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I grit my teeth as his rumbling laughter rolls through me, the man sitting next to us chortling as well.At least the man with daughters of his own has the decency to scowl at his companions before ducking his head toward his plate again. I can’t say that I blame him for keeping his mouth shut, not after the beating he received earlier from these same men.
Forcing myself to seem unbothered by their remarks, I politely try to remove myself from the man’s lap, only for his grip to tighten around me.
“You only have to take one look at her to know she’s too old to be chosen,” the man next to him snorts.
Red face snickers at this, reaching for my chin to yank it back toward him. “I suppose they can probably smell the men who’ve had her from a mile away, too. Would be a shame not to add to the count.”
Rage rises within me as the two men laugh, the man holding me nearly choking himself on the ale he’s just reached for. Flecks of spit and froth fly through the air, and I cringe away in disgust as the man next to him knocks over his own plate to slap him hard on the back.
My stomach rolls as I try to take advantage of their moment of distraction, but despite everything, the man has an iron grip on my body. His dirty fingers dig into me, and I have no doubt there will be a bruise there in the morning.
“Definitely too used for their liking,” the man says, his attention suddenly focused on me as his hand follows the curve of my thigh inward.
The other man roars with laughter as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, but I’ve only gone more still as I try to control my breathing. To remain calm when I want nothing more than to tear these men to pieces.
They’re not wrong, exactly. At twenty and seven, Iamtoo old for the Choosing. Too used, too broken, to bear heirs to the beasts of this kingdom.
Man,orwolf.
In some ways, I’ve been lucky in that I do not bleed like the others. Still, it’s one thing to know this truth for myself … but it’s quite another to hear it spoken aloud by men as they laugh at my expense.
My heart pounds in my chest, I have to free myself from these men before their ideas become more than just that. I shift again, my eyes searching for Mary or one of the others, but this only serves to excite the men further.
“They might not like someone’s sloppy seconds,” the man whispers in my ear, his voice suddenly low and hungry, “but you aren’t too used for me. I’ll happily fill you with my pleasure.”
“I’m sure your lady wife would love to hear you such things,” I hiss, even as the man’s fingers tighten on my face.
His other hands clutch at my skirts
“What the missus doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he snarls, his hand clutching at my skirts, just inches from a place I’d rather die than ever allow him access to. No matter how desperate I am.
He seems to realize that the drink has made his aim off, and he shifts before I have a chance to move. Grabbing at the lengths of my skirts, he leans closer to me. His breath is foul as he runs his tongue along the edge of my ear, his aggression and lust growing more apparent by the second.
Disgust washes over me as I feel him hardening beneath me, finally breaking my resolve to remain calm. Tearing myself from his grasp, I whirl on him as I jump to my feet.
My cheeks are flushed with hatred as I pull back my hand to slap him, though he deserves far more than that. Gods know that he deserves so much worse, but it’s the first thing I can think to do. At the very least, I hope it’ll serve as a reminder to him to leave the tavern girls alone.
I swing, but my hand never meets him. A rough hand has caught my wrist, keeping me from doling out the man’s punishment. Spinning on my heel, I find Mistress Wrotham standing at my side. Her eyes are narrowed as she takes me in.
“There’ll be none of that,” she hisses, fixing me with a glare that could send a grown man trembling to his knees.
“But mistress, he was trying to—”
“I don’t care a flying damn what he was trying to do,” she interrupts, my words falling flat. “They’re paying customers, girl. Now, move along before I find you more trouble than you’re worth.”
I bite my lip, tasting the metallic tinge of blood as I free myself from her grasp. She’s already plastered a smile on her face as she nods to the men at the table.
“Now, good sirs, perhaps I could tempt you with a free round of ale to wash the bitter taste of the girl’s temper from your tongues.”
My fists clench at my sides, my vision stained red, as I storm off. I want to scream and yell, to reign justice down on the men for how they’ve treated me.
If I didn’t need this job, and the meager coin it provides, I would in a heartbeat.
Instead, although I know I shouldn’t, I placate myself by spitting in the ale of all those who dared to sit by and watch without attempting to come to my aid.
3
Heath
