Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
Yet I smile.
The water laps the shore near my feet. All I can hear is my own breathing, and the gulls that swoop down to the water to catch fish.
I am happy.
I am safe.
I am free.
There’s a crunch of pebbles behind me. I do not turn around. I can sense him. Smell him. He hooks an arm around my waist, and nuzzles the back of my neck.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, my breath misting in front of my face.
“Aye. Just wait until we get to Highfell.” He nibbles my earlobe. “The mountains and lochs around here are small wee things in comparison.”
He slips a hand beneath my shirt and runs his hand along my stomach. I’m aware of his hard length, pressing against my lower back.
“You seem to be missing your clothes,” I say.
“Aye. Imagine my horror when I went to get dressed only to find my shirt was gone.”
I giggle. “So that is why you came outside completely naked. You were looking for your shirt?”
“Oh, aye. Luckily, I have found the thief.” He nips my ear with his teeth and a burst of heat surges through me.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
“No.” He runs his hand down my stomach, then slides it between my legs. “Aren’t you?”
He strokes me, and I moan, pressing my head back against his shoulder. His warmth wraps around me, and his fingers stoke a fire in my center. “No,” I whimper.
He rubs slow excruciating circles on the most sensitive part of me, until I cry out with release, my knees buckling.
He throws me over his shoulder. His shirt rides up to my chest, exposing my most intimate parts to the elements.
I squeal. “Callum!”
He chuckles. “What? I’m giving the gulls something to look at.” He taps my bum lightly and I squeal again.
While I’m laughing, my legs flailing over his shoulder, he carries me back to the tent.
***
When Callum is done with me, his spirits are higher than I think I’ve ever seen them. He announces that his appetite is simply too large for bread and cheese this morning, and he will hunt us something proper for breakfast.
After getting dressed, I sit on a rock and wait for him on the shore where we ate last night. I warm my hands by the fire we built before he left. I cannot fight the smile on my face.
I feel so different from the woman I was before I came to the Northlands. I am dirty and unbathed. I am wearing breeches. I can smell Callum on my skin. I am sore, and I do not know how that can be a good feeling, but somehow, it is. I feel. . . full. Content. Excited for the future. Excited for Highfell.
You’re free,
the wind seems to whisper.
You’re free.
I hear the crunch of pebbles close by, and I turn-not expecting Callum back so soon.
My stomach drops and I jump to my feet.
Two men in kilts are walking along the shore, fifty meters or so away. One of them looks right at me, and I recognize him. It’s Duncan, the male I met when I arrived at the castle. My blood turns to ice. They’re James’s men.
“Over there!” He points at me. “They’re still here! She’s over there!”
I turn, and I run.
Heavy footsteps pound after me.
I tear across the shore, then scramble up the rocks by our tent. I run as fast as I can over the sloping land, to the forest ahead where Callum went hunting. The shouts of the men behind me get closer.
“Callum!” I yell.
I run as fast as I can, bumping my shoulders against tree trunks as the forest gets deeper, darker. Thorns snag my shirt, and pine needles crunch beneath my boots.
“Callum!”
I trip over a fallen branch and go flying into the dirt. I scrape my hands and knees on stones and twigs that litter the floor.
Get up,
the trees whisper.
Get up.
I scramble to my feet, but it’s too late. Five men enter the clearing.
No. This can’t be happening.
I step warily back, and I hit something solid.
A strong arm hooks around my waist, and the familiar scent of the forest at night washes over me. My blood turns to ice. I buck against the male who holds me, but he merely tightens his grip.
He pushes a cloth over my mouth, and I smell something chemical that makes my eyelids droop.
No. No. No.
He dips his mouth to my ear. His tone is as dark and smooth as the shadows that surround us. “You should have run faster, little rabbit.”
Then, black.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I’m cold. There’s something hard beneath me. The air smells like mildew. Somewhere, something is dripping.
“You should bathe her before you present her to him. She smells strongly of the Highfell wolf.” A deep, unfamiliar male voice rumbles through my fuzzy mind and makes my muscles harden.
“He’s territorial. It works in our favor.” This voice is familiar. Bored. A dark, smooth caress on my senses.
I force my eyes open, but I remain perfectly still. I do not know what is happening. I do not know where I am. I’m like a rabbit in a trap, trying to avoid attention from predators.
I calm my pulse and take stock of my surroundings.
I’m lying on a cot in the corner of a small, dank dungeon cell. The stone walls are wet, and the air is thick. We’re underground, I presume. Through the bars, two men lean against the opposite wall, torchlight dancing over their features as they talk.
One, I have never seen before. He is tall and broad-shouldered. His dreadlocks are tied back from his face to reveal bright brown eyes and a chiseled jaw. He is not dressed like a wolf. He wears black leather breeches and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose tattoos inked on his dark skin.