Текст книги "The wolf king"

Автор книги: Lauren Palphreyman

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I reach for the collar. Blake’s fingers curl around my wrist before I can rip it off.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says.

He’s standing too close. His body heat bores into me, despite the cool expression on his face. The shadows wrap around him, and his dark shirt and breeches make him look at one with the darkness.

My breathing is fast, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the danger I just escaped, or the danger I’m now in. I try to calm my nerves.

I lift my chin. “Why not?”

“Because I will not offer it to you again.”

I choke out a laugh. “Why would I want this?”

The firelight from a nearby torch dances across his eyes. “You have no friends here, little rabbit. Callum is gone. Fiona is gone. Ryan is weak. And Callum is not as well liked as he may think. There are many more animals like Magnus who will take advantage of the situation you find yourself in.”

“What makes you any better than Magnus?”

His expression is devoid of any emotion. There’s a chill in the gloomy corridor, and my breath plumes in front of my face and mingles with his.

“Did you ever wonder why I have a Southlands accent?” he asks. “My mother was a human. She lived just south of the Borderlands. One night, a pack of Wolves raided her village. One of them forced themselves on her, and the consequence was me.” His tone is smooth, like dark silk.

“I tracked him down, of course, many years later. He cried when I showed him exactly what he had created.” His eyes bore into mine, and inside them there is nothing but darkness. Yet I relax my arm in his grip. “There is nothing more deplorable than rape.”

While his expression is unreadable, his gaze is intense. It is as if I am one of the strange books in his chambers that he is trying to read. Understanding seems to pass between us.

When he releases my wrist, I drop my arm to my side.

The air is thick with silence. I feel as if I should say something, but words evade me.

I open my mouth.

He turns and walks away, torchlight and shadows flickering across his profile as he passes the sconces on the stone walls.

“Come to my chambers at nightfall,” he says.

My eyebrows lift but before I can say anything, he disappears around the corner.

I’m rooted to the flagstones. I’d planned to confront Isla, but after the experience I’ve just had, I’m shaken. Not only by what Magnus planned to do, but by Blake as well.

I decide to head back to my bedchambers.

On the way to the stairwell, Isla and a pack of her friends round a corner.

“Lose something?” she asks sweetly as I pass.

I spin around. All the rage that has been building in my chest longs for release.

“Where is it?” I snarl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is falsely sweet, and she smirks to indicate that she knows exactly what I’m talking about. She smells like rose perfume, the scent that lingered in my chambers this morning. The three girls standing around her snicker.

“Do you think he will want you if you steal from him?” I ask.

She swishes her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder and steps closer to me.

“Do you really think he wants a Southern, human whore?” She makes each word sound more poisonous than the last. “Once he’s tired of you, he’ll find a wolf. He’ll find his mate. And when he’s ready—”

Her gaze snaps to Blake’s collar. Her eyes widen in surprise, before a look of wariness crosses her face.

Then she releases a harsh laugh.

“You’ve moved on fast, haven’t you?” She steps back into her group of friends. “Come on, let’s go to breakfast. I’m starving, and this Southern slut is ruining my appetite.”

They walk away, whispering and giggling.

“Don’t steal from me again,” I say.

Isla doesn’t respond, but her shoulders stiffen.

***

There is a storm coming.

I feel it as nightfall approaches.

The air is static and close and the Wolves seem more excitable than usual. I can hear them outside, shouting and laughing and brawling within the castle grounds. I wonder if that’s a wolf thing. Perhaps they can sense the storm and it agitates them in some way.

It makes me glad I have protection while Callum is away, even if it is Blake I must turn to.

I sit cross-legged on my bed and examine the collar he put around my neck.

It is black and featherlight, with a faint pattern on it made up of crisscrossing blacks and greys and other shades of night. It’s made of silk, and I run it through my fingers. At its center, there’s a black obsidian stone that absorbs the light from my candle.

I cannot decide whether to go to Blake’s chambers or not.

There are many reasons not to. For one thing, it would be completely inappropriate for me to visit a man’s bedchambers. Especially alone, after dark.

For another, Callum told me Blake was the most dangerous wolf in this entire kingdom.

