Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
“Rory. . . You’re hurt.”
“Don’t you want to take care of me?”
He lets out a shaky laugh, and drags his gaze away to stare at the floorboards. “Aye, I want to take care of you. But I fear it wouldn’t be right.”
“It would.”
One of his thumbs rubs frustrating circles on my leg, still resting across his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
He shifts so he is kneeling on the mattress between my legs, and triumph bursts within me. His expression darkens.
“You need to get some sleep,” he says.
“Then why don’t you help me relax so I can?”
He groans. “You’re a demanding wee thing, aren’t you? Brave, too, to be tormenting the alpha of Highfell in this way.”
“He doesn’t scare me. I’m courting the future Wolf King, don’t you know?”
He chuckles, a soft husky sound that fills the small bedchamber with warmth and dark promise. “Oh aye? You’re courting him, are you?”
“Do you not think so?”
“What is he like? Handsome, I presume?”
“He’s very handsome. And strong. And he likes to think he’s a gentleman. He’s not. He’s a wolf.”
“Is that so?”
He moves, lowering himself and forcing my thighs to part further to accommodate his broad shoulders.
“Yes,” I whimper.
“I think we’re way beyond courting, Princess.” He plants a soft kiss on the damp fabric of my underwear. “Don’t you?”
My back arches. “Yes.”
Sweat beads on my brow and I want to beg for more, something I’ve never done in my life. Yet as he hooks my underwear to one side with his finger, I stiffen. My body cools, as if I’ve been plunged into ice. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision and a panicked sound escapes my lips. Callum stills between my thighs.
A growl builds, crescendos, vibrates inside me. It’s like there’s something caught in my chest, thrashing against a cage, trying to break free. It wants to run toward something, but I don’t know what. My skin is clammy. My hair sticks to my face.
“Callum,”
I whimper.
“Princess?”
He’s up, instantly, caging me within his arms. “Ghealach, you’re burning up.”
Dots flash before my eyes, and cold sweat beads on my skin. I try to cling onto consciousness, but a wave of darkness crashes toward me. The small bed, the fireplace laden with books, the embers in the hearth, Callum’s face-they all turn grey.
“BLAKE
!”
Callum sounds faraway as he leaps from the bed.
I’m sinking.
Then blackness.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ilift my hand. Hot blood pours down my wrist. There are shards of glass protruding from my palm. From the ease in which Blake gave the book to me, I’m starting to think my means of acquiring it were unnecessary.
Beside me, Blake pulls a leather pack from one of his drawers and unfolds it on the surface of the desk. Outside, the sky is grey over the mountains, and cold sunlight makes his line of scalpels glint. I eye them warily, having read some of the experiments in his books, but he slides out a pair of tweezers. He kneels on the floor between my legs, nudging them apart slightly, and his body heat washes over me.
He holds out his palm. I offer him my bloody hand. A strange feeling hums beneath my skin when he curls his fingers around my wrist.
His gaze flicks to mine. “This may sting a little.”
He grips the largest shard with the tweezers, and pulls. I withhold my cry as he slides it from the wound. I bite my bottom lip. He drops it on the desk and more blood pumps from the wound and coats his fingers.
He starts work on digging out the smaller pieces. It hurts, but he is surprisingly gentle. “Who took you from Lowfell and brought you to James?” he asks.
“Why do you want to know?”
“You know why,” he says. I purse my lips and shake my head. “I’m guessing it was someone from Lochlan’s clan. No one from Lowfell would have done it. Ian, perhaps?” I can’t stop the quickening of my pulse. Blake drops another piece of glass on the desk. “Ian, then.”
“I don’t want you to kill him.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head. “Alexander has his brother. He thought taking me would enable James to get the prisoners back. It doesn’t excuse what he did, but I’d feel bad if he died for it.”
“Would you have put someone in harm’s way for the sake of your brother?”
“My brother is awful. It’s not the same.” I swallow. “You would have done the same for Elsie, wouldn’t you?”
His grips tightens around my wrist. I’ve touched a nerve. He shrugs, and plucks out another piece of glass. “Has it occurred to you that I must kill Ian for
Elsie? For my clan? For little Alfie? For you? I cannot have other Wolves thinking they can stroll into Lowfell and take what is mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
“No. But you’re part of my clan. To Wolves, that means something.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I don’t want another death on my hands.”
His brow furrows. “Another? Who else?” My lips harden and I focus on the flames that flicker in the hearth. “Oh. I see. Sebastian. Do you feel bad for taking his life?”
“No.” My feelings are more complicated than that. I push down the memory of being trapped in the carriage with the man I was supposed to marry. I turn the conversation on him. “There was a storm, the night I was taken.”
“There was.”
“Why do you fear them?”
The wind blows through the mountains outside, and the fire crackles. I don’t think he’s going to answer.
“Do you remember what I told you, about what my biological father did to my mother?” he says.
Blakes fingers curled around my wrist when I tried to rip off the collar he gave me. He told me his father forced himself on his mother. Darkness twists in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s coming from him or me. “Yes,” I say.
“My mother didn’t love me. I reminded her of him, I think, and of the crime that was committed against her. She feared I would have a wolf inside me, like him. For ten years, I showed no signs of it. She tolerated my existence.”