The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance
The Wolf King: Chapter 50

We ride for hours.

The night is pitch-black and I cannot see beyond a few inches in front of my face.

At one point, I hear water lapping the pebbled shore of a loch. At another, wind stirs the branches of the trees and I can smell fern and damp earth. Dark shapes loom around us.

All the while, Callum is silent behind me.

His chest is hard against my back, and his thighs are tense as they brush against mine.

I wonder if he feels betrayed by his brother, or whether he feels as if he is betraying his people by taking me away.

Or perhaps it is neither. Perhaps he is angry I danced with Blake.

When Callum took me from the dancefloor, his kiss was hard and dominant. It was as if he was staking his claim. Heat stirs inside me at the memory of his mouth against mine, despite how unnecessary and inappropriate it was to do such a thing in front of so many people.

He must realize he has nothing to worry about as far as Blake is concerned. I do not trust that male in the slightest.

“Are you okay?” I ask. The wind is violent, and my voice is barely audible over the sound of the rustling trees.

“Those scars on your back,” he says softly, surprising me, “how did you get them?”

Memories flood my mind—the stained-glass windows of the Church of Light and Sun, months of sickness and grief, the High Priest and his crop.

I swallow. “It was a long time ago.”

A rough sound vibrates in Callum’s chest. “Was it your father?”

I turn myself to stone. A statue. Something that cannot feel pain.

“If you must know, I was sick, like my mother. The potions they gave me didn’t help. The High Priest said if he. . . cleansed me of my sin, the Goddess would spare me,” I say hurriedly. “And she did.”

His body stills behind me. I’m not sure he’s breathing. “The High Priest beat you?”

“It. . . it was only a few times—”

“Only?!” I flinch at the loudness of Callum’s voice.

“Yes. Only,” I snap. I don’t want his anger. It stirs something ugly inside me that I cannot face. “Now drop it.”

My breathing is fast, and so is his.

Until, finally, I exhale—letting the anger plume in front of my face with my breath. I touch his wrist where it rests in my lap.

“I do not wish to speak of it. Okay?”

A sound rumbles through his chest—a low growl he is clearly trying to suppress. “No one will ever touch you again.”

With the heat and strength of his body cocooning me, I almost believe him.

But Sebastian is riding North to get me, the Wolves are surely on our tail, and Blake’s warning rings in my ears: the game is far from over.

***

We ride throughout the night.

As the sun rises, the valley around us is bathed in orange light. With it, the whisky-induced fuzziness in my head is replaced by monotonous thumping. Every jolt of the horse rattles my brain. The sound of the birds chirping is shrill and irritating. And my mouth tastes horrible.

“How much further is it?” I say. “We’ve been riding for hours.”

He chuckles. “Sore head, Princess?”

“That is neither here nor there.”

“Highfell is a week’s ride away. We’re—”

“A week!”

“Aye.” Amusement laces Callum’s tone. “A week. The Northern Pass is the quickest route to my castle, but also the most well known. That’s the route James’ll use to send his Wolves after us—so we’re taking a slight detour. When they don’t replace us in a few days, he’ll call them off, and they’ll go back to fighting the Southlands armies.”

I frown. “That doesn’t sound sensible.”

My mouth is dry and I swallow.

“No?” As if sensing my thirst, Callum reaches down into one of the saddlebags and passes me a flask. I snatch it from him, and greedily gulp it down. “And why is that?”

“James’s men will get to Highfell before us.” I take another sip of water, savoring the freshness that travels down my throat. “They’ll be waiting for us when we arrive and we’ll be captured.”

“If James truly wanted to capture us, then aye, that would be a good plan,” says Callum. “But he doesn’t care about the Heart of the Moon. Not enough. Getting hold of that thing was always a long shot. He won’t want to make an enemy out of me.”

He shifts behind me, running his thumb absently over my thigh.

“No. He won’t bother. He’ll pretend to have you, lure Sebastian out, and put his efforts into killing him. And good riddance to him, too. I only wish I could have been the one to do it.”

Doubt seeps through me as I pass the flask back. “Are you sure? You seem to be putting a lot of trust in a male who just betrayed you.”

Callum takes a sip, then puts the water back in the pack.

“Aye. I know my brother. If we can stay out of his reach for the next couple of days, we can put all of this behind us. I’m certain of it.” He squeezes my leg. “That means we don’t stop to rest until nightfall.”

He chuckles as I groan.

***

It is dark when we finally stop on the shore of a great dark loch.

I sit in front of the fire Callum lit before he led the horse to a copse of trees.

My headache has eased, and though my muscles ache and I’m weary from travelling, my soul feels lighter than it has in days.

It’s peaceful here. It seems as though we are the only souls around.

Perhaps I have finally escaped my fate.

When Callum doesn’t return for twenty minutes or so, though, fear starts to gnaw at me. What is he doing? Has someone found him? Has he grown tired of my foul mood and abandoned me?

I’m about to go look for him when he emerges from the trees carrying some hunks of bread and cheese. The pebbles crunch beneath his boots.

Relief floods me, but is quickly replaced by a strange tension as he passes me the food, then sits on a rock on the other side of the flames. Something shifts in the air.

We eat in silence.

It is as if we both realize we are completely alone for the first time since he took me from Sebastian’s castle.

Something has been growing between us since then. Strong, and pervasive, and passionate. Something we both thought was wrong.

Yet the main reason we have not been fully. . . intimate. . . with one another, is not because I wanted to maintain my honor.

It is because Callum believed I was his prisoner.