And yet, the story Blake told me about his mother haunts me. A moment of understanding passed between us in that corridor. I wonder if we both have broken souls.

Maybe he’s not as bad as Callum thinks.

Curiosity flares within me, too. If his mother was human, does that make him a half-wolf? Why are the Wolves here so afraid of him? And why did he protect me?

As the candle burns low, flicking shadows over the shelves that creak beneath Blake’s books, my intrigue finally outweighs my trepidation.

I want to know why he has invited me to his chambers, and I’m certain he won’t harm me. Whatever his game is, I think he needs me in one piece in order to win.

Thunder rumbles through the castle walls as I slide off my bed, signaling the arrival of the storm.

I pull on my boots, and creep down the spiral staircase.

The torches in the corridors flicker violently, as if the flames are as excited by the storm as the Wolves that shout and roar in the Great Hall. I stick to the shadows, flattening myself against the wall as a couple of drunken Wolves pass by on their way to the festivities.

When I reach Blake’s door, I take a deep breath.

The last time I was here, he shifted and chased me through the forest. I’m not sure what I’ll be faced with this time.

I gather my nerves, and I knock.

I wait a few seconds. The rain hammers against the castle, and there’s a flash of light through the narrow window at the end of the corridor as lightning strikes.

There’s a thud within Blake’s chambers, followed by the sound of someone stumbling.

The door opens a crack.

Blake’s dark hair is messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and his skin is clammy. The top few buttons of his white shirt are undone and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal corded forearms.

His eyes are bloodshot.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Behind him, his room is a mess. The black sheets of his four-poster bed are crumpled, there are books all over the floor, and his desk is littered with small glass jars.

My brow furrows. “You told me to come at nightfall. . .”

“Oh. Right.” His words are a little slurred. He tilts his head to the side. “Why would a rabbit seek out a wolf?”

His usual scent of dark forests is mixed with a faint aroma of alcohol. There’s another scent in the air too—herbal and familiar. It puts me on edge.

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

“No.” He starts to close the door. “Now’s not a good time.”

Thunder rumbles down the corridor, and Blake flinches.

I put my hand on the door, keeping it open, as a flash of lightning reveals the handwritten label on one of the jars.

“Is that wolfsbane?” I push past him into the room.

He sighs, then closes the door.

I pick up the jar. The lid is off, and it’s releasing the dangerous scent I recognized. I turn to him. “What is this? Are you trying to poison yourself?”

“Course not.” He slumps onto the end of his four-poster bed, and threads his fingers through his dark hair. “Go away.”

As well as wolfsbane, I note lavender, dried chamomile, and some valerian root on his desk. I pick up a pot reading milk of the poppy. There’s a decanter full of clear liquid beside them, and when I sniff it, I wince at the pungent alcoholic odor.

Thunder rattles the jars, and Blake’s knuckles whiten as he grips his hair.

“Are you trying to make a sleep aid?” I ask. “Why the wolfsbane? Unless. . .”

Callum told me they didn’t have painkillers up here because the wolf inside them would fight it off.

“You’re using wolfsbane to weaken the wolf and give the other ingredients time to work, aren’t you? Why do you need a sleep aid?”

The room lights up, and the force of the thunder makes the mountains tremble. Blake’s whole body hardens and a rough sound scrapes the back of his throat. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Goddess! You’re afraid of the storm!”

He removes his hands from his hair, and slowly looks up at me. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you.”

I know the dark image he cultivates is important to him. I believe he will do what it takes to prevent that from being shattered.

“I know,” I say.

When the thunder sounds again, he shuts his eyes, his chest inflating as he takes a deep breath. He groans and lies back on the bed, his feet planted on the floorboards.

“It’s only a storm,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.

“Thanks for that. Very helpful.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“None of your business.”

I hover by his desk, unsure of what to do.

As I’m debating, he half crawls up the bed and slumps on his pillows, groaning again. I sigh. Tentatively, I approach.

“I think you’ve taken too much,” I say.

“Oh, do you? Well, thank goodness that Callum’s little pet, who only learned of wolfsbane a couple of weeks ago, is here to offer me her sage advice.” He turns away from me. “Go away.”

He smells of sweat and soap and the forest. His shirt clings to his muscular back.

