Текст книги "The wolf king"

Автор книги: Lauren Palphreyman

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Six

I step back, giving Callum access to my chambers.

He closes the door softly behind him, and turns to face me.

The scent of the outdoors clings to him and his hair is ruffled and damp. I wonder if he’s been in the loch, even though the night is pitch black outside my window.

His face is serious, and something in his eyes seems lost. Nervous, even.

He runs a hand over the back of his neck, and releases a long breath.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is rough. “The way I behaved earlier. . . I. . . I want you to know I’d never hurt you. Ever.”

His eyes bore into mine, and in them there is a silent plea that I believe him.

He’s standing so close that I could touch him. Goddess, I want to. Yet neither of us move. His hands remain firmly at his sides, his forearms corded, as though he’s making a concerted effort to show me he can behave like a gentleman.

A shameful part of me doesn’t want him to.

“I know that,” I whisper.

The air feels warm and tight. Stifling. I need to break this tension, somehow, before it breaks me.

“Did you get the message from your king?”

“Aye. He needs my help. I’ll have to ride out in the next couple of days to meet him.”

The tension thickens. I swallow.

I note how the moonlight reflects off his skin. “It’s a little late for a swim, isn’t it?”

He huffs a laugh. “Aye. A wee bit. I had some extra energy I needed to get out of my system.”

I think of the feeling that’s been crackling beneath my skin all evening. I think about what I was about to do before he knocked on the door.

“Did it work?”

His jaw tenses. “Not really.”

“And now you’ve come back.”

“I can’t keep away.”

There’s something so raw in his voice that my stomach jolts.

“I wanted to show you. . .” Tentatively, he puts his hand on my cheek. “I wanted to show you I can be gentle.”

I feel, again, as if I have swallowed the Northlands winds. That they’re billowing inside me, raging inside my chest, demanding I release them.

I force myself to remain steady, to not reveal the wildness that’s building inside me.

Even though I want that release.

Even though I want to scream and bite and tear into something. Into him. I want the storm that has been building for days—or perhaps since Callum first set foot into my bedchambers during the siege and threw me over his shoulder—to finally break.

From the way he is breathing, I wonder if Callum is containing something too. I’ve seen what he cages inside him—so different to the storm building in my chest, yet just as wild. I touch his chest, so I can feel his heart pounding. I wonder whether the beast within will stir.

“Show me, then,” I say.

His eyebrows raise. He smiles.

He cups my cheek. He brushes his lips against mine. True to his word, he is gentle, restrained.

Yet his kiss unleashes something violent within me.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, Princess—”

My fists curl into his shirt, and I pull him back.

I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes before his mouth clashes against mine.

One of his hands slides into my hair and he tilts my head back. He parts my lips with his tongue, and a low sound scrapes against his throat and vibrates through my core as he tastes me. His scent of woodsmoke and the mountains floods my nose, and I am burning and drowning in him at the same time.

A soft whimper escapes me.

“Fuck.” His voice is rough and raw against my lips.

He grabs my hips and pulls me closer, and I press myself into him—desperate to ease the ache that’s building.

His kiss deepens as he backs me into the wall and slides his thigh between my legs. I breathe in sharply at the spark of pleasure that ripples through me.

I grab him tighter, my knuckles pushing against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. His tongue moves in hot, deep strokes against mine and he tastes like pure heat. All I can think of is more.

My senses are heightened to everything—the grip of his fingers around my hips, the scrape of his stubble against my jaw, and the hardness of him. Wet heat pools at my core.

Is this what it is like to be a wolf? So attuned to every sensation.

It is overwhelming. Yet it is not enough.

I shift against his thigh and moan at the friction it causes. A low growl vibrates in his chest, and his grip tightens around my hips.

I still. I’ve gone too far. I’m out of control. I need to calm down. I need—

His kiss becomes more gentle. Urging. As if he’s coaxing me.

“Don’t stop.”

He presses a trail of kisses against my neck, leaving a line of fire that makes me whimper, then nips my earlobe with his teeth.

“I can handle it. Don’t stop.”

I see the wolf in his eyes.

His mouth is on mine again—his kiss deep and claiming. The ache between my legs builds and I cannot stop myself. I roll my hips, pressing against him, harder, faster. My breathing is shallow. I feel desperate. Wild. Feral.

I hook a hand around his neck, pulling his mouth even further into mine, meeting each deep stroke of his tongue with a thrust of my own. His fingers tighten and he growls.

The hard length of him is pressing against my hip.

I want to touch him, to coax more low, rough sounds from his lips. When I shift, and run my fingers down his chest, he presses himself closer to me—stopping me from slipping my hand between us.

“I can’t handle that,” he says, with a dark, breathy laugh.

He moves his hands down my back, pulling me to him. My nipples are sensitive against the thin material of my nightgown as they rub against his chest with each ragged breath. And I want more.

