Текст книги "The wolf king"

Автор книги: Lauren Palphreyman

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-One

It could be my imagination, but Callum looks a little uncomfortable.

Blake, however, is grinning. He has one ankle on his knee. Again, he reminds me of a cat. This time, a cat who has found a couple of mice to play with.

Whatever this condition is, it cannot be good for me.

“You know, I didn’t take you for someone who would engage in such an archaic tradition, Callum,” says Blake.

“Aye, well, it’ll keep her safe until we can get the Heart of the Moon.”

“The Heart of the Moon. Yes. That’s the reason.” Blake’s eyes glint in the firelight.

“What condition?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you when we get upstairs.” Callum gets up. “Come on, it’s been a long night. You must be tired.”

“You really should challenge him for the title, you know,” says Blake.

Callum turns back around. “Who?” His tone is weighted.

“Rob, of course.” Blake picks up his wine glass. “Who else?”

“That would cause trouble, and you know it.”

“You’re the rightful second in command. They’re going to think you’re weak.”

“Only weak men feel the need to assert their dominance.”

“For once, you and I agree on something,” says Blake. “Others do not. You need to play the game sometimes, Callum.”

“And you should take a break from the game every once in a while, Blake. There are more important things than power.”

Blake’s gaze falls onto me for a moment, before a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Not for me,” he says.

***

My eyelids are heavy when Callum and I stop on a small, torchlit landing in the castle’s turret.

My breath mists in front of my face, but the labored climb has me hot and bothered. I’m not used to so much exercise. Callum hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“You said there was a condition,” I say, suppressing a yawn.

“Aye.” Callum pushes open a small wooden door. “It can wait until morning.”

He nudges me inside.

The room is small and filled with books. There are piles of them on a writing desk and they fill the rickety shelf beside it. There are even some stacked on the floorboards in one corner.

Against the wall, there’s a single bed.

There’s a scent in the air that seems familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Can Blake truly deal with Magnus?” I ask.

My insides twist with hate when I think of the wolf who burst into my bedchambers back in the Borderlands. He threatened me. Twice.

I’d have thought Callum would be better equipped to deal with a male like that. While Callum has been gentle with me, I saw him in the fighting ring. I know he would be a terrifying opponent.

Blake emitted a dark undercurrent of violence too, but it seemed more calculated and sharp—like a blade rather than a hammer.

“Blake has leverage on a lot of the Wolves here.” Callum’s eyes harden on the candle that flickers on the bedside table, as though it displeases him, before he continues. “He’s got something on Magnus. I don’t know what, but if anyone can keep him in check without me murdering him and losing his clan’s support, it’s Blake.”

When Callum opens the wardrobe, a low growl rumbles in his chest. It’s full of clothes.

“The prick knew I’d agree to you staying here,” he says. “He’s had someone prepare the room.”

He pulls out a white nightdress and hands it to me. It looks like it’s exactly my size.

“It’s clean,” he says.

“Oh. Thank you.”

I shift from one foot to another and Callum chews the inside of his cheek. For the first time since I met him, he seems at a loss for what to do next.

There’s a strange energy in the air.

“Um. . . You can go now,” I say.

His eyes widen. A slow grin spreads across his face, lightening his features.

“What?” I ask, folding my arms.

“I’ve not been dismissed since I was a wee lad pestering my parents,” he says. He inclines his head.

He walks to the door, but lingers in the doorway.

“I’ll come for you in the morning. And we’ll talk about my condition for having your own room. If you agree, I’ll show you around the grounds.”

“And if I don’t?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ll be sharing a room with me for the rest of your time here.”

Something in his expression changes, and I wonder if he can hear the quickening of my pulse.

“Good night, Princess,” he says, his voice a little rough.

He walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.

The thought of being pulled onto his lap, his hard thighs beneath mine, flashes through my mind. I push it away.

“Good night,” I reply quietly.

Though he doesn’t respond, I am sure that with his wolf hearing, he heard me.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

I have been alone since my mother died.

The loneliness has always spread through my body like rot. Even though I am continuously surrounded by people, it has lurked beneath my skin and threatened to consume me.

This morning, when I wake up alone, it feels different.

It’s an alone where I can hear my own thoughts; they mingle with the gentle patter of rain against the thin window.

For once, I don’t have to perform to anyone, because there are no ladies-in-waiting ushering me out of bed. Instead, I can lie bundled up in the soft quilt in a room filled with intriguing piles of books and sweet-scented herbs.

