Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
“I did the same thing.”
A dimple creases his cheek. “After that, I realized I had to get out of the kingdom before the following full moon. Shifting in front of Father? Can you imagine?”
Despite my ill feeling toward my brother, the corner of my lip twitches.
Philip grins. “No, I decided I would spare myself that experience. I told Father I was ready to go to war. I took the guard who had told me about the Wolves in the dungeons with me, and-as soon as we had arrived at the war camp-we set off to the Snowlands in search of answers.”
“Did you find them?”
“I found a divided kingdom. I found the fear of the God of Night.” There’s a distant look in his eyes. “And I found Ingrid.”
“You love her,” I say softly.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. It’s unrequited, I assure you. I did little to warm her to me when we first met. She is. . .” He bites his bottom lip, his face uncharacteristically serious. He looks almost like the prince he should be. “She is quite extraordinary.”
“Is that why you’re looking for the Heart of the Moon?”
He laughs. “Nothing escapes you, Sister.” He shrugs. “Yes, I’m looking for it. It wasn’t my primary reason for coming here, but I spoke to a tribe in the Snowlands who said it was sent here, years ago. Although they have a different name for it there. It translates to Blood of the Moon. I thought Ingrid might forgive me of my sins, if I found it.”
“The Blood of the Moon?”
“Yes.”
I bite my bottom lip. “And you decided to try and arrange a marriage between this extraordinary woman and the man I am. . .” The words die in my throat, and I shift on the boulder. I will return to Callum, and I’m going to fight for him, but he still wanted to end things between us. “The man I was courting. How brotherly of you.”
A dimple punctures his cheek. “What does it matter, little sister? Blake is your-“
“Don’t.” I push down the rise of panic. “How did you know about. . . about the bond?”
He pulls a face. “Aside from the fact it’s blatantly obvious?” He shrugs. “Every time you were both in the same room, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Be careful around him, though. He’s changed since I met him. Back then, there was. . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. There was something ‘off’ about him. He hides it now.”
I agree that he’s hiding something, yet I feel a little indignant on Blake’s behalf. “Perhaps that’s because you met him when he’d just been tortured, Philip.”
“Perhaps.” Philip lowers himself onto the ground by the boulder, and puts his pack down beneath him to use as a pillow before lying down. “Perhaps not.” He closes his eyes. A smile spreads across his lips.
“What?” I say.
“Father would be so displeased to know what has become of us.”
I lie down on the pine needles, and settle down for sleep. “Two half-wolves, each helping a different enemy kingdom. Yes, he would be, wouldn’t he?”
Philip laughs. “Good night, little sister.”
“Good night, Philip.”
***
I open my eyes. I’m no longer in the forest. The scent of pine is heady in the air. A fire crackles in a black iron fireplace adorned with books and a decanter of whisky. Blake’s chambers. The mattress creaks behind me, followed by a muffled moan.
I turn and freeze.
I’m in Blake’s dream. There is a version of me on my knees on his bed, framed by the bedposts and the dark silk curtains. I’m naked, and my skin glows like moonlight.
Blake kneels behind me. One of his hands is cupped between my parted thighs, the other roughly squeezes my breast. His teeth are at my throat, and he thrusts his fingers into me. The dream version of me moans and pushes back into him, and he groans.
My legs turn to liquid. I feel him. I feel him everywhere. He’s not touching the real version of me, yet pressure builds between my legs, and my core aches.
I need to get out of here. But I’m transfixed. It’s not just the fervent nature of Blake’s movements, when he’s usually so in control. It’s the glow of my skin, almost goddess-like, as if that is how he sees me.
He pushes me down onto the mattress, and I snap to my senses. I stagger back. My back hits something solid and warm. I spin around.
Blake-the real Blake-stands before me. His gaze is fixed on the bed, and his lips are slightly parted. I grab his shirt, and push him against the wall by the fireplace. “Stop it.”
His eyes flit to mine. Panicked. “I cannot.”
A female groan-my groan-fills the air, and I can’t breathe. The creaking gets louder, faster, drawing Blake’s attention. The bond trembles, and I feel the word that builds like a growl.
Hunt.
I glance over my shoulder, and my breathing almost stops. He has me face down on the mattress, one hand on the nape of my neck to hold me down, the other grips my hip as he thrusts into me. The look on his face. . . goddess. . . the look on his face.
My chest is too tight. My blood is molten gold. I swing back toward him. “Blake. You can’t. . . you can’t think of me like this. . .”
I feel the moment he changes. He feels like he did in the chapel. Feral. Animal. Not himself. His eyes shift, then glow. “No one would know.”
“What?”
Almost delicately, he takes a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. The gentleness is at odds with the look in his eye, and what is going on behind me. My breath catches.
“It’s just a dream,” he says. “We don’t have to do it my way. I can be gentle, if you like.”
My mouth dries. “Blake. . .”
He cups my face in both hands. “Let me have you. Just once. Please.”
My insides combust. He is begging. Blake is begging. And I know he is manipulating me. I know he will do or say anything he needs to in order to get what he wants, because that is how his mind works. Yet my blood heats. I cannot move. I cannot think. He steps closer, and his body is flush to mine. His lips are inches away, and his breath brushes my mouth.
He smiles, a dark wicked smile, and tilts my head back. “It’s just you and me. He doesn’t have to know.”
He.
Callum.
Ice crashes through me and dowses the traitorous flames. I block the moaning, and the slapping, and the deep grunts. I stagger back.
“You cannot think of me like this.” I try to put a command in my tone, but my voice trembles. “This. . . this will never happen.”
He has the audacity to look sad. I turn and crash through the door.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Something tugs inside my chest. There’s a familiar press of attention on my skin, a whisper of air on my cheek. My pulse kicks up, as if my body senses a threat before my mind has caught it. I open my eyes.
The night is thick. I must have turned onto my side, because pine needles dig into my cheek. The fire burns low, and the orange embers glow in the darkness. The trees sway overhead. Philip snores gently, long legs stretched out, though one hand rests on the dagger at his belt. Everything seems normal, yet my blood thrums.
I blink a couple of times, then warily push myself upright. I breathe in sharply.
Blake watches me from the edge of the clearing. He sits against one of the tree trunks with his knees raised, his hands dangling between them. “Hello, little rabbit.”
My stomach plummets. “What are you. . .?” My question dies in my throat as my eyes adjust.
He is not sitting in the forest a few feet away. He’s on a cot, the mattress thin, and there’s a dark stone wall behind him. There are books scattered on the bed around him, and his wrists are bound in shackles. His dark hair is messy, as if he’s been dragging his fingers through it, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone.
Both the forest and the cell have a shimmer to them. It’s like I’m seeing everything underwater. The sound of the stream nearby echoes in my ears, and everything feels far away. This is a dream, yet I’ve no doubt that the wolf before me is really Blake. Panic twinges inside me. It’s not just because of the aftermath of our shared dream. I don’t want him to know where I am. I believe Callum. Blake will come for me, when he gets free. I can’t face him.
He tilts his head to one side. “Weren’t you going to say goodbye?”