I rock against his thigh, the heat building, a flush spreading over my body.

Whatever was knocked loose in my chest when Callum hurled me over his shoulder back at the castle has escaped again. It rages inside me, primal and wild and free. I am no longer a princess, or a prisoner, or a statue. I am no longer trapped in a cage, or a castle. There are no chains nor wedding rings to bind me.

Callum groans against my lips as if he can sense the change in me.

There is something tightening inside me, burning, building.

And then it crashes over me. Callum thrusts his tongue roughly against mine, claiming my release as it surges through me. My knees buckle and he holds me, stopping me from falling, as my breath comes out hard and fast against his lips.

He growls, the sound as low and animal as I have ever heard it.

He curses under his breath.

And before I’m aware of what’s happening, he scoops me into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist, my core pressing against his hard torso. And then we’re on my single bed—the frame creaking with the weight of him—and he’s on top of me, his forearms on either side of my head as he hovers over my face.

His wolf eyes hold mine, as wild and feral as they were when we were in the forest. His jawline is hard, his biceps big and tensed—as though he is still holding back.

I touch his cheek, running my thumb over his swollen lips.

He rolls his hips once against me, those wild eyes never leaving my face, and I moan as his hard length presses against my core.

He growls again as he shifts down, peppering kisses down my jawline, my neck, my collarbone. His eyes glow in the darkness as he puts his mouth around my nipple and sucks hard through the fabric.

I cry out, my back arching off the bed.

His mouth is on mine again, hot and deep and claiming.

I sink my teeth into his bottom lip.

He growls, and grabs my wrist, pinning it roughly against the mattress. And the strength in him—Goddess, the strength in him! Exhilaration and raw heat surge through my body.

Then he stills.

Every muscle in his body tenses.

“Callum?” I whisper, my voice breathy and strange.

He sucks in a shaky breath. Then he lets out a half-laugh. “Perhaps I can’t control myself.”

He staggers back off the bed.

His breathing sounds pained. I’m not sure if it’s water from the loch or sweat that shines on his skin.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sit up and he jerks back, his muscles twitching. His gaze snaps to the narrow window and the weak moonlight, then back to me.

“Callum?”

“I feel. . . I feel. . . strange.”

I slide off the bed and step toward him. “Callum, tell me what’s going on.”

“I feel. . . I feel like. . .” His hands clench in fists at his sides.

When he meets my gaze, he looks. . . wary.

“Callum. . . it’s okay,” I say softly, as though coaxing a wild animal.

I’m not sure what is wrong with him. Every muscle in his body is taut and strained. His biceps bulge against his shirt and his jaw is set. Perhaps that feeling of need that pulses through my body pulses through his too.

He told me before he wouldn’t let anyone touch me, himself included. Is that what he is worrying about? Touching me?

Or is he trying to hide the wolf inside him?

“I’m not afraid,” I tell him.

A vein pulses in his neck.

“I don’t feel. . .” he starts, shaking his head. “It’s not. . .”

“It’s okay,” I soothe.

I pad across the cold floorboards toward him, but when he growls, I still.

“Don’t,” he says, and there is power in his command. I freeze, my expression hardening.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He takes a deep breath. Then he turns to the door.

“What are you doing?” My voice is sharp as it cuts through the shadows.

“I must go.”

I feel like I’m being doused with ice-cold water. I have just shared something with him that I have shared with no man before. Something that is forbidden to me. And now he is just going to leave?

Something inside my chest shatters like glass, sharp and painful.

I swallow, then raise my chin—trying to look like a noble lady even though I’m wearing a nightgown and have just experienced something I shouldn’t have.

“Yes. You must,” I say. “It was inappropriate for you to come here at this hour. I am the princess of the Southlands, and I am betrothed to another man. You have taken too many liberties with me.”

His shoulders tense, and his face falls. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Princess.”

My heart breaks. I want him to fight for me, to tell me that he’s never giving me back to Sebastian.

But I put on my mask, and do not let him see.

His footsteps are hurried as he leaves, as though he cannot get away from me fast enough.

I stare at the closed door, my breathing ragged.

I want to scream. I want to tear through the forest and howl into the wind. Instead, I do what I always do, and swallow it. I swallow the feelings and the hurt and the rage. I let the darkness wrap around me, the shadows dousing the flames in my soul, until I am cold and empty.

Later, as I lie down on my pillows, and recall what happened, something occurs to me.

Callum was scared.

Tomorrow, I will find out why.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven

There’s a knock at door, waking me.

How can I face Callum this morning?

I lock away the shame that creeps through my body when I remember how bold I was, when I remember how angry I was when he left. I lock away other feelings too—feelings I do not want to acknowledge. Feelings that heat my blood, and rattle my soul. I push away the strange dreams of Wolves and mountains and monsters in the dark, too.

