Moira Rogers: Wilder's Mate

Perhaps she could stay in the tub forever. Forget the world where she had to save Nathaniel, where her future depended on a man trapped at a vampire’s mercy. Without her mentor, she’d be cut loose.

Abandoned. She could sketch out an ugly, brutal life trying to sell her skills to men who would discredit her, or suffer an even worse life selling her body. She didn’t even have the beauty and skills needed to aspire to Ophelia’s class.

A common whore. Like her mother.

Unless Wilder—

No. Satira forced the thought away. Such fancies would weaken her resolve. Her desperation was a tool to be used, one that could be mixed with her stubbornness and her wits, same as any of the chemicals in her kit. She’d turn herself into a weapon and unleash it on anyone who got between her and her goal.

Even Wilder Harding.

The women had been upstairs for nigh unto an hour, and Wilder had no idea how much longer he’d have to wait. “Juliet, what the hell is Polly doing up there?” Juliet lifted a crystal decanter that had proven itself full of fine whiskey and refilled his glass. “I reckon she’s dreaming up ways to torture you with low-cut corsets and a pretty little neck all bare for the biting.”

The very thought made his skin prickle and his trousers tighten. “Polly would , wouldn’t she?

Pernicious wench.”

“Mmm.” Juliet slid the glass across the bar, her eyebrows coming together as she watched him. “I hope you know what sort of game you’re playing at, venturing into the Deadlands with a little lost lamb and you watching her like a wolf who can’t wait to sink his teeth in. Maybe you should go upstairs and take a ride on someone who can handle you.”

And Satira would know exactly where he was—and what he was doing. “Don’t have time, Juliet. I’ll make it back before the new moon, though. You have one of your girls ready for me then.” Amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Only one? You must be slowing down.”

“Getting old, maybe,” he conceded.

“That so?” Juliet poured herself a whiskey and studied him, her sharp eyes seeing far too much.

“You’ve been fighting a long time, one way or another. There’s no undoing what they did to make you a bloodhound, but you could always settle down.”

“Like Levi?” He snorted. “No thanks. I wouldn’t do that to a woman.”

“I didn’t say you had to repeat Levi’s mistakes.” She sipped her drink and tilted her head. “Though it seems to me that girl would let you. You explained the harsh realities to her yet? She’s got the widest eyes I’ve ever seen this close to the border.”

“She’s not as naive as she looks.” Still, guilt stabbed at him.

“She’s the daughter, isn’t she? Ada’s girl? Last time Levi came through was six months back. He asked me if I needed someone around to see to the boilers and all the other little luxuries Anthony built for us before he went to New York. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but after I heard he’d died…” Of course he’d made arrangements for her. Not the hugs and warm words Satira seemed to expect, but exactly what Levi would see as taking care of her. An option that didn’t include winding up in the gutter or selling herself on the streets.

An unrecognizable tightness in his chest eased, and Wilder exhaled slowly. “Good, that’s good. I’m glad.”

Juliet blew out a sigh. “Sure you are, honey. If you’re not fucking that girl by the full moon, I’ll be mighty surprised. She’s got her fingers around your balls already.” He almost choked on his whiskey. “Jesus Christ, Juliet.”

“Fine time to turn into a prude. If you don’t want to repeat Levi’s mistakes, you leave her here with us. We’ll look after her.”

He was genuinely tempted, but… “You don’t know her. She won’t stay. If I leave without her, she’ll strike out on her own.”

Juliet looked like she wanted to argue, but soft footsteps echoed behind him and her gaze slipped away. A moment later, her eyes widened. “Oh, Lord save you.” Well, shit. Polly had poured Satira into crimson satin. The tiered skirt swayed fetchingly as she walked, but Wilder couldn’t tear his gaze away from the buckled corset and the way it somehow molded itself to her breasts.

And those breasts were perfect, full and pale and nearly spilling over the top of her bodice. With the tiniest bit of encouragement, a man could have their velvet weight in his hands. A few careful, gentle caresses, and her nipples would be hard. Ready for a man’s mouth.

Satira cleared her throat. Loudly. “As I recall, noting that I had tits was damn near the first thing you said to me, so it strains credulity to imagine you didn’t realize they were there.” Nothing like the truth to throw someone off balance. “Well, sweetheart. There’s tits, and then there’s tits .”

Juliet laughed heartily. “That’s just a man seeing something he wants, honey. Best get used to the expression if you’re headed into the Deadlands.”

Satira braced her hands on her hips and managed to look prim. “My mother always told me there’s nothing flattering about a man’s desire, since he possesses an unlimited supply.”

“That we do, sweetheart.” Better if she didn’t take his admiration too personally.

She looked like she couldn’t tell whether to be relieved or disappointed. She brushed her fingers over her skirts in a self-conscious gesture and looked away from him. “We’ll be renting a carriage, I hope?”

“You can’t sit a horse in that getup.” She didn’t look like a prostitute anyway. She looked like…

“What’s the story you cooked up? You’re on the make for a bloodsucker? A consort?” Color darkened her cheeks. “Polly thought it best. I doubt I’m a gifted actress, but she thought I could pretend not to speak much English. Or any, really. I don’t—I’ve never been skilled at lying.”

“Well, I’m damn good at it. You just stand there and look pretty, and I’ll do the talking.” Juliet circled the bar and looked Satira up and down. “You’ll do, child. Wilder, I’ll have the groom fetch your bags and transfer your belongings into something more fitting for a wealthy lady. He can bring them down to the coach station while you secure passage.”

“Thanks, Juliet.”

“I owed you this one. Run along, the pair of you.”

Wilder held out his arm to Satira. “Ma’am?”

She hesitated before curling her fingers around his arm, clearly uncertain. “No one will expect me to act a proper lady, will they?”

“Honey, they won’t know what to expect.” He patted her hand and tried to explain. “For all they know, you could have gotten rich last week and not have a damn clue how to act, or you could be goddamn European royalty and just not care. Either way, you’ll be fine, even if you fuck up.” Satira nodded and let him lead her out onto the creaking steps. “I feel foolish,” she admitted under her breath as soon as the door swung shut behind them. “I look foolish.” It was the last word that came to mind as he stared at her. In fact, words didn’t really come to mind at all. “You’re fine. Stop fretting.”

Her mouth twisted into a wry little smile. “These aren’t the assets I planned to utilize in my daring rescue.”

Wilder flashed her a lascivious grin and glanced at her cleavage. “If you ask me, you should use those bountiful assets more often.”

Her eyes rolled skyward, though she seemed to have gotten past the urge to blush. “Let us hope the men we wish to distract prove to be as taken with them as you are.”

“Not a man, alive or dead, who won’t be, Satira. I can promise you that.”

A team and buggy clattered by, kicking dust into the air as Wilder led her away from the brothel. The stagecoach station sat at the end of the street, a sleek building with two squat, odd-looking steam-powered coaches lined up next to it.