Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
I fight the wave of fear that crashes over me. He could be wrong. He could have been lying.
Worse, he could have been telling the truth. I could be turning into one of the beings my kingdom has taught me to suppress, and to fear, for twenty years of my life. The part of me that the priest tried to whip out of me, that my father tried to poison, that condemned my mother to her fate. It could be real.
I remember something else-straddling Blake while he was in bed, while holding a knife to his throat. I shake my head. I would never do such a thing. A fevered dream, not a memory.
The air is stale in here, and smells like sickness. It reminds me of the mornings I spent on the edge of my mother’s bed, and the weeks I spent ill, locked in my chambers, after her death. Only she didn’t die of illness, like I’d thought. Anger simmers beneath my skin. My mother was murdered by my father.
I clench and unclench my fists, take a couple of deep breaths, and cage the feeling. I’m far away from him, now. Although perhaps, one day, Callum might help me gain justice for what he did.
I rub my face with both hands, then slide my feet out of bed. I was so thirsty when I woke up, I didn’t notice the piece of parchment next to the beaker of water, or the hunk of bread on a small plate, with a butter knife beside it. I pick up the note.
Princess, I’m in a meeting with some of Blake’s clan. I’ll be back shortly. Eat your breakfast. Stay where you are.
I’m ravenous, so I follow one of his commands. My stomach groans as I force down the dry bread. It doesn’t sit well, and I quickly swallow more water before setting the beaker down.
My entire soul protests at his second instruction. I don’t want to stay where I am. The walls feel as if they’re closing in on me. In the back of my mind, I hear myself as a young adolescent, pleading with one of the maids to let me go for a walk in the palace gardens, or join my father and brother for dinner in the Great Hall, or to ride my horse in the grounds like mother used to let me.
I can’t be that girl anymore. I swore I’d be more than that.
I push myself to my feet. My legs are a little shaky, and it feels like there are blades scraping the inside of my skull. I groan and clasp the windowsill to gain my balance. I take a few deep breaths. The room I’m in looks out onto a gloomy courtyard. The sun is blocked by roiling grey clouds, and rain splats against the cobblestones below.
There’s an armoire in the corner of the room, and I make my way toward it, hoping for fresh clothes. Only male clothes hang here, breeches and shirts and a kilt that is the same red tartan as Callum’s. I wonder if Fiona, or someone else from his clan, arrived while I was sleeping to bring him this. I hope so. I hope Fiona is alright in the aftermath of Callum and Blake’s betrayal.
The shirt I’ve been wearing is stiff with sweat. I pull it off, and select another. I’m not sure whose it is until I’ve slipped it on and the scent of dark pine curls around me. My pulse kicks up in protest, even as I fasten the shirt up. I don’t want to wear Blake’s clothes, or smell like him, but it will do for now. I pull on some breeches too, and cinch them in in with a belt because they fall low on my hips.
Someone taps against the door. I freeze.
Callum would have just walked in. I look over my shoulder, at the butter knife sitting beside the plate of bread. I hurry over to pick it up, drop it in my pocket, then warily open the door.
A girl around my age and build, with long wavy dark hair, stands in the corridor. She is striking, with a sharp jaw and plump lips. Her dress is lovely, black with long sleeves made of lace. She looks somewhat familiar, though I don’t think we’ve met.
“Hello?” My voice is hoarse from lack of use and I clear my throat.
“Blake requests your presence in his council chambers.”
I incline my head. I may not appreciate being summoned by the alpha of Lowfell, but at least it saves me from searching an unfamiliar castle for Callum.
“Are you part of his clan?” I ask.
“Aye.”
I smile, hoping to make a friend. “I’m Aurora.”
She brushes a strand of hair over her ear, and I catch a glimpse of a scar or a tattoo on her wrist, which she hurriedly covers with her sleeve. “I know.”
I wait for her to tell me her name. When she merely exhales as if I’m wasting her time, I frown and step back. I should have guessed the people in Blake’s clan would be as obnoxious as their alpha. “One moment, please.”
The only shoes I have are the bloodstained muddy slippers I wore when James gave me back to Sebastian. Wincing, I put them on.
The girl doesn’t speak to me as she leads me through a labyrinth of narrow corridors. The style is not dissimilar to Castle Madadh-allaidh-the castle I was first brought to when Callum took me to the Northlands-but it seems more claustrophobic. Perhaps it’s the lack of tapestries and clan colors that make the dark walls feel closer together. Iron sconces hold torches that flicker as we pass.
“-I won’t risk her.” Callum’s thick accent sounds almost like a growl as we approach a door.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Blake’s tone is smooth like satin. “She’ll be fine. We can handle-“
The girl knocks and the room falls silent.
There’s a strange sense of anticipation building in my chest. I hate to admit that I’m somewhat curious about the place Blake calls home. Callum once told me that some people wondered if Blake-the half-wolf from the Southlands-was even an alpha. Anyone who questioned it usually wound up dead.
Yet, here we are, in his territory-in a very real castle in the Northlands.
How did he get it? Is this truly his home? Do his people like him?
“Come in,” drawls Blake.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The truth.
My breathing quickens and the scent of woodsmoke and pine fills my lungs.
The hearth is warm at my back, and the fire flicks dim light across Blake’s chambers. It dances over the black silk sheets, crumpled from our fight, and the scars that mar his chest. For a moment, all I can hear is the crackle from the flames, and the wind that rattles the window.
Blake is promising me the truth. It’s what I want, what I’ve been searching for, yet my muscles tighten. There is something in the way he clasps his hands between his thighs, his jawline sharp, that makes my stomach clench.
“Well? Go on then,” I say.
He runs a hand over his mouth. “How could I have known?”
“Known what?”
His eyes snap to mine. “The events of that night, when James gave you to Sebastian. How could I have known what was going to happen?” He absently touches his bicep. There’s an indent where I sank my teeth into him. “How could I have known James would bite you? When I tried to arrange the marriage between the two of you, I meant it when I said he would not hurt you. For all his faults, I did not think he would.”
My brow creases. “I. . . I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? What has it got to do with anything?”
“If my entire plan rested on getting you to accept the bond between us, I would have needed to ensure you were in a life-threatening situation so I could save your life.” He shakes his head. “How could I have planned the series of events that led to James attacking you? There were too many variables to control, too many things that could have gone wrong. Even I’m not that good.”
“You said-“
“No. I didn’t. You said that, not me.”
I cast my mind back to the small bedchambers in Lowfell. I had accused him of planning it all, of creating the bond so Callum would forfeit the throne. And he had said. . .
My heart stutters. He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t confirm it, either.
“What are you saying?”
“I cannot break the bond, Aurora, because I did not create it. It’s not in my power.”
I step back. The fire is hot behind me, yet my blood runs cold. “You’re lying.”
“Do you think I want this?” His voice is uncharacteristically strained. “It complicates things for me.”
My breathing is shallow. There is a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a cold wind running through my chest. “I saw the words
Anam-Cridech on the pages you burned. Is that the name of the bond?”
“Yes. That is one name for it.”
“What is the other?”
His eyes bore into mine, dark and intense. “You already know.”
I shake my head. “I do not.”
“You do. A part of you knows. A part of you has always known. Just like, deep down, Callum knows. Just like I have always known.”