The Wolf Box Set by Penelope Sky
Maverick
Bernadette had driftedoff to sleep beside me. Her leg was tucked in between mine, and her palm was flattened against my hard stomach. Her parted lips rested against my hot skin, still wet from our kisses. Her breathing was slow and steady, implying she would sleep in such a state of peace that she may never leave.
But I wouldn’t allow her to stay.
No one was allowed to stay.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, and my father’s name showed up on the screen.
It was difficult for me to see his name without feeling a rush of hatred. That man’s gaze was focused so tightly on one goal, he forgot about all the objects in his peripheral vision—including me. I was just a tool at his disposal. I did his clean and dirty work and never expected a thank-you.
I certainly wouldn’t get one now.
I left the bed and didn’t bother being gentle. Her head fell to the pillow, and she sighed as her precious sleep was disturbed. Just to be obnoxious and get her to leave, I answered the phone. “Father.” The name was nearly ironic coming from my lips. He hadn’t felt like a father for a long time. “Caspian” seemed more appropriate at this point. I walked to the table near the window and lit a cigar. Looking out the window, I could see the lights contrast against the beautiful city. Lights were pointed directly at every cathedral, illuminating the beautiful history of this amazing place. Once the smoke started to smolder, I blew it out of my mouth.
“Martin will introduce you to Arwen tonight.”
So, she had agreed to this arrangement? I hoped the woman had more class than to accept an arranged marriage. If she refused, I would have gotten out of the deal. Also, I would have respected her for it. But now it seemed like I was stuck. “Alright.” My father really expected me to go through with this, to marry and subject myself to domestic torture even though it wouldn’t change what had happened to my mother. I’d be considered selfish for refusing—but he was selfish for asking.
“He’s taking you to the opera tonight.”
Great…I was already going on a first date. I’d just fucked Bernadette thirty minutes ago, so my dick still smelled like her. But now I had to put on a suit and meet a woman I would never care for. She would have my name and my protection—but she would never have me. “Alright.”
“Do you know how to say anything else besides alright?” he challenged.
I took another puff of my cigar and felt the rage boil in my blood. “Maybe if you said something interesting, I would.”
* * *
Martinand I took our seats in the first row, but there was no sign of his daughter.
Maybe she’d had a change of heart.
If only.
Martin didn’t look as sickly when he was dressed in a suit, but his pale skin was more noticeable when the stage lights hit him. “My daughter doesn’t know about my condition…and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to her.”
I had no interest in family affairs. I gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Where is she?”
“You’ll see her in a moment. She’s the opera singer in the production tonight.”
An opera singer? I imagined a large woman blowing her pipes so the entire auditorium could hear every single note of her monstrous voice. I’d never asked for her age or a description of her appearance. Regardless of how she looked, I would despise her all the same. But if she were considerably older than me…it would just be awkward.
Minutes later, the curtain rose and the symphony began.
Standing in the center in a tight black dress was a petite woman looking out to the crowd like she owned the auditorium. She hadn’t moved her lips or made a sound, commanding the stage with her silence. White gloves reached her elbows, and the pearl necklace around her neck made her seem like royalty. With pink cheeks, lips painted the color of red roses, and thick brown hair that was pinned to the side, she looked like a porcelain doll. Her eyes were the most obvious because they were a startling blue, like the deepest ocean in the world. She didn’t blink once as she absorbed the audience, fearless as a warrior, a soldier who used her voice as a weapon. Then she began to sing…and shatter glass with the power of her voice. Strong and controlled, she weaved a beautiful picture with just her words and the way she sang them. It was loud like a cannon breaking down the entrance to a fortress, but it was so uniquely stunning that it was hypnotizing.
It only took me seconds to recognize her…the woman from the portrait.
* * *
She finished on a high note,sucking in the souls of every person in the audience before the curtains came to a close. Roses were tossed on the stage, slipping from the hands of male admirers. The symphony pulled their bows away from their strings, and the silence that followed was almost depressing.
The audience rose to its feet and clapped loudly, echoing off the high, gold-plated ceilings. It seemed to last for five minutes straight before people finally filed to the exits, wearing their suits and ball gowns.
When Martin looked at me, fatherly pride radiated from his smile. “Amazing, isn’t she?”
I hadn’t clapped for her, and I continued to relax in my seat as everyone else dispersed.
“I know I’m asking you for the favor, but you couldn’t do better than Arwen Greco.”
I wouldn’t insult the man with a sarcastic comment, so I remained silent. She was definitely beautiful. If I saw her in a bar, I would have bought her a drink. That voice would be amazing to listen to in bed. But no amount of beauty or talent could make me grateful for this marriage. She could give me beautiful children…but that wasn’t relevant because I didn’t want any.