This morning, I’m not the king’s daughter, or Sebastian’s wife, or a princess with duties.

I am just. . . me.

A thrill surges through my body.

There are so many things I should be worrying about—the Wolves, the inevitability of Sebastian’s army finding me, Blake telling the acting Wolf King who I am.

And Callum.

Callum, and whatever condition he wants me to agree to in order for me to keep my own room.

Callum is so unlike anyone I have met before. He is lacking in decorum, and he continually behaves in a manner I am not used to. He teases me, and asks me questions, and touches me.

And the worst thing is, I’m not sure I dislike it.

Right now, I feel at peace. Content.

Free.

I lie here for around twenty minutes, savoring the feeling.

My eyes catch on the wardrobe. I was too tired to investigate last night, but I’m curious about what clothes are in there.

Today, I intend to learn as much about the Wolves as I can, and I’m hoping I’ll have a little more control over how I present myself than I did yesterday.

I stretch, my limbs aching from being on horseback for two days. I limp across the room and throw open the wardrobe.

I’m pleasantly surprised by what I see.

There is an array of dresses waiting for me. They’re all made from dark materials—black, greys, and navy blues. I skim my fingers along them, noting most are simple enough for me to put on without assistance, and all are well made.

There’s an elegant black dress in particular that catches my eye—made with silk and intricate lace. It emits power. I run my fingers over it.

It is not appropriate for today, though. I want to fit in, not draw attention.

I notice a couple of pairs of breeches in here, too.

In the Southlands, women do not dress in such garments. My father would probably disown me if he saw me wearing clothes like these.

Perhaps I’ll try them another day.

Instead, I select a simple brown dress that should make me look non-threatening, and put it on.

I’m pulling my fingers through my hair when someone taps against the door.

My breath hitches because I know who it will be.

“Can I come in, Princess?” asks Callum.

When I open the door, he’s wearing the same clothes as last night. A couple of the top buttons of his cream linen shirt are undone, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, and I wonder if he slept.

His eyes are still bright, though.

“You look nice,” he says.

Compliments seem to come so easily to him, and they seem sincere. It is unnerving.

I walk toward the window so that he can’t see my smile. “Thank you.”

The sky is full of grey clouds, and rain ricochets off the loch. The scenery, and the weather, is so different to the sun-drenched city beyond the Southlands palace walls.

Callum comes to stand behind me and his scorching body heat burns into my back.

“Miserable day, isn’t it?” he says. “It rains a lot up here. I don’t suppose you’re used to such weather down in the south?”

“Have you ever been? To the south? Beyond the Boderlands, I mean.”

“Everything’s south when you’re from Highfell.” I hear the smile in his voice. “Aye, I visited King’s City once. About. . . hm. . . must have been five years ago.”

“To cause trouble, I presume?”

He laughs. “No. I was looking for someone. I thought she might be there.”

A strange feeling surges through my body. “You were looking for a lover?”

“A lover? No.” He sighs. “I was looking for my mother.”

I glance up at him. He’s staring out of the window, a pensive look on his face. Something softens inside me.

“Why would she be in the Southlands?”

He chews his bottom lip. “She went missing one night. My father thought she was taken by humans. She was presumed dead. But. . .” He shakes his head. “I never bought it. I think she ran away.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Why would she do that?”

Callum swallows. “My father was. . . he was a difficult man.”

“Oh,” I say, softly. “Did you find her?”

He offers me a sad smile. “No.”

A long silence stretches between us as we both stare out of the window. The trees beyond the loch whisper in the breeze, and there are no people in sight.

Again, peace washes over me.

Until Callum sighs.

“So, about this condition I have for you staying in here. . .” he says.

I turn to face him, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “What is it?”

He pulls a small black box from the pocket of his kilt. He stares at it for a moment. Then he exhales, before passing it to me.

I frown as I open it.

Inside, there’s a red tartan ribbon with a crimson jewel attached to the front.

“What is this?” I ask.

“It’s. . . erm . . . a necklace.” Callum rubs the back of his neck.

I take it out of the box. The length is short.

This is not a necklace. It’s a collar.

He has the good grace to look a little sheepish.

“It’s an old tradition.” Callum clears his throat “When an alpha is in an. . . intimate relationship. . . they can ask their partner to wear one of these. It signals to the rest of the pack that they’re spoken for.”

