P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) by Silk Avril

Author:Silk, Avril [Silk, Avril]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-04-29T07:00:00+00:00

‘Looks like wine’s a non-starter, then,’ said Sheraleen stoically as she handed Jo a damp flannel. ‘Are you feeling better?’

By way of an answer Jo was noisily sick again. ‘What happened?’ she gasped when she finally stopped retching.

‘You had some wine; we kissed; you threw up.’ Sheraleen was smiling ruefully. ‘I’ve had more flattering reactions.’

‘Sorry – I’ve never had wine before. Or, um, kissed a girl. And nothing else happened?’

‘Absolutely zero. I promise you.’ Sheraleen sighed. ‘So how we’re going to get you through Saturday night, I just don’t know. You can’t puke all over Lord Mandrake or Lord Oleander. So you mustn’t drink. But if you don’t drink you’ll be so uptight the client will want a refund. If they don’t get their money’s worth, there will be hell to play.’

As Jo listened to Sheraleen, and thought about the wine and the kiss, and some of the conversations she’d been puzzled by, an unwelcome idea started to take shape in her mind. ‘Sheraleen,’ she said slowly, ‘all we do is dance, right?’

Sheraleen was so shocked by the question she was lost for words. Before she was able to form a reply, Mirabel’s voice could be heard outside. ‘Come along, gentlemen! Just a little peek to whet your appetites!’

Sheraleen moved swiftly, spraying the room with perfume, tidying Jo’s hair, arranging her gown. When Mirabel swept in, three men in tow, both girls looked as pretty as a picture.

The two older men wore long, dark robes, and moved slowly, with great dignity. Mirabel introduced Lord Mandrake and Lord Oleander. The third, younger man had an insolent, arrogant air, and he brushed Mirabel’s introduction aside as he walked up to Jo and pulled her to him roughly. He started running his hands over her body, ignoring Mirabel’s protestations, but Lord Oleander seized him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him off.

‘I suggest you put your head under the cold tap, my Prince. Now would be a good time.’ The voice was little more than a whisper; dry as old bones, cold as the tomb and haughtily commanding, brooking no denial. With unseemly haste the Prince released Jo from his unwelcome advances and slunk off. Jo stared at him in disbelief. Hawk, who she thought sometimes must be her half-brother. Where she had once known only fierce loyalty, determination and pride she saw instead the cruel contempt of the over-privileged. He was unrecognisable and Jo was unable to mask her horror. She looked at her rescuer to thank him, but the words froze on her lips.

Jo stared into the coldest eyes she had ever seen. She shivered involuntarily as her flesh began to creep.

‘Lord Oleander, at your service, ma chérie. I apologise for the boorish behaviour of that untutored pup. A young woman of your evident quality should not have to tolerate such clumsy, school-boy advances.’

With a supreme effort of will Jo pulled herself together and graciously thanked the skeletal, austere aristocrat.

His reply was deeply unsettling. He placed his hand under her chin, guiding her head towards him, then whispered in her ear.

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