Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
I noticed yesterday that Ian and some of the other members of Lochlan’s clan seemed hostile. I want to make sure I can protect myself.
I slide out of bed. Callum stirs beside me, a soft growl scraping against his throat, but he doesn’t wake. The floor is bitingly cold on my bare feet and my legs, and I hurry over to the armoire-quietly opening it to pull on breeches and a tunic. I put on my boots and pad out of the room.
Lowfell Castle is dark and quiet as I navigate the narrow corridors. There are a couple of servants stirring pots in the kitchens when I pass. They must have been brought here from the village to accommodate Lochlan’s clan. I keep my head down, turn down a long corridor, then hurry down the stairs to the infirmary.
I listen to make sure Blake is not inside, then open the door.
The underground room is smaller than the infirmary at Castle Madadh-allaidh. There’s only space for one cot in the center, and a workbench and chair in the corner. The walls feel close together, partially due to the amount of pots and vials that are set upon the shelves. The air is thick with a musty damp scent, and a hint of blood. My stomach turns when I remember that Blake killed Bruce, the former Lowfell alpha, in here.
The log in the stone hearth against the far wall has not yet been lit, and I rub my arms as the cold seeps through my sleeves.
I head to one of the shelves, scanning the labels on the glass jars-
Milk of the Poppy,
Mint,
Moonflower,
Motherwort.
They’re organized alphabetically. I stroll to the other side of the infirmary, and smile when I read
White Poppy,
Willow Bark,
then
Wolfsbane.
The bottle of poison is too high for me to reach. I have drag the wooden chair from the corner, and stand on it, so I can pull it from the shelf.
I step back onto the ground, almost knocking over a jar on the lower shelf, and inspect the bottle. It’s not the herb itself within, but a clear liquid version of the poison. About half has been used already, and I wonder who Blake has been poisoning.
There are some empty vials on the workbench, and I grab one and uncork the bottle. The pungent herby scent stirs bad memories of my mother’s bedchambers, and my throat tightens. My father poisoned her with this. He then poisoned me with it for years after, small doses every day to try and suppress the wolf he suspected lived inside me.
I tip some of the liquid into the empty vial, cork it, and put it in my pocket. I pick up the next vial and start filling it.
“That’s not for me, is it?” Blake’s drawl comes from behind me.
Wolfsbane sloshes onto my hand and I curse under my breath before spinning around. Blake is leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest and an amused look on his face. With his dark hair and clothing, he seems to seep into the infirmary shadows.
His gaze takes in my wet hand. I drop the second vial into my pocket. I won’t dignify his question with a response.
A dimple punctures his cheek. “If you’re looking to murder someone. . .”
I raise my chin and stalk past him. He grabs my wrist, his fingers like a vice around the bone. I spin around, and bring my face close to his.
“Get your hands off me,” I snarl.
His scent floods me. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”
“I know why you claimed me. You did it to provoke Callum.”
“I have no interest in provoking your master, little rabbit.”
I narrow my eyes. “To provoke me, then.”
“Not everything is about you.”
I turn my expression to stone. “No. You’ve made that clear. I’m nothing but a pawn in your little game of kings, to be moved around as you see fit.”
“You could have been a queen. I gave you that choice. You still could be.”
“If I ever become a queen, it will be without your help.” I yank my arm out of his grip.
“You bit me.
“
“I de-escalated a situation.” He steps closer, and invades my space. “We are not ready to fight James yet;
Callum is not ready to fight James yet. You were about to go with him. I felt you.”
I’m forced to look up. “Don’t you dare turn this on me. What else was I supposed to do?”
“You had limited choices, as did I. If you’d gone with him, Callum would have overreacted. I had to play the villain to stop you from playing the hero.”
“Have you considered that you did exactly what James wanted you to do? That James might have come here specifically to cause trouble between you and Callum?”
“Of course I have,” he hisses. “Why do you think I gave you the moonflower? I don’t want that territorial oaf getting worked up about it and acting irrationally. I don’t want other people to think you’re mine, either.”
“Good. Because I’m not yours.”
“Do you think I want you as part of my clan? You’re. . .” He looks me up and down and I feel the weight of his gaze on my body. “A liability.”
My muscles tighten as I lock down my emotions. I can’t believe he has the audacity to call me a liability when he’s plotting against us. “And you’re a manipulative, obnoxious snake.”
His face is close to mine. “At least I’m not a brat.”
My cheeks heat as my blood runs hotter. “A brat?
“
“Yes. A brat.” There’s a gleam in his eye now, as if he was fishing for a reaction and is pleased he has got one. “You’re behaving quite the opposite of how you should when I’ve saved your skin yet again.”
“How, pray tell, should I behave when you sink your teeth into me like a bloodthirsty brute? Should I fall to my knees and thank you?” His smile widens and I have to suppress my snarl. “Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I should have expected no better from a sadist. Is that how you like your females, Blake? Weak-willed and pliant?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Is that how you like your men?” There’s something pointed in his tone, as if he thinks this of Callum. My fingers curl into fists and my nails dig into my palms. His voice drops to a dark caress. “I bet he’s so gentle with you, isn’t he? So afraid you might break.”
My blood is wildfire, and my skin burns. I feel another wave of the fever coming for me, and I can’t push it back. “How dare you speak to me in that way.”
My senses are heightened. The scents of the infirmary overpower me-herbs and blood and Blake. I can see each individual eyelash fanning against his cheek, each fleck of gold in his irises. His heat wraps around me, and through it all, I hear another heartbeat, competing with my own like a war drum in my ear.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Blake’s face. He grabs my chin. “Oh, hello, little wolf,” he says. A wave of panic rises through me as I wonder if my eyes have changed.
I grab his wrist, and though he doesn’t release me, his breathing shallows. A hiss fills the air, and I remember the wolfsbane I spilt on my skin. It’s burning him. Though my heart is beating fast, though there is something unsettled in my chest that longs to break free, I smile.
“And I’m the sadist?” he whispers.
I’m about to retort, when I realize that though his skin is burning, I don’t feel it. My brow furrows, and he tilts his head to one side as if he’s trying to read whatever emotion I’m feeling.
I kick him in the shin. Hard. I yowl as pain flares in the same spot, and my wrist feels as if it’s on fire. Blake makes a low, startled sound in the back of his throat and releases me. Both of us stagger back a step. My senses return to normal. The backs of my eyes sting.
“What was that for?” he asks.