Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
Callum and Ryan look up abruptly from the other side of the corridor. Both seem annoyed. Ryan’s face is flushed, and Callum has his arms folded across his chest and his jaw is tense. Callum’s brow creases in concern, a question in his eyes. I nod.
I’m okay.
He offers me a strained smile before turning to Ryan.
“No,” says Callum. “And that’s the end of the matter.”
“But-“
“Everything okay, Red?” A deep voice comes from the shadows, drowning out Ryan’s protest, and I jump. Jack leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.
I frown as I recall him plotting with Blake in those dungeons I was brought to before I was presented to James.
She smells like the Highfell alpha,
he’d said, and suggested that Blake bathe me.
“How original you are,” I say. “Calling me Red on account of my hair.”
“On account of your hair?” says Jack. “No, I was referring to your blush,
Red.
Are you feeling flustered?” His grin widens, flashing white teeth, and my cheeks heat even more.
“What are you lingering out here for?” I try to appear more composed. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
“My mother may have mentioned it.” He shrugs, then nods at the door to the council chambers. “Blake’s had more suitable accommodation prepared for you. I’ll take you there, now you’ve woken up.”
There’s a grunt of displeasure as Callum dismisses Ryan. The young wolf huffs and stomps away. Callum mutters something under his breath about insolent pups as he crosses the space between us and threads my fingers in his. The tension softens in his shoulders.
“Ready?” says Jack.
“Aye.”
We follow Jack through a labyrinth of corridors.
“What was that all about?” I ask under my breath as our footsteps thump against the stone.
“Ryan wants to go back to Madadh-allaidh.” Callum sighs, and again, he looks as if he’s carrying a great weight on his shoulders. “The lad’s come up with some grand scheme to rescue Fiona. He thinks he can trick James.”
“Oh,” I say softly. “That doesn’t sound like a sensible idea.”
“No. It doesn’t. He’s going to get himself killed if he doesn’t listen to me. And he has a history of not listening to me.”
“Is he close with Fiona?”
“Being part of a clan . . . we’re family. She taught him how to ride a horse, and Fi, James, and I, we used to let him tag along when we went hunting.” He shakes his head. “I think he used to have a wee crush on her, before Becky.”
I squeeze his hand. “We’ll get her back.”
“Aye. And I shall make James pay for all of this-hurting you, claiming you, taking Fi. I could do without worrying about Ryan on top of everything else.”
Jack points things out as we pass them-the doors to Blake’s Great Hall, a drawing room, a corridor leading to the infirmary. Just like earlier, I notice the absence of any clan banners or tapestries within the castle. It’s quiet, too. We pass a few people in the corridors-two women in brown dresses having a hushed conversation, and an old man in a black and grey kilt carrying a box of fish toward the kitchens. A young child-around four years old-with a mop of black curls tears down a stairway past us, causing Jack to tell him to run faster if he means to outrun his mother. Either Blake’s clan is not very big, or they’re residing elsewhere.
When Jack gestures to a spiral staircase leading to a library in the tower, I make a note of it so I can visit later. I want to find out how Blake connected our lives, so I can disentangle myself from him. The library seems to be a good place to start.
Finally, we stop outside a door on the second floor of the castle. Jack opens it.
The room is much larger than I expected. A huge four-poster bed dominates the space, covered in furs, and two armchairs sit on a sheepskin rug in front of the roaring fire. In the corner, a wooden partition partially hides a dressing area and a sturdy oak armoire. Despite the lack of decoration, there’s a rectangle of lighter stone above the wooden mantelpiece, as if a picture once hung there.
“Blake thought it might be more suitable than the room you were in before,” says Jack. “The former alpha of Lowfell used to reside in here.”
“This was Bruce’s room?” Callum’s tone is dark as he looks around.
“You knew him?” asks Jack.
“Aye. Did you?”
Jack strides to the window, which looks out onto a vast expanse of water, and leans against the ledge. “Our meeting was short-lived.” His eyes glint in the grey light. “Blake took a particular dislike to him. It’s why he opted not to take this room for himself. He didn’t want to sleep in Bruce’s bed.”
Callum leans by the door, mirroring Jack’s easy posture. “Did he kill him in here?” He sounds as if he’s merely enquiring about the weather.
“No. He did it in the infirmary.”
A flicker of disgust surges through me at the reminder that Blake is a killer, who likes to inflict physical, as well as emotional, torment.
Callum’s mouth pinches at the corners, as if he doesn’t approve, either. “I see.”
