Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(3)

Faith bit down on a sound of frustration and the words she longed to voice - that Stanislov wasn't Maria's lover, he was her pimp. That he only needed her for the money she brought him. But Maria didn't see it that way. A year ago, at just thirteen, Maria had been orphaned by an alcoholic mother and left to fend for herself. Stanislov had taken her under his wing, fed her, and made her feel loved. That he pimped her out was a small price to pay in the young teen's mind, Faith knew that. She also knew it was only a matter of time before Maria wound up on drugs or too dead inside to be rescued.

As Maria returned to the bed, running her fingers over the cover of the worn Second World War history book sitting on the crate that served as a bedside table, Faith pulled three small containers of orange juice from her rusted refrigerator and joined them, sitting cross-legged. Maria tore into the drink as if she'd been given the greatest of treats, but Paulina merely laid hers on the bed beside her and resumed her drawing. Even if she'd been as anxious to taste the sweet fruit juice as Maria, she'd never show it. That she came to the apartment at all told Faith just how desperate she was for company - safe, female company.

At sixteen, Paulina had already been on the streets two years. A couple of weeks ago, in an unusually open mood, she'd confided to Faith that her stepfather had raped her, and her mother had accused her of seducing him and thrown her out of the house. The girl was smart and tough, with a significant artistic talent. But she was also a bitter girl, hard beyond her years. So far she'd managed to avoid both drugs and alcohol, which gave Faith hope she'd eventually find her way to a better life. With a little help. If she'd take it.

To anyone else, Paulina and Maria were just a pair of young Polish hookers. But when Faith had arrived in Warsaw a few months ago, she'd recognized in these two the cleverness and character it took to escape this life. After years of helping street kids, she knew how to get past the barriers so many of them threw up. They didn't trust easily, especially not adults. Fortunately, Faith didn't look much older than the girls. She could pass all too easily as one of them - another runaway, or throwaway. With her blue-tipped hair and the silver studs circling one ear, Faith worked hard to foster that illusion. Whenever she moved to a new country, a new city, a new neighborhood, she told the girls she met that she was eighteen, that she'd been abandoned by her family at fifteen.

The last part was true, at least. She had been abandoned at fifteen. But not three years ago. The last time she saw her own mother had been the summer of 1914.

Faith was immortal. A Therian.

Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, all Therians had been shape-shifters. Not any longer, not unless they were marked by one of the nine remaining animals. Not unless they became one of the legendary and revered Feral Warriors.

But that wasn't her world anymore and hadn't been since she was a girl. This was her world. The rough city streets, whether in her native Belgium, here in Poland, or any of the two dozen European cities where she'd lived in between.

Leaning forward, she studied the small intricate sketch of a child's face Paulina was drawing on her palm with a ballpoint pen. Beautiful. "Did you know him?" she asked the girl.

"He's my brother." Paulina's misery was all the more pronounced by the terrible lack of emotion in her words.

Faith knew the girl couldn't have seen him since she was thrown out two years ago. Her heart broke for Paulina, her determination to help her find a better life hardening inside her. "I waited on a lady at the diner last night," Faith said casually. "She works at the art academy."

Paulina's pen stilled.

"I showed her the sketch you gave me, of the kids in the park." Faith opened her orange juice and took a sip, letting her words sink in. "She wants to meet you."

Paulina's head snapped up, angry blue eyes shadowed with raw vulnerability pinned her. "Meet me? To do what? I'm a whore!"

Dammit. Her own temper flared. "It's not like you chose this life!" She hated that these girls were victimized, then reviled for it. It was so unfair. "That's not all you are, Paulina. You're a girl, too. And according to that lady, a talented artist."

Paulina's expression didn't soften. "You had no right to show her my picture!" She grabbed her orange juice, leaped from the bed, and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her.

Faith sighed. Getting past Paulina's defenses was going to be a challenge. Not that she hadn't run into girls like her before. They were the ones she most often targeted. Unfortunately, she failed with them as often as she succeeded. Bitterness that thick often made it impossible for them to ever see themselves as anything more than the prostitutes that circumstances had made them.

Maria turned to Faith with wide eyes too old for her face. "She wants it too much, you know. To be an artist. It's better not to want anything."

Faith turned and leaned back against the stained wall. "That's what I used to think, too."

Maria scooted over to sit beside her, dropping her head against Faith's shoulder. "What do you want, Faith?"

What did she want? To help these girls. And then others in another city. And others after that. That was all she'd ever wanted.

But was it really? In a strange way she envied Maria because Maria believed she was loved, even if it was only by her pimp. And Faith couldn't say the same.