The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

There’s a knock at door, waking me.

How can I face Callum this morning?

I lock away the shame that creeps through my body when I remember how bold I was, when I remember how angry I was when he left. I lock away other feelings too—feelings I do not want to acknowledge. Feelings that heat my blood, and rattle my soul. I push away the strange dreams of Wolves and mountains and monsters in the dark, too.

I take a deep breath. “Come in.”

“Hello, little rabbit.”

My stomach drops and I jolt upright, the sheets dropping to my midriff.

Blake leans in the doorway. He’s wearing dark breeches and a well-fitting black shirt. He looks like a villainous prince from the kinds of stories my mother would tell me. His dark hair, slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it, only adds to the effect.

I am not in the mood for him this morning. “What are you doing here?”

I glance at my bedside table, looking for the silver letter opener I brought here. There is only a pile of medical books, an almost burnt-out candle, and Callum’s red tartan collar on its surface.

“Looking for something?” he asks.

He pulls a small cloth package out of his pocket, and unwraps it to reveal my silver blade within. I’d forgotten that I’d thrown it at him during the full moon.

He holds it out to me and it gleams in the cold sunlight.

Warily, I slide out of bed, and pad across the floor toward him. He tracks my movements. When I reach for it, his lips part slightly.

I drop my arm to my side. “Why do you want me to take it so much? What have you done to it?”

“Nothing.”

He seems to study me. He’s tall, and I have to look up. I feel like he’s challenging me, and I don’t want to back down. I cannot help the small burst of interest that sparks inside me, too.

Like Callum, Blake is an alpha. He must be around the same age, too. He has the Southlands accent, and says he worked in the King’s Guard. How did he rise to such a high position among the Wolves?

“Why did you choose to come here, little rabbit?” asks Blake.

“I didn’t. I was kidnapped.”

“Hm.” His eyes gleam, as if he knows I am lying.

He removes the letter opener from the cloth and his skin hisses as the silver touches his skin.

He flips it over so he’s holding the blade, and offers me the hilt.

“I’ve done nothing to it,” he says. “Take it.”

I let him hold it for a moment longer, knowing it is burning his skin. Then I take it. His gaze flits to my hand, my face. Curiosity blazes in his eyes.

His expression settles back to boredom as he walks over to my bookshelf.

“Get out of my chambers,” I say.

He runs his index finger along the dusty spines. “Are you sure they’re your chambers?”

A horrible feeling washes over me. I glance at the piles of medical tomes, the strange pots of herbs, and that dark book of handwritten experiments that I’ve been reading.

I told myself I never wanted to meet the previous inhabitant of this room.

I stare at Blake’s back as he thumbs through the books.

“This was your room, wasn’t it?” I say flatly.

“This is my room. I no longer reside here, but I use it for some of my most interesting possessions.”

I don’t like the way he says that—as if he’s storing me in here, too. “Get out, Blake. Callum won’t be pleased when I tell him about this.”

Blake turns and props an elbow on the bookshelf. “Did he not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Callum’s not here.”

I frown. “You’re lying.”

A dimple punctures his cheek. “He rode out this morning. He’s gone to find the Wolf King.”

My insides turn to ice.