Martin took me backstage, and after weaving through different members of the production, we approached Arwen from behind. She was sitting at her dressing table, the white bulbs sticking out of the mirror frame to give her the ultimate lighting. She pulled the ribbon and flower out of her hair, letting the thick strands fall across her shoulders and slender neck.
We stopped behind her, and that’s when I recognized this vantage point. This was exactly where she’d been sitting when the photograph was taken, which was then turned into a portrait.
I felt as if I’d stepped back in time, to the moment I met her countenance for the first time.
She looked up and recognized her father in the mirror. Within seconds, her carefree expression faded into one of obvious dislike. Her eyes fell in disappointment, and her anger was seething. It was the same look I gave my father—so I recognized it right away.
She turned around on her stool and rose to her feet, her curves outlined in the skintight clothing that could barely stretch enough to allow her lungs to expand to make those incredible sounds. Her waistline was incredibly slender, so small my fingers could cup one side of her waist completely. Her petite stature didn’t mask her womanly charm, especially her fuckable chest. “What are you doing here?” She ignored me completely and faced her father with enough fire that it seemed like she could breathe it out of her mouth like a dragon.
Martin remained calm despite his daughter’s rage. “Arwen, I’d like you to meet Maverick—”
It was the first time she looked at me, and she didn’t look at me the way other women did. She wasn’t the least bit attracted to me, impressed with my broad shoulders or the way I filled out my suit. My structured jawline had no effect on her at all. She was indifferent. “It’s not nice to meet you. Disregard whatever my father told you. I’m not marrying you.” She grabbed her purse then stormed past us and headed to the exit.
With a stony face, I turned back to Martin, realizing I’d made the wrong assumption. This woman despised this plan as much as I did, but instead of being relieved at the notion, I was concerned. Neither one of us wanted to participate in this vile arrangement proposed by our fathers, but if it didn’t happen, my mother would never be avenged. My father would never find peace.
Martin sighed. “I’m sorry…she’s a little stubborn.”
“A little?”
He shrugged. “Gets it from her mother. She’ll come around…eventually.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. “I’ll try to talk to her.”
Martin released a sarcastic chuckle. “Maybe you are used to making mountains move—but not this one.”
* * *
She leftout of the back exit and took the stairs to the sidewalk near the road.
I caught up with her, moving toward her as her heels clapped against the concrete path. She was still in the shadow of the theater, close to the statues of the two lions that protected the grounds of this historical landmark.
“Arwen.”
She stilled at the sound of her name, jumping because she’d assumed she was alone when she ducked out of her secret passageway. She turned on her heel and looked at me with the same fierce expression as before, her purse hanging off her shoulder. Now she looked even angrier at my appearance. “I said I don’t want to marry you—”
“And I want to marry you even less.”
Finally, she shut her mouth, shocked that I was the first man who didn’t want her. She pivoted the rest of her body and faced me, suspicion in her eyes.
“I have no interest in being a married man. There’s no woman on this earth that could possibly keep my attention long enough. I like my life the way it is—working, drinking, and fucking. You may be beautiful, but not beautiful enough.”
She never dropped her guard, but she didn’t seem offended by the rude comment I’d just launched at her. Her hoop earrings shifted with every movement she made, reflecting the distant light from the street corner. It was a warm night, and a gleam of sweat formed down her cleavage. “Then why are you chasing me?”
“Because you’re running.” I spoke like a smartass because I wanted her to know exactly who I was. I was a fucking asshole—all the way through.
“Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick. I am a dick.”
She stepped closer to me, like she had a knife hidden somewhere in that skintight dress and she was looking for the perfect place to cut me. “Why did you agree to marry me? If you’re as powerful as my father says, then no one can force you to do anything.”
Only one man could. “It’s my father’s wish.” When she was this close to me, I could smell her perfume, her hair spray, and the scent of the dusty curtains of the opera house all at the same time. I could even smell her confidence because it had a scent…of fresh flowers.
“It’s my father’s wish too, but you don’t see me bending the knee like a pussy.”
My eyes widened because I couldn’t believe something so harsh came from such a pretty mouth. “You’ll be bending the knee with your ass in the air every night if your father’s enemies find you. They’ll fuck you bloody then stab you in the gut until you bleed out and die, scared and alone. Then they’ll hang you in the countryside until the police find your corpse, your eyes plucked out by the crows. I’m your only chance of survival.”
She kept up her fearless stare, but her eyes showed a hint of doubt, like my vivid picture scared her on some level—as it should.
“You’re too stupid to understand how dire your situation is. You literally have two options—life or death.”
She continued to hold my gaze, not backing down or intimidated like most people. She was alone with me, her screams too far away to reach someone who could help her. But she didn’t seem to care about the danger she was in. She didn’t seem to understand the magnitude of her defeat. “Then I choose death.” She gave me a final look of dismissal before she turned around and walked off, her heels echoing against the concrete as she made her way further into the dark night.
