The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Two

Her eyes fluttered open, and she was welcomed back to consciousness by an excruciating pain in her leg. However, the biting cold of the winter air had been replaced by warmth from what sounded like a crackling fire. Blinking a few times to adjust her vision, she surveyed her new surroundings.

She was in a parlour. A rather nice parlour. Lavishly decorated, it betrayed itself as belonging to a wealthy individual. The acanthus wallpaper was a rich red and gold and the dado a deep mahogany graining. There was a beautiful rug with a damask pattern in vivid crimson and dark brown, the colors closely matching the walls. The settee on which she lay was made of oak adorned with carved designs of vines and grotesque masks. She ran her numb fingertips along the bright red silk, hardly able to believe she was reclining on something so elegant.

What a change of scenery. To go from feverish halls and stained mattresses to luxury like this? It had been so long since she'd even laid eyes on a room so lovely. Truthfully, she hadn't thought she'd ever see the outside world again, never mind a house as grand as this. Was it a dream? Another hallucination?

Nothing from your twisted brain could be this beautiful.

Letting out a heavy breath through her nose, she reluctantly agreed with the voice. All her broken psyche could conjure up were things of nightmares. Beauty like this was beyond her condition.

Someone entered the room, and she lifted her head to find the young man from earlier with a leather bag in his hand. He stopped when he caught her eye and smiled.

"Ah, you're awake," he said. "That wasn't a very long fainting spell."

She watched him closely as he knelt before her and opened the bag. Taking out several medical instruments, he laid them down side by side on the low table in front of the settee. None of it seemed too threatening, but the sight of anything having to do with doctors caused her chest to tighten as she recalled the abuse she'd experienced while in Elysium.

"I was just about to take care of that nasty gash in your leg," he explained. He gestured to her injured limb. "May I?"

Though still wary of this stranger and his medical equipment, she nodded and lifted the skirt of her dress. Someone had removed the bottom half of the stocking and tied a tourniquet about her leg, but the wound continued to ooze blood. The young man ran his hands over her calf, examining the gash carefully and ignoring the bruises that had been there before the attack. His eyes widened, and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Absolutely fascinating," he mumbled to himself. Sitting up straight once more, he took a wet cloth and began to clean the cut. "As I'm sure you're already well aware, you were not attacked by an ordinary wolf. That creature appeared to have—"

"Metal teeth," she finished, resisting the urge to flinch at his touch.

He raised his eyebrows, another smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. And to support that theory, your wound doesn't resemble a typical dog bite. Or wolf bite in this case. It's far too clean. The beast's teeth sliced through your flesh like a knife through butter."

The enthusiasm in his voice seemed slightly inappropriate for what had just occurred, and she found herself staring at him blankly as he gazed at her excitedly. There was a brief moment of silence before he cleared his throat and tossed the damp cloth onto the table.

"Anyhow," he continued, "I should probably stitch this up."

Picking up a bottle, he doused a second rag with its contents and inched closer to her. Panic seized her chest, and she jerked away from the sweet-smelling cloth. He pulled back a bit, looking at the rag in perplexity before turning to her once more.