The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(10)

Callum’s expression darkens. “Never.”

I take a deep breath to compose myself. “It doesn’t matter whether he says I belong to him or not. He is trying to rattle us. We must get the clans on side so we can win this throne quickly, and we must get Fiona back. Before James has time to act.”

There’s a knock at the door. “Yes?” Blake asks.

A crop of messy copper hair comes into view as Ryan pokes his head into the room.

Callum exhales. “What is it, Ryan?”

Despite Callum’s clear exasperation at the interruption, my lips curve into a smile. Ryan’s freckled face breaks into a grin when he sees me. “Princess! You’re awake!”

“Ryan!” Callum snaps his fingers, drawing the sixteen-year-old boy’s attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Can I have a word in private?”

“Now?”

“Aye.”

Callum’s gaze sweeps across the room, and the men in it. “It can’t wait?”

“No.”

Callum squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll just be a moment. Let me know if you need me, okay?” I nod, and he follows Ryan into the corridor, shaking his head. “I swear to Ghealach, lad, if this isn’t important—” His words are cut off as the door swings shut behind him, and I’m sealed shut in a room with two Wolves who are plotting against Callum and me.

Tension tightens my throat, and my teeth tingle—like I want to bite something. The urge to either cross the room and sink my teeth into Blake, or gnaw my fingertips until they’re bloody, is so strong that I ball my hands into fists.

When the feeling doesn’t desist, I trace the jagged outline of the northern coast on the map, Blake’s sleeve brushing against my hand. I catch a few names—High Peaks, Oidhche Craig. Highfell must be up here somewhere. I spot it by a patch of land named Glen Ghealach.

Blake whispers something. There’s a shuffle, heavy footsteps, and Jack walks past me. He winks then disappears into the corridor and shuts the door.

My gaze moves slowly up to Blake.

I can’t help but think of the fever dreams I had—of his eyes, as black as night, of his laughter skittering across my bones, of him bleeding into shadow and coiling around me like a viper. In the daylight, he is just a male—a wolf—and yet my pulse kicks up as if I’m prey.

“Alone at last, little rabbit.”





Chapter Five





The Northlands kingdom stretches across the oval table between Blake and me. The wind hammers the rain into the arched windows, and the noise pounds through the gloom like the drums of war.

Alone at last, little rabbit.

When he first linked our lives together, I felt his emotions as strongly as my own. I think he has found some way to conceal them, because though I can still feel that dark part of him inside me, I can’t identify his intentions.

How I loathe this male. I think I may loathe him even more than James. I can taste my hatred, bitter on the back of my tongue. My teeth tingle, ache, like I want to sink them into his flesh. He used me. The worst part is how much that hurts.

I’ve never had friends. As the princess, I always stood apart from others. I wasn’t allowed to run around and play silly games with the other children. As an adult, no one talked freely around me. My brother, Philip, was cruel. Every male who ever spoke to me did so because they had something to gain from my father.

I thought this had hardened me, and made me a good judge of character. Now, I wonder if it made me even more susceptible to deception—so desperate to make a connection with someone, anyone, that I let myself be fooled by a snake.

It’s not that I ever fully trusted Blake, but Goddess, a part of me had wanted to. I enjoyed conversations with him, even when he was trying to provoke me. He spoke to me as if I was equal to him—more so, perhaps, than even Callum did. A horrible, weak, cringing part of me wanted to be his friend.

I loathe him, and myself, for it.

“How are you feeling, little rabbit?” His voice is carefully smooth, casual, as if he’s merely making small talk.

I may not have seen Blake’s poison until it was too late, but I know he gains enjoyment from other people’s pain. I won’t give him mine. I force my lips into a polite smile—the same smile I’ve given many obnoxious lords while I secretly recoiled at their presence. “I am well. Thank you.”

He tilts his head slightly to the side. I feel him, then. A cool prickle beneath my skin. The strangest feeling of shadowy vines that spread around my soul. When I felt his yearning, earlier, it seemed involuntary. This is different. It’s like he’s reaching for me, and trying to gauge my emotion. I tense, blocking the sensation, caging my emotions and keeping them close.

“Are you well rested?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Callum said you had nightmares. What did you dream of?” There is something pointed in his tone, as if the answer is important to him, though I can’t fathom why.

“It was just the fever.” I keep my voice sweet as honey. “Thank you for your concern.”

I catch it. His slight flicker of displeasure. My smile aches a little less. My sweetness irritates him. Good.

He strolls toward me, his footsteps loud and steady on the flagstones. He stops close enough that his dark forest scent wraps around me, and he leans back against the table. It creaks beneath his weight. His face is close to mine, and his thigh almost brushes my hip.