A smile plays on Jack’s lips, as if our revulsion to his alpha is amusing to him. He straightens and gestures at the armoire. “There are some clothes that should be your size in there, Aurora, and the bath has been drawn if you want to freshen up.” He points at a doorway in the corner that must lead to a private bathing room.
“Thank you.” I keep my tone polite, despite my distrust of this male. It will probably work in our favor to keep Blake’s clan on side, if we are to defeat him.
Jack’s smile widens before he nods. “My offer stands, if you want to spar later, Callum.”
“Perhaps you could train with Ryan,” says Callum. “Keep the lad out of trouble.”
Something seems to pass between them both-a challenge of sorts that I don’t understand. Jack leaves and closes the door behind him. As soon as we’re alone, Callum visibly slumps against the wall. He meets my eyes though, a flicker of heat in them even as his expression softens. He crooks his finger.
“Come here,” he says.
Chapter Six
Icross the chambers, and stop inches away from Callum.
He leans against the wall, and I touch his chest and savor the reassuring solidity of him beneath his shirt. He sighs. It’s as if my touch is as reassuring to him as his is to me. Without warning, he slides his hands beneath my thighs and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his torso.
He carries me to the bed, climbs onto it, and lays me down on the quilt. My head sinks into the feather-soft pillow. He settles over me, and rests his weight on his forearms on either side of my face. He presses his forehead against mine. His skin is hot, almost fevered.
“I was so worried.” His voice is as rough as sand.
I take his face in my hands. “Are you alright?”
“No.”
My eyebrows lift at his admission. It’s obvious he’s struggling with everything that has happened over the past few days, yet I didn’t expect him to admit it. Whenever I saw my father straining beneath the weight of ruling the kingdom, he would lash out at whoever was closest. Whenever my brother was in a foul mood, he would turn to the bottle.
Again, it strikes me how powerful this man-this wolf-is, to be able to show his emotions with no fear of them being held against him.
I brush my thumb against his jaw, and his stubble scrapes against my skin. “Talk to me.”
“You were in pain, and I was powerless to stop it. James is trying to claim you as his. Fiona is a hostage. And Blake. . .” He shakes his head, then huffs a soft laugh. “I’m stuck here with Blake of all people, trying to pretend I don’t want to tear him, and the men who work for him, apart. The only good news I’ve had these past days is that James doesn’t have the Heart of the Moon. Blake has a spy in Madadh-Allaidh, who sent word yesterday.”
Even though the Wolves shifted the night that James handed me over to Sebastian, this doesn’t surprise me. The Heart of the Moon is an ancient wolf relic that is said to have been ripped from the Moon Goddess’s chest. It would give the Wolves the power to shift at will, which would be a big advantage in the war between the humans and Wolves.
“I didn’t think that Sebastian would have traded something so important for me,” I say.
“Foolish man,” says Callum.
“It’s strange that you shifted though. At the time, I thought. . .”
Callum’s brow furrows. “What?”
“I prayed to the Moon Goddess,” I say, feeling silly. “I thought, perhaps, she answered.”
Callum smiles softly. “Perhaps she did. She is said to involve herself in the fates of Wolves, at times.” He strokes me cheek, then sighs.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I thought I would feel better when you awoke, yet I find myself feeling. . . restless.”
I note the tension in his body, and the hardness that presses against my thigh through his kilt. My blood heats, and I stroke his cheek. Being with a man like this is so new to me, yet I cannot deny that I’m restless, too. “Can I help you with that?”
He captures my mouth with his. He makes a low sound in his throat as he deepens his kiss. He slides his tongue against mine-hot and dominant-and heat pools between my thighs. I shift against him. I curl my legs around his waist, pressing myself against his torso. I whimper as a jolt of pleasure surges through me.
He pulls back, trembling slightly, and shuts his eyes. “No. I fear that I’ll push you back into a fever. I’ve felt guilty about it for three days.”
“What do you mean?”
He opens his eyes, and blinks back the wolf. “As Wolves, when we’re. . . excited. . . our more feral side tends to come out. When my mouth was between your thighs,” my cheeks flame, but Callum doesn’t seem remotely embarrassed, “I provoked your wolf. You spent the next three days trying to suppress it. If I were to do to you what I want to do. . .” He shakes his head. “I dread to think how long you will be unconscious. I won’t do that to you again.”
“You think you will give me so much pleasure that you will push me into a fever for days?”
His expression is so remorseful that I have to suppress my smile. “Aye.”
“You certainly think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
A soft laugh escapes from his lips. His eyes crease at the corners, and they brighten-the color of treetops being hit by sunlight. For a moment, he looks younger. Not an alpha with the weight of a clan on his shoulders, about to challenge his brother, but a young male full of mischief and light.