Surely, he does not feel that way any longer.

He gives me a soft smile. The firelight dances over his strong features. He takes a deep breath, and I think he’s going to say something, but he sighs and takes another bite of bread.

I offer a small smile back, then go back to my food, even though my insides are clenching.

I wish I was not nervous. I wish I could walk over to him and give him what he wants—like those ladies Sebastian would send to the Wolves. Yet I am lost. Overwhelmed. I do not know what to do, nor what he expects from me.

I swallow the last piece of bread, then brush the crumbs off my breeches. I chew my bottom lip, searching for something—anything—to say to break this never-ending silence.

“This is. . . this is a nice. . . loch,” I say, looking at the black water.

“Aye. That it is.”

Silence falls once more, punctuated only by the crackling flames. I take a deep breath, smelling woodsmoke and damp earth.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Aye.”

“Last night, when you. . . when you kissed me. . . were you angry with me?”

“No.” He smiles sheepishly. “I was jealous.”

I fail to suppress the twitch of my lip.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I’m pleased to see my inner turmoil amuses you, Princess.”

“You don’t need to be jealous because I danced with Blake.”

“Aye, I know. It’s just. . . seeing you both. . .” He sighs and shakes his head, running his hand over his mouth.

“What?”

“I don’t know. He looked like a Southlands lord, and you his lady. I didn’t like that. Not one little bit. In the real world. . . you and I. . . I’d never stand a chance with you, would I? But him—”

“This is the real world.”

“You know what I mean.” He shakes his head. “And there you go, smiling again.”

“Sorry.” I bite my lip. “It’s just. . . You’re so strong and confident all the time. I suppose it’s reassuring to know you have irrational thoughts like the rest of us.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “You think that’s irrational?”

“I suppose we would never have been matched by my father. You are from the Northlands. Although if you had worn those awful breeches of yours, and put on a Southlands accent, I’m sure you could have infiltrated the palace. Once we’d met, I would have liked you, I’m certain of it.”

“Oh aye?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps. Though you thought I was a monster when we first met.”

Cold shame spreads through my body. It is hard to believe I could have thought this male, this wolf, was a monster. Perhaps I was a monster, to automatically assume such a thing.

“I know. I’m sorry for that,” I say. “I’ve learned a lot about Wolves since then.”

“Like what?”

“Well. . . I know they like to wander around naked a lot.” Callum laughs. “They’re horribly inappropriate. And they like to sniff people all the time.” He laughs louder. “They’re always fighting and brawling, and they listen to incredibly screechy music despite their very good sense of hearing. And some of them, like humans, are not very pleasant. But some. . . Some are gentle and kind and funny and caring. Some are good men.”

The smile dies from his lips, an intensity crossing his features. The tangle of nerves in my stomach starts to tighten once more.

“And some of them do not know how to behave like gentlemen,” I add, raising my chin.

He laughs, breaking the tense moment. “Aye, that might be true. You know, I’ve learned a lot about princesses these past few weeks, too.”

I give him a hard look. “Like what?”

“They’re very stubborn.” His eyes twinkle as I fold my arms across my chest. “And very fearsome. And very small.” I glare at him and he grins. “They’re a wee bit spoiled.”

“They are not!”

“And intelligent. They can’t handle their whisky. And they pretend to be very chaste and shy, but. . .” He drops his voice to a whisper, as though telling me a secret. “They’re actually very, very demanding.”

My cheeks flame and he laughs, loudly.

“They blush when you say rude things to them. And they’re good, and interesting, and honest, and kind. They hide their emotions, but they feel deeply. Passionately.” His expression becomes serious and my blood heats up. “They care about people more than they will admit. And they’re brave. Braver than any wolf I’ve ever known.”

There’s a tightness in my throat, and I swallow, trying to push it back. I do not know what is wrong with me, it’s just—

“I’ve upset you?” asks Callum, frowning.

The backs of my eyes burn. I sniffle, trying to suppress the feelings that threaten to come. “Some of the things you said were bad.”

“Goddess, I’m sorry, Princess, I—”

“Usually, people say I’m pretty.” My voice is thick.

Callum’s eyebrows raise. “Oh. . . you are. I didn’t mean to offend you by not mentioning—”

“No.” I blink a couple of times. “You don’t understand. That’s usually all they say. And it’s not even me they’re complimenting. It’s a version of me. It’s not real. It’s make-up and dresses and them wanting to get into my father’s good graces.”

I take a deep breath, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand. I feel Callum watching me.

“No one. . . no one has ever tried to know me before.” I take a shuddery breath, tasting the woodsmoke that twists in the darkness. His gaze is so fierce that it is hard to hold it. “Not until you.”

His jaw is hard, his posture still. He says nothing for a moment, then removes his arms from his thighs, and sits back.

“Come here,” he says.

My pulse is fast as I get up and walk toward him. His body heat and scent wash over me as he parts his thighs for me to stand between them.

He takes my hand in both of his. “I do want to know you. I want to know everything about you.”

“I want that, too.”

He runs his thumb over my skin and his touch is gentle. He swallows, hard. “You’re not my prisoner anymore.”

“No.” I do not bother to add that I don’t believe I ever really was. I am ensnared, unable to think properly, unable to speak.

There is need in his eyes. Hunger. His chest moves up and down deeply, his breathing as ragged as mine. I feel as if we are on the edge of a storm that is about to break.

He drags his teeth over his bottom lip.

He stands up, his large frame looming over me.

“Come,” he says, his voice gruff. “I want to show you something.”