He swallows, and his jawline hardens. His eyes smolder with intensity.

“If you wear this, it signals that you’re mine.”

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Chapter Twenty-Three

The red strip of material hangs from my fingertips, and my jaw sets. Indignation rises within me. He cannot possibly expect me to put this on. It is degrading.

“It’s a collar,” I say.

“Don’t think of it that way.”

I drop it back into the box and thrust it back at Callum. “I won’t wear it.”

“It’s not much different than a wedding band—”

“And you’ll see I am not wearing one of those, either.”

“You would have worn one, if I’d left you at the Borderlands.”

“So that is my choice? To belong to Sebastian, or to belong to you?”

Callum’s jaw tightens. “Surely I’m the better choice. Aye?”

My gaze dips down to his crumpled shirt, straining over tensed muscles, then back up to his eyes. They burn into mine and my heart beats a little faster.

The first time I saw Callum, I thought him a monster. He looked like one in that fighting ring, his broad chest bare, his torso as hard as rock.

Yet the true monster that night was sitting beside me. He threatened to take me like a common mutt on our wedding night. He said he’d throw me into the kennels after for Callum to use in the same way.

The thought filled me with fear. But I know now Callum would never have hurt me in that way.

Even though he is a powerful enemy of my people, I cannot deny the truth.

He is the better choice.

I swallow. “That is not the point.”

“No,” says Callum, raising his eyebrows. “The point is, it’ll keep you safe. No one will touch you if they know that you’re mine.”

“People will already know you brought me here. Wearing this is needless.”

“No, Princess, it’s not.” He shakes his head. “Telling people. . . It’s not the same. We may not have noblemen and ladies like you have in the south. But we have rules, and laws, and traditions. Like, if I were to challenge Rob and win, I would take his clan and title.” He nods at the item in my hand. “Wear this, and you won’t be harmed. It’s wolf law. Unbreakable. Inevitable. Just as we are bound to the Moon and must shift when she touches us.”

I note how the red jewel refracts the morning light.

“Would you wear one of these?” I ask.

“Course I wouldn’t. It’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because. . . Because I’m an alpha!”

“And I’m a princess!”

He groans and rubs his face. “You’re impossible. That’s what you are.”

“And you aren’t?”

He folds his big arms across his chest, and I fold mine, taking a step toward him.

“I agreed to come here in exchange for my freedom,” I say. “Belonging to you while I’m here, then being shipped off back to Sebastian when you’re done with me, is hardly freedom, is it? That was our deal. That was my condition.”

A strangled noise escapes his lips. “Don’t you see? This gives you your freedom! You can stay in this room, you can wander around the castle by yourself if you wish.” He points at the window. “You can even go for walks outside. No one will touch you. You’ll be free.”

He steps forward, so that we’re only inches apart, and his scent envelopes me.

“The full moon is getting closer, Princess. We’ve got a wolf inside of us. All of us.” He puts a hand on his chest. “It affects us as it gets closer. It brings out certain. . . instincts. You’re not safe. Not unless you wear this. Not unless people think you’re mine.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s demeaning. I’m not doing it.”

Callum closes his eyes. “Ghealach, give my strength.”

He walks past me, drops the small box on the bed, then walks to the door.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I’m going to get some breakfast. You can stay here and think about your choices. Wear that, or have me at your side twenty-four seven.” He leans in the doorway, and the corner of his lip quirks. “Unless that’s what you want, Princess?”

“No!” I march toward him. “I’m hungry. I’m coming too.”

He laughs, darkly. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

I put my hand on his stomach in an attempt to push him away, then I still.

His torso is solid, and I can feel the ridges of his muscles through his linen shirt. His body heat sears my fingertips.

I have never touched a man like this before.

My gaze flits up to his. The humor has gone from his eyes—and just for a second, before he blinks a couple of times—I think I see his irises change shape.

I pull away as if I have been burned, and take a big step back.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble—then hate myself for apologizing. Hasn’t he manhandled me enough times since we met?

He looks at me curiously, his expression softening.

“You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Princess.” He raises an eyebrow. “Now, if you want to apologize for being as stubborn as an ox. . . well, that’s a different matter.” He looks at the small box on the bed. “Think about it. I’ll be back shortly when you’ve considered your options.”

And with that, he turns and leaves me alone.

I sigh and go and sit on the bed.

I pick up the small box, and look at the offending item inside once more.

