Digging the heels of her palms against her lids, she pressed until she saw stars, and said, “Sergeant Uriel said only you could tell me what became of my mother.”
“Look at me.”
It was a gentle command, one Morgaine supposed was intended to entice. But that was not why she raised her head. She did it because her heart was breaking, and she needed to know her mother lived.
The man who had fondled her breasts in her home, who had threatened the person she loved most, who had dragged her away as if he had the right, smiled.
Unlike Sergeant Uriel, he no longer wore the vermilion armor. He was dressed in knit fabric that stretched across his chest yet left his arms bare. Loose pants hung from his waist, held up with what looked to be no more than a drawstring. Casual.
At her attention, the soldier tried to soften the harshness of his craggy voice with gentle speech. “My name is Corporal Esin.”
There was only one name that mattered in this moment. “My mother’s name is Elizabeta. Your friend held her by the neck when you threatened to burn her alive. And then… I couldn’t see what was done to her.”
He stroked her head, seemingly distracted by the way her curls hung limp while weighted with water.
Wary, angry, scared, Morgaine whispered, “Please tell me she’s okay.”
Brown eyes met hers. Clear and concise he answered, “Her face was branded for treason.”
It was like a knife in the heart. Throwing off the hand that played with her hair, daring to raise an expression full of hate toward the very soldier who had stolen her from her house, Morgaine spat on the man kneeling at the edge of the tub.
Indifferent, Corporal Esin wiped her spittle from his cheek. “It was the most lenient punishment I could offer. Considering the offense, she should have been executed… not paid as handsomely as she was for the trouble. Be glad she still lives and has a fortune to see to her comfort.”
Blood boiling, Morgaine drew up and hissed, “If I ever find a way to brand your face in exchange for what you’ve done, I will do it. Better yet, I’d rather see you dead.”
Her threat made his smile fade, and the Alpha’s expression grew dark. “If you continue to speak this way, I will be forced to act, and you will not like the outcome.”
Morgaine was so very tempted to scream at him, to strike him, but her tongue grew fat and all that came were silent, angry tears.
Rising from his crouch, he offered her a hand. “Step from the tub.”
Not only did she balk at the thought of touching him, the thought of him seeing her bared breasts and mound was more than she could handle. She shook her head and shrank further away.
“It was not a request, Morgaine. Get up so that you might be dried.”
She swallowed, eyes showing every ounce of her trepidation and humiliation. “It is not right for you to ask such a thing or look at me this way.”
“Because you are naked?”
Nodding, she added the other cause for concern. “And you are purring. It’s only done when a male is... interested. I don’t want to—”
He finished the sentence for her. “You don’t want to be mounted.”
Before this horrid day, she’d never heard sex described that way. Mounted, climbed over, held down—her mind filling with images of what happened to the Omega on the wall... the writhing bodies... the screams.
If he tried to do such a thing, she would die.
He extended his hand even further. “I have not been given clearance to penetrate you today.”
If Corporal Esin thought to offer reassurance, he’d failed. Morgaine did not know what was hidden in his statement, but it certainly was not a comforting thing to hear. “Today?”
“There is much that must be explained, and I refuse to have this conversation while you are dripping wet and shivering. Come out of the tub or I will climb in and get you.”
What dignity was there in being dragged out like a child? None. There was none.
Breaking her eyes from his, she turned her face to the wall, covered her breasts with her arm, her mound with her free hand, and tried not to cringe when he put his hands on her body to help her manage the steps.
After pulling her to stand atop an absorbent mat, he produced fabric softer than the finest weave her mother had ever produced. Starting with her cheeks, blotting the tears, Esin wielded his huge hands deftly and with caution... until he reached her breasts.