“Seriously, Blake, you don’t look good.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re irritating me.”

“Or maybe it’s because you’ve just taken poison, you fool. Where’s the antidote?”

“I’m the healer. Not you.”

“You’re a mess. And your potion hasn’t worked. You’re not asleep, are you?”

Lightning floods the room and he curls in on himself as he braces for the thunder that cracks through the sky moments later.

I sigh, and perch on the edge of the bed.

“You know, I used to be afraid of storms. When I was a child.”

“Piss off.”

I smirk, then something softens in me. Though part of me is glad to have seen him in this way—sure I will be able to use it to my advantage at some point—he’s in a such a pitiful state, I cannot help but feel a bit of sympathy for him.

When I was afraid as a child, my mother would sing to me. I try to recall her melody.

Softly, I start to hum.

The tune always brought me comfort, and I hope that it will do the same for him.

When she sang it, I would imagine myself running through the wild grass, the moon shining, the stars clear and bright. And I would know that I was not alone. I was safe.

Blake’s shoulders soften, and he releases a gentle sigh. “I’m serious. If you speak of this, you’re dead.”

I shush him and continue with the soft melody.

I have not thought of this song for a while, and I find myself getting lost in it as the thunder rattles the castle, and lightning illuminates the loch through the window.

It is not until I hear a gentle snore that I stop, startled.

Despite the storm outside, Blake is asleep.

He’s rolled onto his back, and one of his arms is flung above his head. I take the opportunity to openly look at the angry white scar that marks his forearm near his elbow. It looks like a bite from a very large beast. A wolf, perhaps.

His expression is peaceful, and it’s a stark contrast to the dark violence he usually emanates. He looks almost pleasant, handsome, even, without the smirk on his lips or the cunning ambition glinting in his eyes.

His chest rises and falls softly.

I blink, suddenly aware that I’ve been staring too long.

I stand abruptly and cross the room.

“I prefer you when you’re sleeping,” I mutter as I close the door and head back to my chambers.

***

I will have my revenge on Isla.

I’d like to have my revenge on Magnus, too, but that awful wolf seems to be giving me a wide berth. He’s not been in the Great Hall or running drills in the yard for the past couple of days.

In fact, most Wolves seem to be avoiding me. It seems Blake’s collar acts as a larger deterrent than Callum’s—even though I’ve not seen the dark-haired wolf since the storm.

The negative side of this is that Kayleigh will no longer speak to me in the kitchens. Her face turned white when she first saw the black strip around my neck, and since then she’s wanted nothing to do with me.

Isla, however, has taken every opportunity to call me a slut, and to giggle with her friends about me every time I see her.

She knew how much danger I’d be in without Callum’s collar. She wanted someone to hurt me. And what’s more, she hasn’t given it back.

I cannot let it stand.

I get the idea from the potion Blake made on the night of the storm.

I take some wolfsbane and some buckthorn from his stores in the infirmary, and crush them into a powder. I’m not trying to kill her. I just need to neutralize the wolf so the laxative properties of buckthorn can kick in. I want to humiliate her a little.

When I’m left alone in the kitchens, I pull out the small vial with the powder in. I pop out the cork, and hover over the bowl of mashed potato I’m intending to set down in front of Isla and her friends.

Someone grabs my wrist, and I turn.

“Is that why you chose to come here, little rabbit?” Blake’s eyes gleam with curiosity. “To poison us all?”

If he’s embarrassed about the other night, he doesn’t show it. He’s as well put together as usual, with his black shirt emphasizing his toned chest, and an unreadable expression on his face.

My heart pounds. If he tells anyone what he just caught me doing, I’ll surely be killed before Callum can return.

“Only Isla. For stealing from me.”

He brings the vial to his nose, and inhales deeply. “Wolfsbane. Death is a harsh punishment for theft. I didn’t think you had it in you. Though, if you’re going to kill her, perhaps you could use a different method? Poison is my trademark. They’ll think it was me.”

“It’s not. . . I’m not going to kill her!” My cheeks flame. “The wolfsbane is just there to neutralize the wolf!”

