Chapter 59: The Wolf King: Chapter 59

I’m warm. Comfortable. There is something soft beneath me. I smell woodsmoke and books.

Male voices drift into my consciousness, but I keep my eyes shut, savoring the safety that cocoons me.

“How did you get away from my brother, anyway?” Callum’s voice is quiet, as if he doesn’t want to wake me.

“I’ve been ingesting small doses of wolfsbane for years,” says Blake—nonchalant. “If a wolf takes a bite out of me, it ends worse for them.”

Callum chuckles. “You’re a diabolical wee shite, you know that?”

A smoky wave of amusement washes through me, though I’m not sure where it originates from. It is strange, I suppose, hearing them talk to one another almost as though they are friends.

“So they say,” says Blake.

“But you didn’t kill him.”

“No. It just weakened him enough to knock him out.”

“Can I ask you something?” There’s no response, and I presume Blake must have shrugged because Callum continues. “The scars on your back. How did you get them?”

“The same way as your pet, I presume.”

There’s a shift in the air. “How do you know about—”

“Calm down. I saw her in the bath that time, remember?” I hear flames crackling in a hearth, and the wind rattles a window. “It’s an old Southlands tradition. If they suspect you have wolf genes, they try to beat the wolf into submission.”

Something Blake said earlier ebbs into my mind, but I’m fuzzy with sleep and I can’t quite grasp it.

“They did that to her?” Callum’s voice is filled with horror.

“It seems like it.”

A dark lull spreads through the room, and, whatever they’re talking about, I’m not ready to face it yet.

“What about the scars on your front? The one near you hip. . . it looked. . . nasty.”

“You know, it’s not particularly polite to ask a man about his body,” says Blake. “What next? Shall we compare cock size?”

“It’s not the size of your cock that concerns me.” Callum’s tone is pointed, like a sharpened blade.

“Oh, relax. I have no interest in your pet.”

“That’s not the way it seemed. She was dying, Blake. Is that what does it for you? They say you have dark tastes—”

A ripple of exasperation, of irritation, surges through me and I frown as I push it back. I do not know why I feel this way. I’m warm, and safe, and comfortable.

“Oh yes, you’ve figured it all out. My origin story. That’s why I became a healer. Sick people turn me on so much.” Blake’s tone is dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t know why they say those things about me. If I wanted Aurora, you’d know about it.”

“Hm. Can I ask you something else?”

Blake exhales. “What?”

“My father let you into his inner circle because you healed him.”

“Yes.”

“You were the one who made him sick in the first place, right? I’ve thought about it a lot over the past couple of years. I can’t think of how else it could have happened.”

“What? Poison a king just so I could heal him and gain his favor? Does that sound like something I’d do?”

There’s a weighted silence, but then Callum huffs a laugh. “Aye. I thought as much. You really are a piece of work, Blake.”

“Thank you.” I hear the smile in his voice. I feel it.

“It’s not a compliment,” replies Callum—and yet, I think that it is.

“Your pet is awake, by the way,” says Blake.

Footsteps thud across the room. I open my eyes as Callum crashes to his knees beside the bed. “Rory! Goddess, are you alright?”

His eyes are brimming with wonder, and concern, and relief. No one has ever looked at me like that before, and I smile.

I’m not sure how to answer his question, though. Am I alright? I was captured. I killed a man. I almost died. I should have died.

And yet I feel alive.

My side throbs a little, but other than that, I feel good.

I touch his cheek. “I’m alright.” My voice sounds raw and I clear my throat. “Are you?”

A wide smile spreads across his face. “Aye. I’m alright.”

I groan as I push myself into a sitting position, resting my head against a wooden headboard. One of his hands moves across my lap, his thumb softly stroking my hip. “Goddess, I was worried about you.”

I try to piece together what happened but my memories are distorted. “Where are we?”

The bedchamber is modest. There’s a fire crackling in the hearth. The mantelpiece creaks beneath books, small trinkets, and a decanter of whisky. The bed I’m in is small, but comfortable. Night seeps through the window behind me. I’m not sure if I’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, or an entire day.

Blake sits in one of two armchairs by the door, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

Both men are now dressed, though Callum’s white shirt is ill fitting and it strains against his broad shoulders. Blake has clearly bathed, his face is no longer covered in blood and his hair is wet, while Callum has dirt smeared across his cheek and smells like perspiration.

“We’re at Blake’s castle,” says Callum. “Safe for now.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Just a few hours.”

“You were captured,” I say.

“Aye.” A flicker of shame crosses his face. “I was. But one of Blake’s men set me free. I came as fast as I could.” His jaw hardens. “I’m sorry I was too late to spare you from it all. Can you remember? Can you tell me what happened?”

I take a deep breath as I try to sort it all out in my mind. Then I spill everything that took place since I was taken from Callum. When I tell him the choice James gave me, a low growl rumbles in Callum’s chest and the wolf flashes behind his eyes. His fist curls into the sheets by my thigh.

