They brought him to her straight from the arena. His chest was streaked with blood, sweat, and the gritty dust of the arena floor. The wolf pelt that gave him his name was draped about his shoulders, and his amber eyes darted warily around the room, noting every detail. Four men held him, controlling him by means of the heavy iron chain fastened to the iron collar around his throat.
She rose, and reached her hand out for the chain. "Leave us," she commanded.
The lead handler paled. "But, but my lady!" He gasped. "This man has..."
The look she gave him would have frozen lava. "I said, leave us. I know what he has done." Her lips curved as she examined the Wolf. "That's why I want him." She held her hand out again, and the handler trembled as he placed the links into her delicate palm. "The key, too." He dropped the heavy key into her hand, bowed, and backed out of the room, the others scrambling to follow.
As the door closed behind them, she heard a rumble from the Wolf. It may have been a laugh, but his face was still set and wary. The lady smiled as she turned to him again. "Hundreds of victories. Scores of opponents killed and—what is it? Oh yes, at least three handlers." She reached up to cares his cheek, heedless of the grime that streaked the tanned skin. "I do not fear you, my Wolf." Her hand fell to the iron collar, and she frowned. "But I think we can do better than these crude restraints."
She felt his eyes on her as she led him to the table, felt the tension in his body as he allowed himself to be led. Uncertainty—and likely some curiosity—kept him from trying to bolt, or from attacking. A different sort of tension rippled through the lady—pleasurable anticipation. The hot scent of him, the chiseled muscles that rippled beneath his scarred hide, the brutal strength that she sensed waiting barely in check—a dramatic contrast to the dissipated nobles who thought themselves her equal. Already her skin tingled as she considered her plans for the night.
Waiting on the table was another collar, made of elegant wrought silver. A matching chain lay coiled next to it. His amber eyes were still wary as she turned and held up the iron key. "You've worn that collar since you were first dragged to the arena," she told him. "Now, I am going to remove it. You will wear my token instead." Deliberately, she put the key in the lock, turned it. He jerked but did not try to bolt. The lady smiled, and stood on her toes to plant a brief kiss at the corner of his mouth as she let the crude iron drop to the floor. "Good Wolf." The silver was cool against his skin, lighter than the iron, as she locked it in place.