I take a deep breath. “Come in.”

“Hello, little rabbit.”

My stomach drops and I jolt upright, the sheets dropping to my midriff.

Blake leans in the doorway. He’s wearing dark breeches and a well-fitting black shirt. He looks like a villainous prince from the kinds of stories my mother would tell me. His dark hair, slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it, only adds to the effect.

I am not in the mood for him this morning. “What are you doing here?”

I glance at my bedside table, looking for the silver letter opener I brought here. There is only a pile of medical books, an almost burnt-out candle, and Callum’s red tartan collar on its surface.

“Looking for something?” he asks.

He pulls a small cloth package out of his pocket, and unwraps it to reveal my silver blade within. I’d forgotten that I’d thrown it at him during the full moon.

He holds it out to me and it gleams in the cold sunlight.

Warily, I slide out of bed, and pad across the floor toward him. He tracks my movements. When I reach for it, his lips part slightly.

I drop my arm to my side. “Why do you want me to take it so much? What have you done to it?”

“Nothing.”

He seems to study me. He’s tall, and I have to look up. I feel like he’s challenging me, and I don’t want to back down. I cannot help the small burst of interest that sparks inside me, too.

Like Callum, Blake is an alpha. He must be around the same age, too. He has the Southlands accent, and says he worked in the King’s Guard. How did he rise to such a high position among the Wolves?

“Why did you choose to come here, little rabbit?” asks Blake.

“I didn’t. I was kidnapped.”

“Hm.” His eyes gleam, as if he knows I am lying.

He removes the letter opener from the cloth and his skin hisses as the silver touches his skin.

He flips it over so he’s holding the blade, and offers me the hilt.

“I’ve done nothing to it,” he says. “Take it.”

I let him hold it for a moment longer, knowing it is burning his skin. Then I take it. His gaze flits to my hand, my face. Curiosity blazes in his eyes.

His expression settles back to boredom as he walks over to my bookshelf.

“Get out of my chambers,” I say.

He runs his index finger along the dusty spines. “Are you sure they’re your chambers?”

A horrible feeling washes over me. I glance at the piles of medical tomes, the strange pots of herbs, and that dark book of handwritten experiments that I’ve been reading.

I told myself I never wanted to meet the previous inhabitant of this room.

I stare at Blake’s back as he thumbs through the books.

“This was your room, wasn’t it?” I say flatly.

“This is my room. I no longer reside here, but I use it for some of my most interesting possessions.”

I don’t like the way he says that—as if he’s storing me in here, too. “Get out, Blake. Callum won’t be pleased when I tell him about this.”

Blake turns and props an elbow on the bookshelf. “Did he not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Callum’s not here.”

I frown. “You’re lying.”

A dimple punctures his cheek. “He rode out this morning. He’s gone to find the Wolf King.”

My insides turn to ice.

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Chapter Thirty-Eight

Callum has left? After everything that happened between us?

Last night, I betrayed my kingdom when I kissed him.

Despite that, he has ridden out to find the Wolf King—someone who will undoubtedly either execute me or send me straight back to Sebastian. And he didn’t even say goodbye?

Shame spreads through my body. Shame that something that was so monumental to me obviously meant nothing to him. I wonder how many women he must have kissed for that to be the case.

I force my expression to settle into one of indifference.

I will not let this serpent know that his news has rattled me.

“I knew he would be riding out to find his king soon. I just hadn’t realized he had gone yet. If you’re trying to create trouble, you will find none here.”

The corner of Blake’s lip quirks. “Pity, I do enjoy trouble.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for something.” He slides a blue leather-bound book from the shelf. “Ah, here it is.”

I don’t catch the full title, but I see the word lore in elegant calligraphy across the front, and a dusting of golden stars on the spine.

He tucks it beneath his arm and walks to the door.

“What book is that?” I ask.

He pauses and his shoulders stiffen. He clearly doesn’t want me to know what he’s reading. When he turns around, though, his expression is unrattled.

He nods at the pile of medical books by my bed. “Are you trying to find out if you could have saved her?”

My fist tightens around the silver blade. His voice is casual, as though the death of my mother was meaningless. “That’s none of your concern.”

“What were her symptoms?” When I merely glare at him, he shrugs. “Don’t you want to know whether I could have saved her?”

My breathing is fast. “You couldn’t have. You would have been a child when she died.”

“As would you.”

He waits. I hate that he knows how desperate I am for answers.

“She had cold sweats, fevers, shaking, and pain,” I blurt before I can change my mind about confiding in him. “She would hallucinate sometimes, and heal slowly. She was. . . weak. She got weaker every day.”

“Was she worse in the morning or the evening?”

I remember her frail form in the four-poster bed as sunlight seeped through the palace shutters. “Morning.”

“Was she treated for her illness?”

“Yes.”

“A potion or brew, I presume?”