“James asked you to marry him?”

“Yes. And Blake persuaded him to present me with that choice.”

Callum’s head whips around, and Blake raises his hands—though a smile plays on his lips.

“Tattletale.” A strange ripple of amusement passes through me, even though I am far from pleased by his response. “I was trying to save her life. It’s not my fault she was too stubborn to see that.”

The lie just slips off his tongue—and I know it’s a lie. Why do I want to laugh? This isn’t funny.

When Callum turns his attention back to me, Blake winks.

I ignore him, and continue with my story. When I get to the part about the Heart of the Moon, and how the Wolves all shifted, I feel Blake’s attention on me once more. Callum looks over his shoulder again.

“Sebastian really gave up the Heart of the Moon?”

“Apparently,” says Blake. “Perhaps he didn’t know what is was.”

He doesn’t believe that. Neither do I. But what other explanation could there be? The thought that the Moon Goddess answered my prayer is too ridiculous to voice out loud.

“Then what happened?” asks Callum.

I tell him about the carriage ride and my blood turns cold. I reveal the moment when I slid my blade across Sebastian’s throat, unsure of what Callum will think of me now I am a killer.

I expect judgement, or perhaps horror. Instead, a proud smile spreads across his lips. I feel dark satisfaction rise within me, too. Though the emotion feels like it belongs to someone else, and it tastes like the outdoors at night.

When I get to the part where James attacked me, Callum stills.

“He’s a dead man.” Callum’s eyes flash. “He’s a fucking dead man. I allowed him to be king. I’ve stood by him for all these years. And this is how he repays me? He tries to take what is dearest to me. He tries to make you his. He hurts you. No. I will make him wish he hadn’t laid a finger on you. I had no designs on the throne, I didn’t want to rule, but that all changes tonight. If he wants a war, I shall give him one. I shall gather the outlying clans. I shall end him. And I shall take the throne for myself.”

A surge of triumph floods through me, so strong I gasp. A strange, smoky darkness twists inside my chest—unwelcome, but familiar. A laugh spills from my lips, though I’m not sure where it’s coming from.

Callum’s brow furrows. “Princess? What is it?”

“I. . . I frown. “I don’t know. Sorry. I. . . what were you—?”

Blake is watching me. And I. . . I feel it. I feel his amusement as strongly as I feel my own confusion.

I recall the moment when I was dying. He offered me something and I took it. I felt him then, too. Dark, and smoky, and scented like the forest. He filled me. He was inside me. He gave me light. And I saw things. Felt things. Flickers of memories that weren’t mine.

Dread seeps through my bones.

“What have you done?” My words are quiet and filled with horror.

Callum’s eyebrows knit together as he turns to look at Blake.

“Ah, yes, about that. . .” Blake straightens the cuffs of his black shirt. “I shared my life force with you to save you. Only, it appears there may be a slight. . . consequence. . .”

“What consequence?” I hiss.

Blake runs a hand over his jaw. “It seems to have created a. . . bond. . . of sorts, between us.”

He shrugs as though his words are meaningless but they slam into me so forcefully I physically jerk back.

“What do you mean?”

“I can feel what you feel. You can feel what I feel. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?”

My blood turns cold, while Callum’s entire body hardens.

Before I can do it myself, Callum crosses the room, grabs Blake by his collar, and slams him into the closed door. “You piece of—”

Pain surges through me and I cry out.

Blake arches an eyebrow.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” he asks. “If you hurt me, you hurt her. If you kill me, she dies. And if your brother gets hold of me—then any pain he inflicts upon me will also be inflicted upon Aurora, too. So, if I were you, I’d focus your aggression on him. Because I stuck my neck out for the both of you, and you’d better believe James is going to come after me for it.”

Callum relaxes his hold on Blake’s neck, though his shoulders are still hard.

Blake sighs. “Do you think I wanted this? I’m a private person, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

The two stare at one another for a long moment, before Callum lets him go. “You’d better find a way to break this. . . connection.”

Though Blake is acting sincere, I can taste the smoky amusement on the back of my tongue. “Believe me, this pains me more than it does you,” says Blake.

He smirks.

“I hate you,” I say.

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

Blake smooths down his shirt as Callum comes to sit down on the bed beside me, his jaw tense.

“In the meantime, you’re both welcome to stay at my castle,” says Blake. “I’ll help you recruit the outlying clans before you challenge James for the throne. You won’t be able to take the throne without their support.”

“You’ll help?” Callum’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

I watch Blake. Even if I couldn’t feel the dark waves of smugness coming off him, I’d know he was plotting something.

“What’s in this for you, Blake?” I ask.

“I’d prefer Callum as king. And I’m better at politics than he is. He doesn’t know how to play the game.”

The ghosts of our previous conversations curl around us. For a moment, I wish I could read his thoughts as well as his feelings.

He turns and opens the door. “I’ll see if any word has come back from my scouts. James is probably licking his wounds right now, but it doesn’t hurt to be vigilant. We’ll start recruiting the outlying clans tomorrow.”

