toward him.

He stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. “I meant every single word.”

“Then why—” I gasped when he carefully adjusted my long hair to cover up my exposed neck and cleavage, careful to avoid contact with my skin.

“Hey!” I slapped his hand away and pointed a finger at him.

“Stop that! I can wear what I want.” I was learning to defy him, and was getting quite good at it too.

But that didn’t mean his dominating presence left me unaffected.

“And I admit, this is a little more… revealing than I’m used to.

” My cheeks burned. “And I know what you’re thinking—”

“ Do you?” His gritted teeth flashed, eyes wild.

“I want to feel normal!” I bit out. “Like a normal person. A normal nineteen-year-old woman who feels… pretty.”

His eyes shot wide in palpable shock. “Believe me, you don’t need to—”

“It’s still my birthday,” I rushed out despite his protest. “And this is my choice.”

“Yes.” The emphasis on the word was too long—too sinister—to be sane.

“That is true. Your choice .” He seethed, like he regretted ever using the word with me now that I was hellbent on using it against him.

“But you see…” He clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue and took three steps, now a mere arm’s length away.

To my credit, I held my ground. “I have choices, too, Ella. I’ll take note of every single man with a prolonged gaze, and later, after you’re safe in bed, I’ll choose to hunt each of them down one by one and very slowly, very painfully carve their eyes out of their sockets. ”

Horror stole my breath. “You would not.”

He brushed my temple with his lips, causing me to tremble. “Would you like to test that theory? It’d be far more fun for me than you think.”

My knees were weak, but I forced my eyes to narrow—a show of defiance beneath his tight jaw and warning stare.

Because for once, I had some leverage over this man who constantly claimed he knew what was best for me. Maybe it was wrong to keep him on edge, or maybe it wasn’t my problem he was wound so tight. Either way, I couldn’t help but let this feeling linger.

I think I wanted him to crack, even if that meant losing myself a little. Temporarily. Just for now.

I knew what was right. What was smart. I could rationalize when I was alone, to convince myself I could be good and dutiful and responsible and obey. But one second beneath that intense stare, and I abandoned all reason.

“I’ll be downstairs,” I finally said .

He cursed under his breath.

As I passed a mirror on the wall, I saw him run his hands over his face, through his hair, before storming down the stairs after me.

Candlelight chandeliers cast a comforting glow around the tavern.

The interior was lined with wooden tables both round and long.

The seats were cushioned with a deep maroon similar to the blankets in the bedroom.

The tables were full of people—some ate, some played with cards and coins, and almost all drank.

There were no children in sight. If the drinks and dirty words being tossed about were any indication, this was no place for children.

My heart raced from the aroma of food, liquor, and the heat of so many bodies.

I was surrounded by shouts of joy, banging on tables, the clanging of glass followed by rowdy hoots, riotous cursing, and cacophonous laughter.

In the quieter, darker corners of the room, there was drunken kissing and caressing.

I tried to ignore that and focused instead on Damond behind the bar.

He knew everyone, and everyone knew him.

It was impressive, watching him work without a hint of reticence in his kind brown eyes or gleaming white smile.

He poured drinks with movements so smooth he could have been dancing and even managed to spare a glance or two to check on me.

I laughed when he flipped a bottle behind his back, caught it, and threw me a wink.

One of many tricks he showed off to his customers.

As expected, Gavin remained close to my side. If I didn’t feel so safe in his presence, free to look around and take in so many sounds and people, I would have found him insufferable. Only I didn’t, and each time his arm accidentally brushed mine or he devoured me with his gaze, I felt alive .

Damond served us dinner—roasted turkey, buttery potatoes, asparagus peppered with salt, lemon, and garlic. My eyes rolled back in my head with every bite of a decadent apple pie .

Wholly satisfied with the best birthday dinner I’d ever had, I shifted left, where pungent amber liquid from Gavin’s short glass wafted across my nostrils. Whiskey, if the sweet, grainy odor was any indication, and stronger than anything Phillip ever drank.

“Can I please try that?” I turned to face him, the heel of my hand beneath my chin.

I was met with his usual mask—furrowed brows and scowl. His intent to hide whatever dark and angry truth lived inside him didn’t faze me. I narrowed my eyes in retaliation. A challenge. I still trusted him with reckless abandon.

“No,” he uttered.

“So grumpy,” I sighed, then nodded to the fading wolf’s bite on my forearm. “You offered me alcohol a week and a half ago.”

“That was different.”

I rolled my eyes and pointed at Ezra on his second beer a few seats down. “So Ezra’s allowed to drink alcohol and I’m not?”

“Ezra is older.”

“By two years,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and redirecting his attention back to my scantily clad chest. Like earlier, want burned through his expression at my movement, his brown eyes growing wide with frenzy as he tore his eyes away. “That’s nothing. I’m nineteen.”

“Barely.” His deep voice rumbled with disdain.

I looked around. Indeed, I could see why he had asked me to change my clothing.

The men around us made no attempts to hide their interest and were liberal with their gazes.

And it wasn’t just me. Farther down the bar, where Gemma sat with Finn dressed in similar tight, thin black pants and a light-blue blouse, she was fending off a few admirers of her own.