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Spying her, the pup’s whimpers grew louder.
Of course she had time for this. It was a blasted puppy stuck in the forest, dying, and the scavengers would start pecking at it while it was still alive. She couldn’t leave it there.
She would just have to walk faster after she got the puppy free.
She quickly moved toward it. “Shhhh, hold on, little one. I’ll be right there. Hold on.”
Her soft mutterings continued until she was right next to it, searching through the snow, confused as to what it was stuck in. Confusion that vanished the second she heard ice crack underneath her.
She dropped down, straight into a pond or a brook, she couldn’t tell. By the graces, it was only up to her knees, but it was freezing.
She stretched forward and wrapped her hands around the dog under its front legs, tugging it upward. More ice cracked with the movement and the dog’s hind legs lifted out of the water, streams of water dripping from each shaking leg.
Now to get herself out of the ice water currently sending stinging frozen spikes through her legs.
She managed to turn before her ankles gave out, the pain of the cold so brutal she was sure her feet were about to snap off her legs.
Bloody blazes.
God help her, she didn’t think she could make it out.
{ Chapter 11 }
Two hours.
Two hours for her to stew in her own bitterness at what had happened between them last night.
Rafe could see the regret on Victoria’s face the moment she awoke and saw him.
Regret he should share, but didn’t.
He’d wanted her body since the first moment he saw her at the Wolfbridge ball, her silver dress making her look like a Greek goddess floating down from Mount Olympus. He wanted the heat of her skin under his fingers, her mouth parted, gasping as he drew wicked moans from her chest. Hell, the sounds that she’d made as he stroked her nearly undid him in his trousers. She’d been beautiful—a shooting star—as she came under his hand. Came under his power. So eager. So needy.
It had taken digging into the deepest well of fortitude to walk out of her room without taking her. It was too soon for that—she wasn’t ready.
He wanted her coming to him, asking him to ruin her. Begging would be even better.
That was how this was going to unfold. Which meant he’d been forced to relieve himself of his straining cock in his own quarters, the echo of her mewls in his brain, the feel of her body thrusting into his hand repeating in his mind. His orgasm with the image of her writhing against his touch ripped so brutally through his body, he couldn’t imagine how it would be to actually be inside of her.
Maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to discard her far away from her family after he took her from them. The thought of discarding her, at all, suddenly didn’t sit well with him.
If he regretted anything of the night, it was the blurring of that particular line he’d drawn. She was a tool, used for a purpose. Everyone was. But her purpose was shifting—into what, he wasn’t entirely sure about just yet.
He would have to dwell on that.
The only reason he’d considered, for one moment, that he should truly regret his actions with her was when he saw her face in the morning light and remorse was clearly etched in her eyes.
The twinge of regret hadn’t been because he’d touched her, but because he was the cause of that remorse on her face. Her regret bringing about a certain sadness he loathed to see in her. A sadness that itched at something raw in his chest that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He couldn’t afford to acknowledge it, for if he did, he just may reconsider his plan.
That wouldn’t do.
She couldn’t control him with frowns and sadness. With anything. She needed to learn that.
So he’d had to needle her on the horse. Gain control back.
He’d steered her toward jumping off the horse, infuriated with him. He’d known exactly what he was doing.