He smells the vial again, then he grins and dimples puncture his cheeks. “Buckthorn.” He shakes his head, plucking the vial from my fingers. “You’ve put too much wolfsbane in. This will kill her.” He nods at the mashed potato. “Isla is lactose-intolerant. A nob of butter should have the desired effect.”

He pushes the cork into the vial, then pockets it. “Mind if I keep this? I have a better use for it.”

He walks across the kitchen and pauses in the doorway. His gaze is appraising as he looks me up and down. “You’re a devious little thing, aren’t you?”

Strangely, it doesn’t sound like an insult.

My breathing doesn’t return to normal until I can no longer hear his retreating footsteps.

Later, after Kayleigh and I have finished serving the food, I sit alone at the end of one of the tables in the Great Hall with my bowl of stew and mashed potato. As usual, everyone is giving me a wide berth.

About halfway through the meal, Isla stands up with a panicked expression.

Her stomach growls so loudly that the chatter in the hall desists.

She releases gas, and her cheeks turn bright red.

A number of the surrounding Wolves, including her friends, roar with laughter. I suppress my smile as I look resolutely in the other direction.

Blake catches my eye from the alpha table and winks before going back to his conversation with Robert.

Isla flees the Great Hall.

***

Later, I sleep better than I have in the days since Callum left. Until a loud sound wakes me. I sit upright in bed.

Outside, men are shouting.

I hurtle to the window.

The sun is rising and the sky is painted crimson. People on horseback thunder down the hill toward the castle. The male at the front wears red tartan.

My heart jumps into my throat.

Callum.

He’s home.

I pull on a dress, then run out of my chambers.

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Chapter Forty

I sit on the edge of Callum’s four-poster bed and wait.

All my life, it seems, I have been waiting for something. Waiting to be dismissed by my father, waiting to be wed to the highest bidder, waiting to be seen. To be heard.

To be used.

To be free.

I have been waiting for Callum, now, for days.

I am tired of waiting.

Since he’s been gone, something wild and ugly has sprouted in my chest and grown thorns.

I knew he would need to leave at some point, but he left without saying goodbye. He kissed me then abandoned me. He left me to the Wolves.

What’s more, he left to retrieve the Wolf King, who will either trade me for the Heart of the Moon in the coming days or realize I’m of no value to him, and execute me. What is to be my fate, now he is here?

It’s always been part of my plan to be sent back to my people. I wanted to make a trade of my own with my father; information on the Wolves, and the Wolf King himself, in exchange for my freedom. I have plenty of that now.

The more time I’ve spent with Callum the harder I’ve realized that will be. I do not want to betray him. In fact, I’d started to wonder whether I wanted to leave him at all.

I wonder now if I have been foolish, and misinterpreted his affections like a naïve princess with a silly crush.

I am envious of the Northlands winds that rattle the window and howl against the stone walls. How good it would feel to unleash that rage with no thought to the consequences.

My muscles tighten when footsteps approach the door. It bursts open, and my breath catches in my throat.

Callum stands in the doorway, and he looks every bit the fierce warrior I feared he was when I first met him.

He is covered in dirt and blood and gore. His shirt is drenched in it and sticks to his muscular torso and chest. There’s mud smeared across his face, and it has dried in his hair, slicking it back from his forehead.

His breathing is fast and agitated, but when he sees me, a broad grin spreads across his face. It is infectious. I have to fight the twitch at the corner of my lip.

“There you are!” he says. “I was worried when you weren’t in your chambers and I found this.”

He lifts up his collar, and the red stone glints in the firelight.

“I . . . where did you find that?”

His forehead furrows. “It was beside your bed.”

I grit my teeth as he shuts the door and places it on the small table by his armchair. Isla must have slipped into my chambers when I came down here.

He turns and looks at me, his brow creasing. “Is something the matter?”

I let out a laugh—sharp like splintered glass—and his frown deepens.

“You’ve been gone for days, Callum, and you’re truly going to ask me that? Have you forgotten I am the princess of your enemy kingdom? That our people are at war? That your people despise me?”

That you left me alone after the moment we shared.

His eyes sharpen. “Did something happen while I was away?”

“Does it matter? You still left!”

His expression softens beneath the grime. He steps toward me and when I tense, he halts. He sighs, rocking back on his heels and leaning back against the table.