In my lifetime, I have done many things I have not wanted to do to ensure my survival. I didn’t want to marry Sebastian to help my father secure the north, but I was planning to do it regardless. Because I feared what would happen to me if I didn’t.

Putting this on would be the wise thing to do. If Callum is telling the truth, it would allow me to freely walk around the castle and learn about the Wolves. Who else in the Southlands would ever have such an opportunity?

On the other hand, it is degrading. Even if I cast aside what my father would think, I have to consider my future. My people would never respect me if I put this on.

What’s more, Callum got frustrated with me when I refused. I don’t know why, but that satisfied me. He is so big and strong and in control—it makes me wonder what will happen if he loses it. What will happen if I provoke the wolf behind the man?

I drop the box back down onto the mattress beside me. If anything, I’d like to see what Callum does if I offer a little resistance. He deserves it for not bringing me any breakfast.

My stomach grumbles as I continue my exploration of my new chambers.

There are books everywhere. I pick out A Healer’s Encyclopedia, A Collection of Diseases and Ailments, and A Compendium of Poisons from among the titles. One dusty tome in particular catches my eye. Experiments: Book One is handwritten in an almost illegible scrawl across the thick spine.

I open it on a random page.

Wolves Healing Times is written in blotchy letters across the top of the parchment.

Tool: Iron knife. Insertion made along Subject Thirteen’s lower torso, one inch deep. Healing time approximately three minutes, significantly faster than when cut with silver. If the blade was poisoned, would the substance linger beneath the skin? Test theory tomorrow.

Goddess! Did the former resident of these chambers write this book? I shudder, yet cannot help but flick to another page.

If I remove a wolf’s organs, will they grow back? is written along the top of the parchment.

Someone knocks on the door, and I look up, startled, dropping the macabre book on my mattress. It lands with a thud, and releases a cloud of dust.

Has Callum realized he was harsh to leave me alone without breakfast? Or is it someone else?

I tiptoe to the door. “Who is it?”

“Can I come in?” The voice is female, and familiar.

Before I respond, Fiona walks into the room, bringing the earthy scent of horses with her. She’s carrying a tray that has a teapot and chipped cup, a bowl of steaming porridge, and a small pot of honey atop it.

“On Callum’s orders.” She brushes aside a stack of papers and sets the tray down on the writing desk. “I’m also under strict orders that I’m not—under any circumstances—to tell you Callum was the one who told me to bring it up to you.”

She grins over her shoulder, her brown eyes glinting.

“So why did you tell me?” I ask.

“Because he’s a good man. And I don’t see the point in hiding that.”

She turns and leans back against the desk, her gaze narrowing on the small box on my bed. From her expression, I wonder if she disapproves of it as much as I do.

“He told me who you are, and why he brought you here,” she says. “He also said you were being difficult.”

I fold my arms. “Well, what does he expect?”

“He expects you to treat him as your alpha, and to do everything he says. And he doesn’t know what to do with you, now he’s found out you won’t.”

“He doesn’t like people saying no to him, does he?”

“Oh, I think he does, actually. He’s not used to it.” She nods at the collar. “You don’t want to wear it? Why?”

I assess her, wondering whether to tell her the truth. Back home, the ladies who would keep me company at balls, or on walks in the grounds, would go along with anything I said—wanting desperately to gain my favor and the favor of the king.

I get the impression that, for once, I can have a candid conversation. Perhaps she’ll even understand.

“My whole life, I have been treated like a prize or a possession. I thought. . .” I sigh. “I don’t know. I thought it might be different here. Like, maybe I could be something, or someone, else. If I wear that thing, I just belong to another man. It’s the same as back home.”

She nods. “Aye. I get that. You know, it’s freer up here for females than it is in the Southlands. We can fight, and work in the stables, and we have a say in the clan politics. But you’ll have noticed that there were no females sitting at that alpha table in the Great Hall last night. And there are certain old wolf traditions that, in my opinion, should be wiped out.” She nods at the small box. “If it makes you feel any better, Callum doesn’t like it as a tradition, either. And wearing it will give you the freedom to go about the castle without fear.” She bites her bottom lip and looks like she’s deciding whether or not to tell me something. “Honestly, I’m surprised he decided to give it to you. The cost is as high for him as it is for you.”

My eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps he’ll explain it to you sometime.” She pushes off from the desk and walks back to the door. “You should wear it though. The full moon is coming and you’re a human.” Her eyes darken in the morning light. “You’ll need all the protection you can get when she rises.”

