Wolfe’s angry bellow reverberates off the mountainside, once more making every man in the group freeze in fear.
Clever. I believe he's drawing attention to himself, encouraging the men to attack him instead of me. As they turn toward him, I leap to my feet, scooping my gun up and shooting one in the back of the head. Idiot. Never turn your back on a woman with a gun.
"Retreat!" someone shouts into the darkness and just as quickly as they came, every man in the group disappears, leaving their dead behind.
I stand, my knife in one hand and my gun in the other, my limbs steady as I contemplate the dead bodies littered across the ground. Eight. Nine including the man who went over the cliff. And at least another dozen fled into the darkness. Had they been serious about killing us both, we wouldn't have been able to withstand a coordinated attack from that many. Their desire to keep me alive saved our lives.
Wolfe grabs hold of me and swings me around to face him. I look up at him startled, but the crazed look in his eye is enough to keep me silent as he runs his hands over my body. I shiver in the chill night as he touches me, not from the cold but from the heat already building within.
It doesn't matter that both of our naked bodies are splattered in blood, that we were just attacked and the ground where we made love only a few hours earlier is now littered in the bodies of the dead. I still want him.
"I'm not hurt," I say quietly. "The blood is theirs."
He grips the back of my head and looks down at me, his expression fierce. Not worry, but pride. An answering glow flares to life within me. We are warriors. We have each other's backs. We kill without mercy.
"Let's go." He grips my hand and pulled me toward the car.
"Our stuff." I turn back toward our little encampment, but he continues pulling me with him.
"Leave it," he growls, opening the door and shoving me in.
I silently agree with him as the door slams shut. We’re only leaving behind a few blankets and some leftover food. We're better off getting out of here in case the Outsiders are able to go for reinforcements. Or if they change their minds about capturing me and decide to come back and kill us both.
As Wolfe slides into the car, I turn to ask him, "Why didn't they steal the car?"
He shakes his head and turns the ignition. He floors the car backwards and then throws it into drive and we begin to hurtle down the mountainside. The drive is utterly terrifying since we're doing it in the dark with no headlights. I momentarily forget that I asked Wolfe a question until he answers.
"They only wanted you, not the car."
I nod my head. "They underestimated us."
I turn my gaze to Wolfe, travelling his body and taking in his magnificence. Completely naked, covered in blood, he is utterly breathtaking. The hard slabs of muscle are partially hidden in the dark interior of the car, but I can see enough in the moonlight filtering through the windows. He is truly an incredible man, bigger than life. Almost a god.
"They underestimated us," he confirms. "Thought I'd be an easy kill and you'd be easy prey."
I bare my teeth in a grin and let out a laugh. "They were wrong." Wolfe chuckles and a pleasant camaraderie settles over us as our adrenaline from the fight begins to ebb. "Do you think they intended to sell me as a slave?"
A new kind of tension fills the car as we’re forced to think of memories that are best left buried in the past. The memory of when I was brought to Santa Fe and sold to its Warlord. That initial interaction with Wolfe feels different now in retrospect. I'd hated everyone and everything that had anything to do with my kidnapping and sale. I’d especially despised Wolfe. He’d been the twisted ugly face of my sale and placement into the harem. It didn’t matter that I was to become the bride of the Warlord at the Warlord’s orders; Wolfe was the one my hatred settled on.
But now, I recall those memories with new eyes. The look on Wolfe’s face when I was presented at the palace, the way he treated my captor with deadly disdain. I remember the way he looked at Silas as though he wanted nothing more than to gut his Warlord with the long, curved knife strapped to his belt. I recall those brief spurts of curiosity I'd had as I wondered why the second-in-command of the Santa Fe Sanctuary hated his boss so much.
"Yeah, probably," Wolfe confirms. "But just in case, we're doubling your guard in the city and I prefer you not go beyond the walls."
I direct a frown out of my window into the night. He’s taking the attack on us far more seriously than he should. They tried and they failed, losing a significant amount of men in the process. They're not going to try again. Still, I know what it's like to argue with Wolfe. About as productive as having a conversation with a wall.
Instead, I ask, "How long will I be guarded?"
"Until I'm positive you'll be safe."
I frown at him. "I'm safe now. They're not going to come after me. Even if they somehow got into Sanctuary, how would they find me? I’m just one person, not important enough to go to that kind of trouble for."
Even in the darkness of the car I can see his scowl. He knows my logic is sound, but his desire for my safety outweighs that. "Doesn't mean they won't try. Until I know that they've all been killed or are no longer in the area, you will be guarded."
Still, I try to argue my way out of a heavier guard. "If they watch the city hoping to get their hands on me, they won't hang around for long. They'll see that we’re well fortified. I have work to do, I can't remain trapped inside the city walls with a contingent of guards following me around everywhere."
“This conversation is over," Wolfe says, his voice harsh.
I fall silent, staring at the road ahead. Despite his coolness during the fight, and the grin he'd sent me as he realized that we were about to take on the Outsiders together, it's clear the attack has rattled him. I know he's not worried for himself, which means he's worried about me. He didn’t like that they were after me in particular.
"Hell of a way to talk to your future Warlord," I can't help but mumble.
His eyes remain on the road, but I can tell from the shifting shadows around his mouth that he's trying not to smile. "Accept the role of Warlord and we’ll talk about giving you more freedom."
I stick my tongue out at him and complain, "I call bullshit. Even if I was Warlord, you'd still smother me in protection."
He says nothing. He doesn't need to. We both know I'm right.
Thirty-Seven
I look around at my city council, which has expanded from the last time we met. It now includes three men: Wolfe, Kingston and Dorian Milkstone, a ninety-four-year old historian. I’m exhausted but satisfied. It’s been one week since Wolfe and I spent that night on the cliff. One week since the attack by the Outsiders, and we’re no closer to understanding who they are and why they targeted us.
I personally think it was a crime of opportunity. They saw a naked woman, young enough to have children, pretty enough to catch the eye of a Warlord, and they attacked us. I’ve put the incident behind me despite the presence of increased security. Wolfe doesn't agree with my assessment. He thinks the Outsiders were after more than just a woman to sell. He believes they wouldn't have attacked with so much force and such ferocity if they weren't after me in particular.