Wilder's Mate Read Online Free PDF Page B

shrugged. “It takes all sorts of people to make up the world. There are those who would be equally disgusted by the thought of taking someone like Wilder to bed.” There were, and plenty of them. She’d often heard the slurs cast at her mother. “Wilder’s mentor took my mother into his house as his new moon companion. I’ve spent most of my life around bloodhounds.
    They may not behave like men, but they’re trained to protect us. They fight and die for us. It’s not the same.”
    “Not to you,” Polly answered with another shrug. “But perhaps to others it is. Regardless, it will make the perfect disguise.”
    She eased off her other boot and set them both aside. “Then I imagine we have a great deal of work ahead of us.”
    “That depends on what sort of actress you are.”
    There’d never been occasion to discover such a thing. “I think we should assume I will try my best, but we might not want to rely overmuch on my ability to spin lies under pressure.” Polly grinned widely and began to assemble cosmetic items at the vanity. “Then we shall say you don’t speak a word of English, so all you have to do is look confused. Where do you wish to be from?” Satira left her kit on the bench and moved to one of the tubs, sliding one hand along the shining brass rim before reaching for the hot water handle. “I can speak a few words of German, if it helps. Not many—
    please, thank you and what I assume are a few impolite curses. Nathaniel always used them when he dropped something delicate or smashed his thumb with a hammer, in any case.”
    “Prussia is a suitably war-torn area,” Polly mused. “That will do nicely.”

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    23

    Moira Rogers
    “If you say so.” Hot water flowed smoothly from the spigot, and Satira lost interest in anything but the promise of immersing her dirty, aching body in a warm, luxurious bath. Polly continued to talk, chattering about dresses and corsets and a dozen other trivialities that would probably be very important later on.
    Not now. Not as Satira stripped off her dusty clothing and climbed into a slice of paradise more magical than any weapon she’d ever cobbled together.
    Perhaps she could stay in the tub forever. Forget the world where she had to save Nathaniel, where her future depended on a man trapped at a vampire’s mercy. Without her mentor, she’d be cut loose.
    Abandoned. She could sketch out an ugly, brutal life trying to sell her skills to men who would discredit her, or suffer an even worse life selling her body. She didn’t even have the beauty and skills needed to aspire to Ophelia’s class.
    A common whore. Like her mother.
    Unless Wilder—
    No. Satira forced the thought away. Such fancies would weaken her resolve. Her desperation was a tool to be used, one that could be mixed with her stubbornness and her wits, same as any of the chemicals in her kit. She’d turn herself into a weapon and unleash it on anyone who got between her and her goal.
    Even Wilder Harding.

    The women had been upstairs for nigh unto an hour, and Wilder had no idea how much longer he’d have to wait. “Juliet, what the hell is Polly doing up there?” Juliet lifted a crystal decanter that had proven itself full of fine whiskey and refilled his glass. “I reckon she’s dreaming up ways to torture you with low-cut corsets and a pretty little neck all bare for the biting.”
    The very thought made his skin prickle and his trousers tighten. “Polly would , wouldn’t she?
    Pernicious wench.”
    “Mmm.” Juliet slid the glass across the bar, her eyebrows coming together as she watched him. “I hope you know what sort of game you’re playing at, venturing into the Deadlands with a little lost lamb and you watching her like a wolf who can’t wait to sink his teeth in. Maybe you should go upstairs and take a ride on someone who can handle you.”
    And Satira would know exactly where he was—and what he was doing. “Don’t have time, Juliet.