Perhaps she is right, but I cannot bring myself to put on the collar.

***

The next few days pass by in a similar manner.

I wake up aching and sore—my muscles stiff from the journey here. Callum visits in the morning. Fiona brings me porridge and berries and fresh tea at breakfast time. And a lady-in-waiting visits in the evening to bring me potted pies, and cuts of meat and bread.

When I am alone, I explore my small bedchambers while the rain patters against the window.

I read more of that horrible book of experiments, flicking through pages titled The effects of wolfsbane on a wolf’s ability to heal, The order in which a wolf’s bones break when they shift, and Provoking the inner wolf: A half-wolf’s response to emotional trauma.

I am certain I do not want to meet the person who stayed in this room before me.

I find myself looking forward to Callum’s visits—where he inappropriately sits on my bed, or stands by the window, and shares snippets of his life with me.

He tells me about his clan’s castle, which is so far north that it barely sees sunlight, about hunting in the forests as he was growing up, and about breaking his leg when he was a boy—climbing down into Glen Ghealach to find an old temple dedicated to the Elderwolf.

Despite his frustration with me that first morning, he doesn’t push too hard about the collar.

“You know, some would think it an honor to wear,” he tells me one morning.

“Like who? Isla?” I cross my arms. She practically swooned over him when we first arrived at the castle. I bet she would love to “belong” to him.

A slow grin spreads across Callum’s face at that. “Aye. Like Isla.”

I scowl and tell him to leave.

“But I’d prefer it if you wore it, Princess.”

A traitorous smile crosses my lips that I quickly hide from him.

I know I should just end this stupid morning ritual—yet I cannot quite bring myself to do it. The days are peaceful, and a part of my soul I didn’t even know was broken feels as if it is slowly starting to heal.

Strangely, Callum seems to be enjoying our newfound routine as much as I am. Though he appears increasingly disheveled each morning.

A small seed of guilt begins to sprout in my chest.

Is he not sleeping because of me? Has he been standing guard at night?

It is a conversation with Fiona, on the third night when she brings up my dinner, that finally seals my fate.

“Have you had word of the others?” I ask her, cutting into a piece of venison pie as I sit at the desk. “The ones who escaped Sebastian’s castle with us?”

She’s lying on my bed, her hands clasped behind her head, her dirty boots on my bedspread.

I have never had a friend before. My days were full of false smile and fake laughs. Everyone was too afraid of my father to say anything that wasn’t superficial. A small part of me wonders if it could be different with Fiona, but I push the thought away. Why would she want to be friends with the daughter of an enemy king?

“No,” she says. “We think something’s happened to them. Callum’s sent a party out to find them. He wants to go too, he’s worried about the lad—”

“Ryan?”

“Aye. But. . . well. . .”

I put down my fork, frowning. “Why won’t he go?”

She turns her head and arches her eyebrow pointedly.

“Oh,” I say quietly, my appetite waning. “Because of me.”

***

The next morning, I wake up early and watch the sun rise over the loch.

When I’m finally traded back to my people, I’m determined to be of more value to my father than a prize to be given to Sebastian. If I can prove that, I will be free on my own terms. And if wearing the collar will allow me to do that, I should do so.

It will allow me to explore this castle, and find out its secrets. I’m doing this for me, not for Callum.

Before I can think too much about it, I open the box, pick up the collar, and fasten it around my neck.

It’s restrictive—a reminder that I am allowing myself to belong to yet another man. Or at least for it to look that way. The jewel is cool against my skin, and I feel its weight—heavy and prominent—just as I’m sure I will feel the weight of this choice in the days to come.

Feeling a little light-headed, I sit down on the edge of the mattress, and clasp my hands together.

It’s not long before there’s a heavy knock at the door. My heart jumps into my throat as I stand up.

“Come in,” I say.

When Callum enters, his gaze instantly dips to my neck. His jaw tightens.

“If I wear this, I can keep my own room and wander, unsupervised, through the castle,” I say.

He runs a hand over his mouth. “Aye.” His voice is a little rough.

“Okay,” I say.

He sucks in a deep breath. “Okay. But if you wear that in public, there are things that will be expected of you. Things that will reflect badly on me, if you take no heed of them.” His eyes are serious—verging on stern—as they bore into mine. “So, we need to go over some ground rules.”

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