Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
My mother used to tell me stories about Night-the deity who holds the keys to the Moon Goddess’s prison. He tempts mortals into making deals with him, offering them what they desire in exchange for their souls.
Blake reminds me of him right now. Dangerous and strange with eyes gleaming with dark promises.
And I hate that I am tempted. Because he is right; I do want to find out what he is scheming.
Yet if I dance with him, what part of my soul will he claim?
He raises an eyebrow.
I raise my chin.
Perhaps the warm, smoky alcohol I have consumed is giving me false confidence, but I do not think that Blake is as smart as he thinks he is.
I place my hand in his.
A slow smile spreads across his face as his fingers curl around mine. He leads me to the dancefloor.
He raises our joined hands, and places his other on my waist.
“Do you know the Dance of the Dawn?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“This music follows the same rhythm.”
He pulls me closer, and I place a hand on his shoulder. “You wish to perform a Southlands dance in a hall full of northerners?”
“We are both Southlanders, are we not?”
“Is that the game? You wish to antagonize everyone here?”
“Let’s play and find out, shall we?”
I incline my head. “Very well.”
I step back and he releases me.
I curtsy and he bows, as is tradition, and then we dance.
We step forward, raising our hands, palms almost touching, as we circle one another. We change direction-our gazes locked, our steps careful. Graceful. Wary. Blake’s eyes track my every movement as though he is a predator, hunting his prey.
I think that people are watching us, but it would be unwise to look away from the wolf before me.
As the dance progresses, it requires closer contact. Blake’s hand curls around mine once more, his other flattening on the small of my back as he spins us around. My hand rests gently on his shoulder, and I fight the urge to sink my fingers into the hard muscle as he moves us faster and faster.
His steps are graceful, his poise strong and confident. He is a good dancer. Too good.
“You said you were part of the King’s Guard,” I say.
“I did.”
“I did not know that members of the King’s Guard had cause to learn to dance.” I lift an eyebrow. “Certainly not this well.”
He smirks as we continue our dance around the edge of the dancefloor. “You think I dance well? I should be flattered by such a compliment coming from the princess herself.”
“I think you’re a liar. You were not part of the King’s Guard, were you? You’re a man of noble birth. There is no other explanation for why you can dance.”
He spins me under his arm, and I inhale sharply as he pulls me back again. “Interesting theory, little rabbit. I assure you, I was in the King’s Guard, I am not a man of noble birth, and there is another explanation.”
“I do not trust you.”
“Nor should you.”
“Tell me the explanation.”
“I already have. In a way.”
“Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what I want to know.” I raise my chin. “Or I will tell everyone your secret.” I smile sweetly. “I think there may be a storm coming.”
I expect him to blanch, for his shoulder to tense beneath my fingers. Instead he smiles, pulling me closer.
“Go ahead,” he whispers. “My account of what you were doing in my chambers late at night will be quite different to yours, I assure you.” His tone is as dark and seductive as the night sky.
The heat drains from my body as we continue to circle the dancefloor. My pulse pounds so hard in my ears that it almost drowns out the sound that has chilled me to my core. I’m still dancing, but my movements no longer feel like my own. Everything blurs. It is Blake who is leading me, like a puppet master, commanding his toy.
The music has reached its crescendo, and the reason why it seemed familiar to me is now clear. I recognize this part of the song.
It is the same melody my mother used to sing to me at night.
The same melody I hummed to Blake when he was afraid.
Why would a band of Wolves in the Northlands know the tune my mother loved so dearly?
Blake is watching me curiously, his head tilted slightly to one side.
I narrow my eyes. “What is this?”
“What is what?” His expression of faux innocence is betrayed by the hungry gleam in his eyes.
“Why did you ask them to play this music?”
“It is a well-known wolf melody,” he says, feigning confusion. “About the Elderwolf and his love for the Moon. I thought you might like it. Do you not?”
I try to pull away, but his hand tightens around mine. His slender fingers are like a cold vice. He spins me around. “Do you recognize it?” he asks.
“You know I do. Let me go.”
“That wouldn’t be wise, little rabbit. Everyone is watching us. Including James.”
I look around. People are staring at us curiously from the benches, the alcoves, the sides of the hall. The dancefloor has cleared, leaving us at its center. I do not know when that happened.
is leaning forward in his chair, an unreadable expression on his face.
I search for Callum, seeking a lifeline out of this situation, but he must have left the hall to speak with Fiona.
I am truly alone.
My eyes meet Blake’s. “I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
“You should care.”
“Why?”
He moves forward so his cheek almost touches mine, and lowers his voice. “Because you are in danger. Do you truly believe James will let you stay?”
“No. But how does dancing with you help my situation?”