Scold Bridle Novels & Stories

The fir scent in the air grew stronger, accompanied by a heavy, dangerous presence. I felt a hot, cold gaze locked on me. Then, a cold, rough finger slowly traced my neck. The finger moved down my collarbone, a sign of deadly danger. I snapped my eyes open. In the moonlight, a handsome face was hovering above me. Caspian was wearing a half-open black shirt, the muscles of his chest faintly visible. He was looking down at me. "Ah—!" I gasped, instinctively trying to back away, but I was already at the edge of the bed.

Patient Rat is wheezing. The prickle along my scalp saves my throat. I spin and a blade passes where my neck was, silent and businesslike. “Oh,” I say to him. “You.” Bren. One of Mara’s quartermasters. “Eli,” Mara warns, but I’m already moving. Not because I’m brave. Because Bren looks at me like I’m a gnat he can brush away on his way to gutting her. My wolf shows me the shape of the shed. The spilled barley. An open crate with stamped lettering. VINES – DO NOT DROP.

And his body could, put the god's own into shame, muscular slim curved in the rightful places, the man could be described in two words: sinful gorgeous. That moment, he was kneeling with a slightly trembling body, while a pretty female was standing beside his kneeling body, a whip in her hand. Her face and body could turn on even the impotent and castrated. Her breast was full, and her ass was a little bigger, complimenting the upper. Her body curves were in the most rightful places, her hair like a waterfall reaching almost her ass, and was cut in a straight line.

“Just say the word, Zane. I’ll obliterate that whore.” “That won’t be necessary, Brinsle,” I said. “But thank you.” “Who’s your little friend, Zane?” Scarlett asked. She eyed Brinsle up and down. “Hmmm. I smell witch. Do you smell it, Skylar?” “Smells like sewer. Piss and shit,” he said dryly. Okay. This was a diversion. This could work. If I could keep them distracted with their whole ‘witch slandering’, then maybe I could buy enough time for our warriors to get here.

Elliot started brushing again. "How'd he get the scratches, do you think?" Sam looked toward Elliott while running the brush up and down the withers of the mare she was grooming. "Scruff musta had a hell of a ride 'cause that gelding was off the beaten path more than it was on, and Rebel, unless told otherwise, never strayed from the path. Scruff probably took the quickest way back to the barn and through a big briar patch with a lot of trees and low-lying branches. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd gotten knocked off the horse." Elliott laughed.

"That's not how my aunt described the attack." "Then your aunt saw what someone deliberately wanted her to see." Bridie reached past my shoulder and carefully worked a small scrap of cloth free from the barbed fence wire—a fragment that had escaped the fire, deliberately pinned out of reach of the flames. It was a heavy strip of dark, water-resistant wool, embroidered with a distinct emblem in faded silver thread. It was neither a Ferguson wolf-head nor a Mackinnon stag. "What is that," Bridie asked, turning the cloth in her fingers.

She hated quiet defiance even more. She walked straight up to me, stopping only inches away. Her breath smelled of stale ale and sour cabbage. "Well, well," Brida purred, her voice dripping with venom as she reached out with her truncheon, using the cold wood to tilt my chin upward. "Look what the slaver dragged in from the South. The mute mutt." She pressed the wood hard against the swollen, angry scar on my throat. Pain flared immediately, but I didn't flinch. I kept my hazel eyes fixed on hers, unblinking, empty of fear.

" Lena collapsed onto the floor completely, her face ashen and lifeless. Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, in a small seaside town, I was getting married. The sea breeze carried a damp, salty smell. I sat by my window, looking outside, my eyes going warm. A bridal carriage stood in the yard. Its frame was carved from fine golden rosewood, the details worked with painstaking care. What caught the eye most, though, were the countless pearls set into the wood—each one round and full, like scattered moonlight. Everyone who saw it couldn't help but gasp. "Good Lord, what did this cost?" Susan stood beside me, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "As long as my girl's happy, that's al

“How the fuck do you have a wolf scent, Clementine, when you were so very human the last time I saw you?” “Brady,” Circe’s voice blended with mine, “what the fuck are you doing here?” “What are you doing here, Clem? And why is your scent polluted with the stink of some vacuous man-whore?” Circe snarled in my head at the insult to our mate. I took a gentle sniff of the air and realized that Brady smelled like lawn clippings and something musky with the underlying scent of canine. Horror and instant understanding suddenly flooded through me.

“You won’t need a saddle. Scarlet Hoof wouldn’t let you put one on anyway. But trust me – you’ll feel comfortable.” Reive held the girl, noting in surprise his fingers almost met around her waist – she was so slim. He easily lifted her up and seated her on its black back. Angelina threw her hands up, not knowing what to hold on to. There was no harness either. “Don’t be afraid,” Reive said. Then he added, turning to the horse, “Eiderte g’alde. Ren velde un gal’ibjer xenwer biolk, er daljer sairet.”