“I don’t recall your complaints the previous times I have tasted you, nor every time I slid my fingers inside of you until you cried out my name.”
I fight my blush and his grin widens.
“Do you not think I’ve earned my high opinion of myself?”
I bite my bottom lip. “I cannot remember. Perhaps you should remind me.”
He growls, before nipping my ear with his teeth. “Demanding wee creature. Take a bath, then we shall go for a walk outside. I’ve been cooped up inside for days, as have you. The fresh air will do you good.” He kisses my nose, then my forehead, before his expression becomes strained once more. “And for the love of
Ghealach, change out of Blake’s clothes, will you? It’s taking all of my restraint not to rip them off you.”
“I won’t stop you.”
He groans and rolls off me. “Bath. Now.”
***
“I’ll be glad to be out of this place.” Callum’s hand is clamped around mine as he leads me through the Lowfell entrance hall, toward the oak door. The area is small, with no decoration, and a stairway leading to another floor. “We’re surrounded by enemies here. I’ve sent word to Highfell, but I can’t imagine my men will arrive until after the full moon. It’s why we’ll wait until after before we make our move.”
“Do you have a big army?”
The door creaks as Callum pushes it open, and the wind sprays rain into my face.
“Big enough to protect Highfell, but not to keep everyone under control when we get to Madadh-allaidh,” says Callum. We walk outside, into a small courtyard. The walls on either side are so close together, it feels oppressive.
“That’s why we need Lochlan,” I say.
Callum nods and pulls me into a tunnel in the castle walls, which offers us a brief respite from the weather. There are tall iron gates at the end, and my lips part as we walk through them and turn.
We are surrounded by water. Mountains slope upward on either side of the dark loch, burnt orange, brown, and golden yellow. Behind us, the castle reaches up to the grey sky. It’s smaller than Madadh-allaidh, but it’s similarly austere in design-with angular stone walls, dark windows, and a rectangular tower.
The rain patters as it hits the loch, and the air smells like mud and wet leaves. Our boots squelch in the grass, and Callum tips back his head and sighs as we stop beneath a couple of trees at the water’s edge. Rain rolls down his face and lips. He seems as in awe of the surrounding beauty as I am.
“Have you been to Lowfell before?” I ask. Blake was part of his father’s wolf alliance, so it’s feasible that Callum may have visited.
“No. I knew it was something of a fortress. Until I saw it the other night, I’d not realized how impenetrable it truly was.” He tugs my hand, and we walk along the side of the loch. The water is the color of rust, and its waves lap over stones by our feet. “There’s a strip of land that connects it to the rest of the Northlands around the back but it’s only revealed at low tide. The only other way to approach is via the water.”
“We’re close to the Borderlands here, aren’t we?” I say, thinking about the map in Blake’s council chambers.
“Aye. Lowfell used to raid a lot of the Borderlands villages-plus some of the wolf territories as well-but no one could ever seize it. It’s why my father was keen to get the former alpha on side for a while.”
“Bruce?”
“He was a very unpleasant male. James would make a point of taking me out hunting when. . .” Callum shuts his mouth, his eyes darkening at the mention of his brother. “One day, my father completely cut ties with him. They almost went to war.”
“What happened?”
“I think Bruce made a pass at my mother.” Callum’s gaze is focused on the woodland ahead. “My father was a jealous man, and that kind of insult would not have gone down well. Everyone thought Bruce would challenge my father for the throne-but then we got word he’d been killed and there was a new alpha of Lowfell.”
“Blake.”
“Aye.” Callum chuckles darkly. “I don’t know how that devious shite did it. This castle is near impenetrable, and Bruce had a particularly bloodthirsty clan. From what I’ve seen over the past day, it seems like Blake disposed of them as well.”
I nod. “It’s quiet here. There don’t seem to be many people living in the castle.”
“No.”
“That troubles you.” Ash trees sway around us as we enter the woods, and I almost slip on the wet fallen leaves on the ground. Callum grabs my arm, supporting me, and I wince as the bite mark in my side aches. Callum’s jaw tightens, but I pull away and start walking before he can comment. “Are you worried his clan won’t be useful in the fight against your brother?”
Callum’s breath mists in front of his face as he falls into step beside me. “There were always questions about whether Blake was truly an alpha, but he managed to make people believe he had forces that supported him back home.” Callum gestures around him. “Does he, though? Are the people at Lowfell right now the extent of his clan, or are there more hidden away somewhere?”
