Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
The man raises his head. His blue-green eyes meet mine, and I clench my jaw so hard it hurts. I take in his handsome face, spattered with freckles, his chiseled jaw, and the clef in his chin. Blood dribbles from his nose.
“My apologies,” he says. “I must have forgotten my manners in all the violence. My name is-“
“Philip.” I stand abruptly.
Dimples crease his cheeks.
“Hello, little sister,” he says.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Silence.
Then, whispers. They slither through the crowd like snakes. “It’s the Southlands prince.”
The air erupts. Wolves jump to their feet. One of the benches turns over. Shouts fill the air. They’re hysterical. A woman’s shriek for vengeance is so hoarse I expect to see blood pouring from her mouth. Lochlan’s men push back those who run toward us.
I’m engulfed in the anger, and I know it’s aimed at me, as well. My hands ball into fists. My breathing is ragged, like I’m trying to contain a storm in my lungs. Fire blazes through my veins.
“What are you doing here, Philip?” My tone is icy.
His smile widens and shows off his perfect white teeth. He doesn’t seem even mildly concerned by the mob that bays for his blood.
He made my life miserable. He taunted me, mocked me, belittled me. He spent my entire childhood waltzing around the palace he was set to inherit as if he already owned it, and I was nothing but one of the objects within. He did as he pleased, drank as he pleased, bedded women as he pleased, and constantly made an exhibition of himself. He never received more than a slapped wrist for his behavior. All the while, I would be punished if so much as a crack showed in my perfect façade. Now he’s here.
He must have got back from the war he was fighting on behalf of my father and come straight to the Northlands to bring me home.
“I might ask you the same thing, Sister.” He clucks his tongue over the noise. “Someone’s been a naughty girl. Daddy will be displeased.”
A low growl vibrates in Callum’s chest, a sound that a wiser man would cower from. My brother has always been a goddess-damned idiot. Does he not comprehend that he’s in enemy territory, surrounded by Wolves? Does he not sense the violence in the air? The thirst for blood-his and mine?
Lochlan leans forward slightly, and his brow furrows. Philip’s grin falters, almost as if he recognizes the Glas-Cladach alpha.
Callum nods at Blake, who sits at the other end of the table.
Blake gets up and strolls toward Philip. In a sudden movement, he plunges a syringe into my brother’s neck, and Philip crumples to the floor.
“I’ll spend some time with him in the infirmary,” says Blake.
Callum stands up beside me. His arm brushes against mine. “No one else touches him until I’ve decided what to do with him.” He gestures at a couple of men, and they lift my brother and drag him through the mob toward the exit.
“He wouldn’t have travelled alone,” I say. “He can barely dress himself without his entourage, let alone travel across the entire kingdom.”
“Lochlan?”
“I’ll send out a search party,” says Lochlan. His earlier darkness seems to be replaced by intrigue.
Callum whispers something to Fiona, then he and I follow Blake out of the Great Hall.
***
When we arrive at the infirmary, Philip is tied to a chair near the cot where Kai sleeps. His head lolls against his chest, and his hair is the color of tarnished copper in the soft light of the flames. His wrists are tied to the arms of the chair, and his long legs are spread slightly, his ankles bound to the feet.
I halt close to him, by the fireplace. Callum stands beside me. Blake dismisses the two men who brought Philip here.
Philip was supposed to be fighting in one of my father’s wars in the kingdom of Rema, but if this has hardened him in any way, he wears no evidence of it. His long, high-collared coat is well tailored, he’s as well-groomed as always, and his face-the only bit of his skin that is showing-is flushed with the flames, but not tanned by the warmer weather overseas. I can imagine him sitting in one of his big elaborate tents, drinking and eating and ordering others to do his-and my father’s-dirty work.
Blake uncorks a vial and puts it beneath Philip’s nose. My brother stirs, then groans. Blake walks to the workbench behind him and pulls a leather pack from one of the drawers. He flicks it open to reveal metal blades and scalpels. My insides tighten. I loathe my brother. Still, after reading about some of Blake’s experiments, I don’t think I’ve the stomach for whatever Blake is planning.
I expect Callum to put a stop to this. Blake pulls out a small blade, and Callum’s face is expressionless. Callum has always been so gentle with me that I forget that first impression I had of him. I’d thought him a bloodthirsty monster-as wild and untamed as the mountains he came from.
He’s not a monster. He is a fierce warrior, an alpha, and now, a king. Philip being here is a threat to both me and his kingdom.
Philip tries to move his arms. There’s a squeak as he grips the arms of the chair with his leather-gloved hands. I’m convinced now he will start to panic. My brother has not endured a single hardship in all of his life.
I’m not going to let Blake hurt him, but I can still enjoy his fear.
Philip peers up at Blake. “Bondage? You’re not my usual type, but you’re pretty enough, I suppose.”
Blake leans against the workbench, and the small knife in his hand gleams. He flashes Philip a smile that most would cower from. My brother smiles back.
“Is your brother an eejit?” Callum’s tone is a mixture of irritation and genuine curiosity.
“He’s not a wise man,” I say.
Philip stares down his nose at Callum, as if he’s sitting on a throne rather than bound to a chair. “Perhaps you and I should speak in private. One future king to another.”
Anger erupts inside me. Isn’t that just typical of Philip? He’s arrived on a mission concerning me, yet it’s the highest-
ranking male in the room who he wishes to have an audience with. Goddess forbid I have a say in my own future.
I grit my teeth. “He’s not the future king. He is the king.”
“Not for long, if the talk in the taverns is anything to go by.”
“What are you doing here, Philip?” I ask.
“I had every intention of telling you, little sister. I’ve been so ill-treated that now I shan’t.” He shakes his head. “I had heard the Northlands Wolves were inhospitable, but I’d not expected such a cold welcome.”
I step closer to him. He smells like ale. “This is not a game. Father is not here to save you, your title will not protect you, and you cannot pay your way out of this. You’re in the kingdom of Wolves, and you’re the prince of their enemy. You would be wise to show a little understanding of the seriousness of your situation.”
His eyes glint. “You’ve changed, Sister.”
“And you have not changed in the slightest,
Brother.”
“You might be surprised.”
Blake drags a chair from the workbench and places it at an angle to Philip’s. He drops into it, and puts an arm over the back. From the ease of his movements, his bullet wound must be healed already.
“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you, Blake,” says Philip.
A cold smile graces Blake’s lips. “As are you.”
I shouldn’t be surprised they know one another. Blake was part of the King’s Guard, so it’s probable they would have encountered one another.
“Where have you been?” asks Blake.
“I don’t see why I should tell you.”
Blake rests his ankle on his thigh. He absently twirls the small blade in his hand. “Do you think Aurora will save you?”
“I think that you answer to her, don’t you?”
Blake’s smile becomes feral. “If that were true, I’d be very worried about your current situation.”