The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance
The Wolf King: Chapter 5

Twigs and stones dig into the soles of my feet as we run into the copse of trees that lead to the Western Gate.

The wind whips my hair into my face, and rain is falling between the branches, seeping through the thin material of my nightgown. The sound of howling and the clash of steel follow us, coming from the outdoor kennels somewhere behind us. The night is thick with the woody scent of fire.

I should be alarmed. Yet all my senses are trained on the alpha’s hand, clasped around mine. I feel the ungodly strength in his fingers, and the callouses that make his hand so very different to my mother’s, the only hand I have ever clasped before this one.

Heat seems to spread from the place where our skin touches and it travels up my arm.

I took his hand willingly. I don’t know what that means, but he will not let go. I am certain of it. He let me make my choice, but now it is made, I have a feeling there is no going back.

A sweet burst of panic surges through me. Am I really going to do this?

The alpha turns and swings me off me feet and into his arms. I yelp, and reflexively hook my arms around his neck. His eyes latch onto mine—bright even in the darkness.

“No time for second thoughts, now, Princess,” he says, rain running over his full lips.

“Put me down, you brute!”

“No.”

He continues onward, through the nursery of ash trees.

Over his shoulder, thick smoke curls into the moonlight from the courtyard. More howls fill the night. And it hits me. This is not an escape attempt. This is a siege.

“You planned this,” I say under my breath.

“Aye.”

The blood in my veins turns to ice.

I may not want to marry Sebastian, but these are my people being attacked by Wolves. And I am willingly leaving with one of them. And he is a killer. They all are.

“Put me down!”

“You don’t want me to do that.”

The small gem of truth in what he says makes my insides twist. “You have no idea what I want.”

“What do you want?”

A strange jolt of adrenaline—of something—floods my system. I don’t have an answer. No one has ever asked me that before. And why should they? It doesn’t matter what I want. Statues do not want, or feel, or need.

The alpha’s eyebrows dip in question, or confusion.

“I want. . . I want you to put me down.”

His gaze moves to the Western Gate that looms ahead, and the corner of his lip tugs up. “No you don’t.”

“You said I had a choice.” Raindrops roll into my mouth.

“Aye. And you made it. And as you can’t seem to tell me truthfully what it is that you want right now, I will take that as your final decision.”

The Western Gate is open—though it should not be—and a group of men in kilts wait on horses in the shadow of the dark whispering trees beyond. They glance in our direction, and the alpha’s arms tighten around me as he stalks toward them.

I open my mouth.

“I’m not leaving you, Princess. And that’s the end of the matter.” There’s a dark finality to his tone. This is a man who is used to having the last word.

“You’re a monster,” I mutter—though I don’t quite mean it. He’s a killer, maybe. But I’m not sure he’s a monster.

“Aye,” he says just as half-heartedly. “So you’d better do as you’re told.”

A hot flash of fury ignites inside me. I want to tear into this man—this wolf—who thinks he can pick me up whenever he pleases. I want to pummel my fists against his chest and shriek until my throat is raw.

The force of this feeling—so unfamiliar—scares me into keeping it at bay. I push it into the cage in my mind, and lock it away.

When we clear the gate, Magnus is waiting atop a horse and my blood cools.

“Got yourself a wee snack for the road?” he says.

“She’s under my protection.” The alpha stalks past him toward a grey mare near the front of the group. “Easy there, Dawn,” he says when the horse whinnies.

Everyone is staring at me, and I must look bedraggled and pathetic.

“Put me down!” I say through gritted teeth.

The alpha slides me to the ground. My nightdress is turning translucent in the rain, and I cross my arms over my chest. His expression softens and he throws the fur cloak over my shoulders, pulling it in around my collarbone.

“Can you ride, Princess?” he asks.

I can. My mother taught me when I was a child. Being on horseback made me feel free. Perhaps that is why my father forbade me to ride after her death.

Keeping this information to myself may be helpful if I need to escape. It is best, I have found, to let people underestimate me.

So, I shake my head.

He lifts me onto the beast. A couple of the men stare at me, but when he growls, they make themselves busy by adjusting their packs, or checking their weapons.

When I’m settled, the alpha’s gaze darts around the shadowy group of eight and his brow creases.

“Where’s Ryan?”

I scan the shadowy male faces and see the boy with the dislocated arm isn’t here.

“The wee lad?” A burly man with red hair and a thick beard shakes his head. “Not seen him.”

“Fuck’s sake!” the alpha curses.

For the first time tonight, he looks worried. He darts a look over his shoulder at the Western Gate, then up at me. He flexes his fingers by his sides.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

A moment later, the boy half runs, half stumbles through the gate and some of the tension in the alpha’s expression softens.

Ryan’s coppery hair is plastered to his forehead and he’s clasping the hand of a brunette girl around his age. She’s wearing the uniform of the kitchen maids, and has an angry scar across her cheek.

My eyes narrow in distaste at the brand on her neck—one of Sebastian’s ways of identifying the Wolves he has working for him in the castle.

“Ah, seeing to matters of the heart, I see,” says the red-haired guy.

“Or cock,” says another, with an arched eyebrow.

A few of the men chuckle.

“Shut up, dickhead,” snarls Ryan, glaring up at him. It does not escape my notice that he is no longer wearing the sling. Wolves really do heal quickly, then.

“Oi!” says the alpha, slapping the back of his head. “Get on your horse, and stop pissing about.” His tone is stern, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

In a swift movement, he mounts the horse behind me. The heat of his body seeps through the thick furs I am wearing and makes my skin hum. He reaches for the reins, caging me within his arms.

“Ready, Princess?” His voice is a rough breath on my cheek, and I shiver.

The bare branches of the trees ahead reach for one another over the overgrown road like forlorn lovers. To my right, the mountains are jagged and wild and alive—so unlike the flat terrain of the south that submits to the feet that tread upon it.

The alpha asked me what I wanted and I couldn’t answer.

Now, a word beats fast with my pulse.

Freedom.

I want to be free from my fate.

If I do this—if I can gather intelligence that will help my father win his war—I may be able to free myself from Sebastian.

“Yes,” I say, and some of the tension loosens in my chest.

“Let’s go,” says the alpha.

The thunder of hooves competes with my heartbeat as we ride into the forest.

The man with the red hair appears beside us. His eyes glint with amusement, even in the darkness, as he raises an eyebrow at the alpha.

“Don’t mean to overstep,” he says. “But who’s the lass?”