“Either way, he’s good at hiding things,” I say.
“Aye.” Callum’s face darkens. The trees get closer together and cast their shadow over us. “That’s what troubles me.”
As we delve further in, the scent of wet leaves and moss gets deeper, and a building comes into view among the trees. It’s a small chapel, with a singular spire. As we get closer, it’s evident that it’s in need of some repair-the walls are crumbling, and the stained-glass window above the door has been smashed.
Callum’s forehead creases. “That’s interesting.”
“Is it for worshipping the Moon Goddess?” I ask, knowing that Wolves don’t pray to the Sun Goddess like we do in the Southlands.
“No.” Callum approaches the door, and pushes it open. “We worship
Ghealach outdoors, where the moonlight can touch us. You will see at the ritual next week. This is something different. Come.”
He heads inside while I pause at the threshold. It’s sparsely furnished, with only a few pews, and a stone altar beneath another smashed window at the other end of the room. Glass crunches beneath Callum’s boots as he heads toward it.
My muscles tense. I’ve never liked religious buildings. Even though this chapel is a far cry from the extravagant houses of worship in the south, memories of the High Priest’s crop flash through my mind.
“Aye, it’s what I thought.” Callum looks at the circular window above the altar. “This is one of Night’s chapels.”
“The god who keeps the Moon Goddess prisoner?” I ask.
“Aye.”
Curiosity getting the better of me, I suck in a deep breath and walk inside.
“Why would any Wolves worship him? Isn’t he one of the villains in your story about the Elderwolf?” My footsteps echo as I walk down the aisle between the pews, and stop beside Callum at the altar.
I recall the story Callum told me, about the origin of Wolves. The first wolf, the Elderwolf, had fallen in love with the Moon. She gave him the power to shift so he could fight the dark creatures who belonged to the God of Night. Until the Sun Goddess became jealous, and sentenced the Moon Goddess to the prison in Night’s sky. Her imprisonment was what stopped the Wolves from being able to shift at will.
“Before the first men and the Elderwolf, Night’s monsters roamed the earth-soul-suckers, winged beasts, water serpents.” He turns to lean against the altar, hands clasping the edges of the stone. Grey light flits across his jaw as branches sway outside the broken windows. “When
Ghealach was locked away in his prison, she tricked him into imprisoning all his dark creatures. Night was imprisoned, too, in the process. Before then, many Wolves prayed to Night, asking him to spare them from torment.”
“They prayed to him because they feared him, not because they loved him,” I say.
“Aye. Some Wolves continued to worship him, even after he had taken
Ghealach prisoner. We call them Night’s Acolytes. In my grandfather’s day, they rose up against us-not just here, but in other wolf territories like the Snowlands too.”
My eyes widen at the mention of my mother’s homeland. “Why?” I ask. “What did they want?”
“They were determined to free their dark god from his prison.”
“Is that possible?”
“They believe the Heart of the Moon is the key. It’s why finding the relic would be a blessing and a curse. It would mean freedom for my people, and would help us in the war against the south. But-“
“It could start an entirely different war, with those who worship Night.”
“Exactly.” He shakes his head. “Why any wolf would choose to turn their back on their goddess is beyond me. Their means of worship are much darker than ours.”
His gestures at the floor by my feet with his chin. The stone is stained dark brown.
My stomach curdles. “Is that blood?”
“Night’s Acolytes would sacrifice people in the hopes he would bless them with his dark powers.”
My breath mists in front of my face as I cast my gaze around the chapel-there are small symbols carved into the stone walls that I can’t quite make out from here. Part of the roof has caved in at the far end and there are a few branches protruding into the building. It seems like a ruin of whatever it once was, yet there is a strange feeling in this place-cold and dark and eerie.
“Should we be worried that Blake has this chapel on his grounds?” I ask.
“Blake is a lot of things, but he’s never struck me as a religious man. It’s an old building, and it doesn’t look like it’s in use any longer. In fact, it looks like the windows were intentionally smashed. Like I said, Bruce was an unpleasant male, as was his father. This will have been their chapel.”
My attention snags on the symbol carved in the stone arch above the altar. It’s the image of a key, the bow comprising of two crescent moons facing one another. It seems familiar, though I can’t place it.
“Come, let’s leave this dark place,” says Callum. “It smells like blood and despair.”
I don’t need telling twice. He takes my hand, and we head back into the woodland. Something loosens inside me as the air freshens, and the scent of rain and pine fills my lungs. Both our footsteps are a little less relaxed than earlier as we walk quickly away from the chapel.
—–The END