The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

“Ground rules?” I narrow my eyes.

Callum sighs, then nods at the bed. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

“I’d prefer to stand.”

He huffs out a laugh. “This is the first rule—if I ask you to do something, I need you to do it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m an alpha. And it’s expected.”

“So alphas are so fragile they cannot bear to be challenged on anything?” I cock my head to the side. “I think you are a lot more similar to Southlands lords than you realize.”

A soft grunt of displeasure scrapes against his throat as he folds his big arms. I have to stop myself from staring at the way his biceps strain against his sleeves. I have to suppress my smile, too. Why is it so satisfying to get a rise out of him?

“No,” he mumbles. “It’s not like that.”

The corner of my lip twitches. “What is it like?”

He sighs. “Okay, I suppose it is a wee bit like that. I’ll look weak if you challenge me. And if I look weak, that puts you in danger. Aye?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But if you ask me to do anything degrading, I swear on the Sun Goddess, I will make you look so weak—”

“I won’t, Rory. I promise I will not ask you to do anything that will cause you harm, nor compromise your morals or integrity. And in return, while you will be mine, I will be yours, too. I will be your alpha. And I promise to take care of you. For as long as you’re here, with me.”

I am held captive by his gaze. Something stirs inside me, warm, and it spreads through my body and seems to thaw my soul. “Oh,” I say, softly.

I should find everything he is saying abhorrent.

But for the first time since my mother died, someone is offering to take care of me. I’ve been alone for so long that a part of me has forgotten how that feels.

I turn away from him and go and sit on the bed so he can’t see the effect he’s having on me.

“There’s another thing,” he says.

He follows me, then crouches down. The floorboards creak beneath his weight. He runs his thumb along the ribbon around my neck, and I forget how to breathe.

“People know I do not like this as a tradition,” he says. “When they see you wearing it, they’re going to think one of two things. One is the truth. They’re going to think I’m hiding something from them and protecting you because you’re important. We cannot let them think that.”

“Because someone might challenge you?” I ask.

“Aye. And I’d win, make no mistake about that.”

I fight my smile. It would seem like arrogance if anyone else said it, but with him, I actually believe it.

“But it would cause a messy political situation, and James, the king, wouldn’t be too pleased with me.”

“What is the other option?”

“If you’re wearing that, people are going to think we have been. . . intimate. . . with one another. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The memory of what Magnus did to that woman in the kennels floods my mind. He had her on her knees, moaning, as he thrust into her from behind. Sebastian said that that is how all Wolves take their women.

People will think I have done that with Callum.

My gaze drops to his broad chest, and his shirt collar, unbuttoned to expose his thick neck. His hands are on the bed by my thighs, and I think of them grabbing my hips. I Imagine him flipping me over and taking his pleasure from me.

A spark of heat flickers inside me.

“If you wear that, people are going to think you’re my mate,” he says. “It is the only other explanation for why I would have given you this. And we must encourage this explanation.”

“Your mate?”

“It’s a wolf thing. Rare, but powerful. Stronger, even, than love. Two souls chosen by the Moon Goddess to be together, their fates entwined. So. . .” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I may have to touch you from time to time—”

“You do that anyway.”

“And you may have to act as if you actually like me, Princess.”

“I do like you.”

His smile widens. “Well, that’s good then, isn’t it? Because I like you too. Now, can you agree to all this?”

I must act as if he is my. . . lover? The thought makes my heart race a little faster.

Slowly, I nod. “I suppose. If I must.”

“Good. Now, come. There’s something I want to show you.”

***

The dark waters of the loch ripple. On the far side, there’s nothing but green craggy mountains. To our left, there’s a large forest.

The wind is gentle today. It whispers through my hair and carries the scent of peat and heather. Swords clang in the castle courtyard behind us, but we’re beyond the outer walls, and our spot is deserted. A few people looked in our direction when we passed by, but the dark cloak I found in the wardrobe hides the collar well enough.

I said that I’d wear it, I didn’t say I’d display it.

Callum and I sit on the damp grass. He pulls out a hunk of bread he stole from the kitchens and breaks it in two, passing me half.

I take a bite, then stretch out my legs, wincing at the ache that pervades.

“You’re still in pain from riding?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. “Ghealach, it’s been. . . what. . . four days?”

“We can’t all be big muscly Wolves like you.”

He laughs. “Aye. That may be true. Four days. . . Do all humans take this long to heal? Because if so. . . perhaps we won’t need the Heart of the Moon to beat you after all. . .”

There’s a teasing glint in his eye and I raise my chin. “You know, I may not be a big bloodthirsty warrior, but I’m sure there are things I can do better than you.”

“Oh aye? Like what?”

I shrug. “I have some skills in healing and apothecary.” I’d had to. I tended to my mother a lot as a child then developed an interest in it after she died. I always wondered if I could have saved her, if I’d just known the right combination of herbs. “And I do a lot of needlework, too, back home.”

He tears off a chunk of bread with his teeth and chews. “You like to sew?”

“I wasn’t allowed to do much else. I was ill for a lot of my childhood. And my father would never let me go out and do the fun things the other children were allowed to do.” I shrug. “It wasn’t appropriate for my station. So I found my own ways to pass the time.”

“What kinds of things do you like to sew?”

“Dresses, mostly. I love fashion.” I swallow. “And my mother taught me how to embroider. I liked to create the scenes she would tell me in her stories as a child. I would pretend I was living in them.” I shake my head. “It’s silly, really.”

“No,” he says. “It doesn’t sound silly at all. What else do you like to do?”

“Well. . . I like to read, I suppose.”

“Another thing you’re probably better at than me.” Callum rests his arms on his raised knees as he looks out onto the water.

“You can’t read?”

“I can. Not well. My mother taught me when I was a wee lad, but my father never thought it was important. He—”

Callum stiffens, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. We both look over our shoulders.

Blake leans against the outer wall of the castle around three hundred feet behind us. He’s speaking to a girl who is carrying a dead pheasant, but his eyes are on me. His gaze drops to my neck, and the corner of his lip quirks.

“Blake,” growls Callum. “What does he want?”

When the girl leaves, Blake walks toward us with his hands in the pockets of his breeches.

Halfway across the grassy expanse, he halts.

Callum sniffs the air, then jumps to his feet.

The two of them turn their heads toward the hill on the other side of the castle.

“What is it?” I ask, alarmed, as I get up.

“Horses. Fergus. Magnus. And. . . and Ryan.” Callum’s body is rigid, his breathing hard. “They’re coming. I can smell them. And blood. I smell blood. Lots of blood.” He swallows, and his face whitens. “Ryan’s blood.”