15. Treats

“Great,” Taos grinned in satisfaction—victory.
“And after I heal you?” Sona challenged, attempting to ignore a feeling that she’d just lost some kind of small game. “Will you let us go?”
“I am a fair male. The deal stands afterward. But you will stay here regardless. Before you refuse again,” he continued, eyes flashing, moving a foot forward through the water like a deadly snake, “remember that I have the will and means to *break* the deal.”
Sona’s throat tightened with threatening tears. *I just want my son. That’s all*. “Please,” she whispered, wishing there was more space to add between them.
Taos stopped, and he seemed to finally understand that she wanted to be nowhere near him. “Don’t feel like a prisoner.”
“Then don’t keep me here against my will.”
He glided back to the opposite edge, arms resting on it, the picture of leisure. She did not relax. “What can I do to make you comfortable, trinket?”
“I don’t know.” It was true. She had no idea what other “amenities” he had. Where was she going to stay—a tent? A ramshackle house? His harem? And what about Arden? “I want to be with Arden. We stay together.”
Taos rolled his eyes. “You two must be lovers, aren’t you? Scandalous affair. We’ll see. Just don’t be fucking the moment I leave you alone—which you will rarely be.”
It was as good as she was going to get. She could make other demands—polite requests, if she could be smart about it—later. For now, she could only nod. “Fine.”
“Bloody excellent.” 
Taos rose to his feet. Sona didn’t close her eyes fast enough—or at all. His body was the embodiment of perfection. Every inch the ideal male body—defined curves and dips of every muscle, tan skin taut if riddled with scars, his abdominals more noticeable than Conri’s ever were, and, damn her eyes, they skimmed down to the veiny V of his hipbones toward his—
Hidden below the water.
He was beautiful—objectively, she told herself savagely as she closed her eyes and looked quickly away.
Taos’ laugh burrowed into her bones. “You are welcome a peek anytime you’d like, trinket. I’m not shy.” She was glad he didn’t remark on her body as he waded out of the pool. “Ah, clean linens. Oh, look, my Epsilon brought you an outfit as well.”
Two heavy objects hit the ground beside Sona’s face. She cracked open an eye to see a new linen towel and folded red fabric of a style yet to be determined. Then Taos let her jewelry spill out of his hand. Every piece was accounted for.
Tears blurred her vision as she hurried to place them all where they belonged. But when she slipped her grandfather’s and Arden’s rings back where they belonged, letting her chain and locket settle between her breasts, and… Conri’s gray ribbon.
Sona dared a glance up; Taos was covered and facing the opposite direction, having enough modesty to not spy.
Part of her didn’t want to wear the betrothal choker; another told her that it could be used as protection. A gift from a mate was a warning to others—if something were to happen to it or the wearer, the gifter would wreak hell.
Meaning that if Taos was to yank it off her or harm her in any way, Conri had the right to enact equal damage.
Much good it would do here, but it was the last comfort she could cling to.
Fingers trembling, Sona clasped it around her throat. It felt foreign, as if it hadn’t been fitted for her, as if it hadn’t meant the world to her for twelve years.
She climbed out of the bath, dried herself off, and discovered that the fabric was less an outfit and more just that—fabric. A bolt of cotton dyed dark red. Sona didn’t know whether to be angry or give in to tears. 
“How do I wear this?”
“May I?”
“No.”
“Any way you’d like, then. Infinite possibilities.”
Sona prayed for patience and tolerance for the brute. She wasn’t a stranger to dealing with fabrics; she managed to configure it securely so all her privates were covered. She hoped Taos would soon conceal his.
“Red suits you,” Taos said huskily. 
“A shirt would suit you.”
He procured one that he was hiding behind him. “As you command, mouthy hellion.” 
Sona hated that he had to struggle to fit the shirt over his muscles, which continued to be defined by the thin, near-sheer fabric. And when he dropped his towel, she nearly swore—only for him to laugh and her to realize he’d already pulled on trousers—also strained by his thighs. 
  “We’re werewolves, trinket,” he said. “Why would creatures of the moon and earth be restricted by clothes? Fuck being civilized. What fun is that?”
“We all have our cultures, Alpha.”
“Call me Taos.”
“Stop calling me ‘trinket.’”
“Deal, *Sona*.” Her name sounded like liquid gold coming from between his lips. She loathed it. “Now. Let me show you my culture, because I have a test for you.”
Sona narrowed her eyes. “What, are you going to make me skin someone before I do to you?”
Taos raised a dark brow—intrigue or surprise? “I sense you will continue to surprise me with that tongue of yours. So vulgar, but I can also sense it has the ability to soothe. Otherwise you couldn’t be a healer, hmm?”
That was true, she hated to admit. If she—or anyone—didn’t have compassion and the ability to portray it through word and action, she would be inefficient at her job. But that job wasn’t all pretty.
“Skin me, you say?” he continued to muse. “Is that what you’ll do? In that case I know plenty of that—”
Sona turned on her heel toward the entrance. It seemed her best bet to avoid his own vulgar words was to simply look away.
His laugh followed her before him, cutting off her path with his stupidly large body and even stupider smirk. “If you’re going to stay, trinket, we’ll have to work on your manners. Treat me well, and I’ll treat Roshan well.”
It was a honey-sweet threat. Sona clenched her jaw. Yes, she had to behave if she wanted to weasel her way out of this prison he’d caged her and Arden in so quickly. “Alright,” she sighed, crossing her arms. “What’s your test?”
Taos’ grin promised her that she would only know uncertainty.