Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
“That’s it. Easy now.” His voice is surprisingly gentle. “Good lass.” I snap back into my body. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say, my tone clipped, my voice hoarse. Because I’m not, and he knows it, and now I am weak. I avert my gaze, but something pulls it back again. “I’m fine.”
He studies my face, and I study his. He is younger than I first thought. Beyond the warrior physique, the layers of grime, and unkempt hair, there is brightness in his eyes and a youthful glow to his skin. I think he may be in his mid-twenties at most.
The noises behind him get louder and faster. “You’d best be taking your leave now, Princess. The lad’s okay. You did a brave thing coming here.”
I turn to Ryan, who is watching me with a strange expression.
The horrible wolf roars.
Ryan’s nose wrinkles. “I wish I’d never fucking come here,” he mutters again.
I take a deep breath, then stuff the spare bandages and the water flask back in my satchel. I throw on my cloak, pulling the hood over my head. It takes me two attempts to do up the fastening due to my trembling fingers.
I hurry out of the cell and lock it behind me.
The alpha stalks across his cell as I pass, his eyes dark. I’m only a few paces away when he says something.
I halt. “What?”
For a moment, all I can hear is the horrible panting sound from the next cell.
“He won’t touch you,” says the alpha-his voice barely audible.
“Who?”
“Sebastian. He won’t touch you.” His tone is so dark, so certain. I turn to face him-raising my head to meet his gaze.
“He is to be my husband,” I say softly.
Again, I am reminded of the rugged mountains when I look at him. His stance is dominant, powerful, and his face could be carved from rock. His eyes, though. . . those eyes. . . something that looks like remorse, or regret, passes over them.
“No,” he says, his voice equally quiet. “No, he isn’t.”
Does his plan for escape involve murdering Sebastian? Something inside tells me I should feel something about that. Sadness. Gladness.
Anything.
I feel nothing.
I wonder if my body, this vessel that I trap my soul within, is slowly turning to stone. A statue for men like Sebastian to look at that has no purpose, no desire, no feeling.
And yet. . . as the alpha stares at me, something stirs.
I swallow hard. Then I look away-averting my eyes from the horrible wolf and the naked woman-and hurry to the main iron doors.
I feel alpha’s eyes on my back as I’m let out of the kennels.
Chapter Three
Iam to be wed tomorrow, and I cannot sleep.
I lie in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, and listen to the wind howling outside of the window. Shadows dance across the ceiling, and there is a bite to the air now there are only embers in the grate.
I was trained for this.
I was trained to be beautiful and silent and obedient. I forged a prison for my wild and angry soul and I waited for the day to come when I was to be wed.
A small part of me dreamed that one day I would fall in love like the princesses in my mother’s stories, that one day I would be free.
But I always knew there would be no happy ending for me.
So I waited and I dreaded.
And now it is here.
Tomorrow I will wed a man who makes Wolves fight as if they are dogs. Who threatened to take me like a mutt. Whose leery eyes make my skin crawl.
A man who I do not know, I do not love.
He won’t touch you.
The alpha’s promise resounds in my mind. I should tell someone what he said. I should tell someone he means to escape. I should tell someone he made a threat to the lord, to my betrothed. He is a wolf. An enemy.
Yet I lie here in the darkness, listening to the wind howling outside the castle.
And I remain as silent as I was trained.
It was an idle threat, anyway. There is no way that he can escape.
We are both prisoner to these walls.
Still, I glance at the silver letter opener on the bedside table before sleep finally takes me.
***
Sometimes I dream I am a statue in the palace gardens.
People wander around me, commenting on my shape, my form.
Her eyes look almost alive,
they say, when the light hits them.
And all the while, I’m trapped inside myself. Screaming. But my lungs are stone and my lips are hard and my mouth tastes like old cemeteries. So no one hears me, no one cares.
Other times, I’m back in that church and I’m so scared I think I’m going to pass out.
I don’t cry, though. Father doesn’t like it when I cry. And the priest is in front of me with his crop.
I didn’t sin,
I protest.
Oh, child. All women sin. Your mother was a sinner, and you are a sinner too. Do you want the Sun Goddess to be angry? No? Good. Turn around.
Other times, I’m running. I’m running through the forest as fast as I can. The wind is in my hair, and twigs snap beneath my bare feet. I am free, but I am afraid. Because something is chasing me and I fear what will happen if it catches me.
My mother’s voice ricochets off the trees as I burst into the moonlight.
Wake up, Aurora.
Wake up!
***