I nod, remembering that foul-smelling herbal liquid that was forced down her throat. Remembering the taste of it from when they fed it to me when I got sick, too.

“And did your father love your mother?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Answer the question.”

I grit my teeth. “My father doesn’t love anyone.”

Blake shrugs. “That sounds like no disease I know of.” He moves out into the landing and pauses. “Be careful, little rabbit. Fiona has gone too. Isla has been left in charge of your welfare. You’re alone among the Wolves.”

When he’s gone, I walk over to the window with my fist clenched. I’m not sure whether Blake was trying to scare me or provoke me, or both. How dare he try to bait me with questions about my mother? Regardless, I cannot believe Callum has left me alone.

Mist hangs over the loch and twists around the peaks of the mountains. The vastness of the landscape makes me feel small.

I wonder how long Callum will be gone for. I want to give him a piece of my mind.

But I dread his return, too.

Because when he comes back, the Wolf King will be with him.

***

For the next couple of days, I’m glad to have my job in the kitchens. It distracts me, and stops my thoughts from becoming too dark.

Callum thinks wearing his collar will keep me safe, but it seems that without him here in the castle, the hostility aimed at me is palpable.

When I head to the kitchens in the mornings, Magnus and his rat-faced friend shout lewd comments as they pass on their way to training. While picking herbs in the kitchen gardens one afternoon, Isla whispers something behind her hand to her friend and snickers as she swans by. And only Mrs. McDonald and Kayleigh speak to me—everyone else merely eyes me with contempt. They do not want a human in their midst.

The strip of red tartan around my neck prevents any further trouble, at least.

I eat as much as I can during lunch so I do not have to stray downstairs after dark when the alcohol comes out and the bagpipe music starts playing. I ignore Isla’s comments, and Magnus’s leers. And I spend the rest of my days reading, while the anger inside me grows thorns and shoots.

Why has Callum left me?

Is he okay?

On the third morning, I wake at dawn. The sun has not yet risen, and the air smells strangely like perfume and roses. I slept restlessly, and dreamt of Wolves and wilderness and darkness.

I turn to my bedside table to reach for Callum’s collar.

My heart stills.

No.

I jump out of bed and frantically shift books aside, sending parchment fluttering onto the floorboards.

My blood turns to ice, then to fire.

The collar is not there.

Someone has been in my chambers.

A hurricane rages in my chest, much wilder than the winds currently ratting the window of my bedchambers.

Isla.

It has to be her.

I stomp across the room, wrench open the wardrobe door, and change into the first dress I can find. How dare she. I storm down the spiral staircase into a corridor. I’m going to the Great Hall, and I will show Isla that it was a mistake to provoke me. I will show her what happens when she steals from the princess of the—

I make impact with a mass of dark hair and stringy muscle and stagger back along the torchlit corridor. My stomach drops and my feet grow roots that bind me to the stone floor.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Magnus leers. A slow grin spreads across his face, revealing a missing tooth.

His two friends, the male with ratlike features, and the muscular male with a dark beard, stand on either side of him—both in their green kilts, blocking my path.

For a moment, I cannot move. Then my instincts kick in.

I turn and try to run back down the corridor, but the bigger male grabs my arm.

“Get off me!”

I try to wrench away, but his grip is like steel.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” drawls Magnus.

The air is sour with sweat. Magnus’s gaze travels up and down my body, and my skin turns cold wherever it lands.

I grit my teeth and glare up at him. “When Callum finds out—”

“Callum isn’t here. And you’re not wearing his collar.” He steps closer to me, and his acrid scent floods my nostrils. I almost gag. “That makes you free game.”

“You will pay for this.” I try to pull away but the bigger man’s hand tightens around my arm. “Callum will kill you, you fools.”

The three of them laugh and the wild and thorny thing that has been growing inside me for days sets alight.

“I will make you pay for this.”

“There’s no need to be like that,” says Magnus. “We can all be friends here. Now, the way I see it, we know something about you that you don’t want our acting Wolf King to know about, Princess. What will you do for us to stop us from—”

The warmth from another person washes over my back and a slender hand clasps my neck. Time slows down as I feel the whisper of silk against my throat. My heart is racing so fast I think it will burst from my chest. The gloomy corridor sways around me.

I force myself to calm down, and everything comes back into focus. Curling my fist, I get ready to fight.

Only Magnus and the other two men have already staggered back with fear in their eyes.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t know.” Magnus’s expression is wary. “We thought she was Callum’s. We never would have. . . if we’d known she was she was yours. . .”

When they get no response, they back away, then scurry toward the Great Hall.

Heart in my throat, I spin around.

And I find myself face to face with Blake.

I’m breathing fast as my mind races to process what just happened, what is still happening. “I. . . what are you. . .?”

His gaze drops to the collar that now sits around my neck.

His collar.

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