“Aye. Okay. You’re an obnoxious prick, Blake. But you saved Rory. I’m thankful for that.”

Blake glances at me, and a strange feeling I cannot quite place washes over me. He shrugs, and strides out into the hallway.

Callum sighs. “Budge over,” he says, knocking me gently with his hip.

He slides his legs onto the bed beside me, pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry I left you. I won’t do it again.”

I breathe him in, and soften against his solid body. “I don’t want to be powerless again. I want to learn to fight. To defend myself.”

“Aye?” I hear pride in his voice again. “You did a good job, as far as I’m concerned. But I shall teach you.”

“Good.”

I stiffen as I remember the conversation Callum and Blake had while I was dying.

“Am I a wolf?”

“It. . . er. . . it seems that may be the case.” He chews his bottom lip. “Blake thinks your mother was a wolf. The way she died. . . he thinks she was poisoned with wolfsbane. He thinks you were poisoned with it, too, for a while.”

My soul freezes and ice spreads through my veins. “Sebastian said my father murdered her.”

Callum exhales, his expression gentle. “Aye. That was the conclusion Blake came to, too. I’m sorry, Princess.”

I shake my head, trying to process it all. Until fear dowses the anger. “What does that mean? Will I shift at the next full moon?”

“I don’t know, Princess. James’s bite could have activated the wolf inside you. What Blake did might have stopped it. I don’t know. If you do shift, I’ll be right there beside you.” His arm tightens around my shoulder. “There’s nothing to fear. I swear it.”

My head sinks into the crook of his shoulder, and he pulls me down onto the mattress, stroking my hair. I sigh.

“You’re going to challenge James for the throne?” I ask.

He hesitates. “I know I said I’d take you to Highfell—”

“No,” I say, my muscles hardening. “Let’s take his throne. I have just as much cause for revenge as you. I want to make him pay.”

Callum grins, then brushes his lips against mine. “My wild and fearsome creature,” he mumbles against my mouth.

“My wolf,” I say as I kiss him back.

***

Something wakes me. Perhaps it is the dull throbbing in my side where James bit me. Or perhaps it is Callum’s absence. I feel it instantly. There is a lack of warmth. Of comfort. Of safety. Instead, a darker aura pulses against my senses.

I jerk upright in the covers. Wincing, I press the spot where James bit me.

The room is dark, though the dying embers glow red in the hearth, and a couple of candles flicker on the mantelpiece.

Blake freezes beside the bed, halfway through the motion of placing something on my bedside table.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“What are you doing here?”

“Tea.” He places a chipped cup on the bedside table. “For the pain.”

I eye him warily as he straightens. I try to sense the joke, the deceit, but I feel only sincerity. I take the cup and bring it to my lips, smelling willow bark.

“I can feel it, you know,” he says. “The pain.”

I place the cup back down. “Good.”

“Are you truly so stubborn?”

When I merely stare at him, he sighs.

“Very well. I’ve experienced worse.”

He steps back and leans against the fireplace.

“Callum is getting his people out of Castle Madadh-allaidh,” he says. “He’s worried James will know we’re planning something and go after Fiona and Ryan.”

“Why did you do it?”

He picks up the decanter on the fireplace, and pours a dram of whisky. “Save you?”

“Yes. No. All of it. How does helping Callum get you what you want? Why capture me and plot against Callum only to save us both? It doesn’t make sense.” My brow furrows. “You planned all this, didn’t you?” I say.

I stretch my mind back to earlier. I’d felt Blake’s triumph when Callum said he was going to take the throne.

“You wanted Callum to challenge James all along, didn’t you?” I say. “Is that why you wanted James to propose to me? He was going to send me back to Sebastian, anyway. That would have been enough to make Callum fight.”

Blake shrugs, swirling his glass. “If James had sent you back to Sebastian, Callum would have torn the world apart to get you back. But he would have understood, deep down, why James had done it. If he’d married you, though. . . If James had taken what Callum believed to be his. . . no, Callum would never forgive him for that.”

I shake my head. “Why? Why do you want Callum to be the next Wolf King? And why would you. . . bond our lives together like this? How does this get you what you want?”

My soul hardens, and I feel the shadowy caress of his darkness twisting around it as something occurs to me. Back in the dungeons, Blake told me he wanted to rule the Wolves.

“Because now Callum can’t kill you,” I whisper in horror. “You’ll gather support among the outlying clans while you’re pretending to support Callum. And once Callum gets rid of James for you—once he takes the throne—you’ll challenge him. Callum will forfeit. He’ll have to. Because you bonded our lives together. He can’t hurt you without hurting me. That’s what this is, isn’t it? That’s what this has all been about.”

And despite the outrage that rises like bile within me, triumph ripples through me too. Because now I know his game, I can play to beat him.

Blake’s eyes glint in the dying embers, and I know he feels the challenge that radiates from me. I know he welcomes it.

He raises his glass, and a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“Long live the king,” he says.

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