“I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t want to go. We got word that the situation had worsened not long after. . . after I left your chambers. The king could have died. I had to leave straightaway. I had no choice.”

I swallow. “There’s always a choice.”

“Not always. Not in this.”

“You chose not to say goodbye.”

He runs a hand over the back of his neck and winces. I note how his shoulders are slumped and he’s using the table to support himself.

Is he hurt? Has he slept? Is that blood his? Worry threads through my anger. I can’t back down, though. Not until I’ve had my say.

He meets my eyes, and there’s a plea within them.

“I’m sorry. If there was another choice, I would have taken it.” He shakes his head. “Did you at least get my note?”

“Your note?”

“Aye. I left it with—” His gaze drops to the black collar around my neck and his eyes narrow. “What’s that?” His voice is dangerously low.

I have never seen him stand so still. Irritation flares inside me. How can he be jealous when he left me to fend for myself?

“You know what it is,” I say.

He swallows. “Why are you wearing it?”

“Because you left me alone, and Isla—”

“Did he hurt you?” His voice is rough.

“No. He protected me.”

Callum’s eyes flash with emotion. I cannot tell whether it’s anger or hurt. “Blake doesn’t protect anyone. Not without a price.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that he’s not as bad as you make him out to be?”

“He is every bit as bad as I make him out to be! And I leave for a few days, and I come back, and you’re wearing his collar?”

“I had no choice.”

“I thought you said there was always a choice. And what? You chose him?” His voice is dark, and his breathing shallow. “Did he touch you?”

Rage jolts through my body, and I straighten. “How dare you ask me that.”

“Did he?”

I jump to my feet. “You left me, Callum!”

“Take it off.” The command in his tone makes my muscles tighten.

I step toward him. The scent of the outdoors and battle clings to him; wet earth and steel and mountains. “I am not one of your pack, and you have no right to order me around.”

He closes the space between us. I’m not sure if the heat that stokes me is coming from him, or whether it’s burning inside me, but my breathing is fast and my cheeks flame.

I’m angry. So angry. There is a wilder emotion inside me too. And it wants release.

His eyes narrow. “Take. It. Off.”

He has a wolf inside him.

And it want to provoke it.

“No,” I say.

He crashes to his knees and cries out. The unlit candle sitting on his small table falls onto its side, and the floorboards splinter beneath the strain of catching him.

“Callum!”

He grabs his shoulder. “Fuck.”

All the heat drains out of me, and I drop to floor in front of him. “You’re hurt.”

“I got shot. Silver. Thought I’d got all the bullet out.” He releases a soft, pained laugh. “Obviously not.”

I lift his chin. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.” He shrugs me away. “Don’t worry yourself, Princess. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He lets me undo the buttons of his damp shirt, and I push it off his shoulders to reveal his strong, muscular chest.

My breath hitches at the sight of him.

He’s dripping with sweat, and it highlights the ridges of his torso, and his large biceps.

He was shirtless the first time we met, but then, the sheer size of him was threatening. Now, a completely different feeling stirs inside me.

Until my gaze moves to his shoulder.

The veins spreading from his bullet wound are black. It’s not healing, and I catch the scent of something herbal among the blood. Something that makes my stomach turn.

“It’ll be fine.” Callum’s eyelids are drooping. “I’ve been shot with silver before. My body will push it out, eventually. It’s just. . .” He takes a deep, wheezing breath. “Just a wee bit painful in the meantime.”

“Callum.” I try to sound gentle, but my heart is pounding. “The bullet had wolfsbane on it. You’re not going to heal on your own. I need to go and get—”

“No,” he growls.

“He has the antidote.”

Callum’s eyes blaze. “I’d rather die than have him in here.”

“No you wouldn’t, you stubborn wolf!”

I stand up, and he grabs my ankle.

“No.”

He’s so weak that when I jerk away, he has to slam his hand against the ground to stop himself from toppling over.

His chambers spin around me, and fear tightens around my heart.

I shake my head. “I won’t let you die.”

He looks up at me, pale and drenched in blood and sweat. There’s a plea in his eyes. Don’t do this.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him. “I need to get him.”

“Rory!” he roars after me.

I bolt out of his room, and run as fast as I can toward Blake’s chambers.

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