The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(104)

“Together. Come on.”

I grab his arm. He limps toward me just as something slices through the air once more. Philip takes me down with him as an arrow sinks into his side. His sword flies across the clearing. “Fuck.”

I try to drag him to his feet. Footsteps crunch toward us, and our gazes flick up.

A figure emerges from the shadow-drenched trees. Packed with muscle and dressed in a finely embroidered black coat with the Borderlands symbol—a star—etched upon its breast, Alexander smiles.

“Hello, love,” he says. My heart stills. Philip starts to push himself up, hand curling around his other dagger. “Down, pup.” Alexander’s eyes transform, blazing with the wolf he hides within.

Philip sinks to his knees and drops the dagger. A crease forms between his eyebrows, then his nostrils flare. “Aurora. Run—”

“Philip! What are you doing?” I demand.

“Quiet,” says Alexander.

Philip shuts his mouth. Panic writhes inside me.

I shake my head. “Philip. . . what. . .”

“I’m sorry.” His skin is pale. “I didn’t know. I swear it. I didn’t know. They had shifted. I thought it was Jack.”

My throat is tight as more men emerge from between the trees. “Alexander is your alpha,” I breathe in horror.

“You were pissed out of your mind, pup,” says Alexander. “I’m surprised you even remember getting bitten. We both sank our teeth into you. It seems I won the claim. Lucky me.” He throws shackles onto the floor before us, and his eyes shift. “Put these on your sister. We’re going to the Grey Keep.”





Chapter Fifty-Six





Silver cuffs bite into my wrists. My arm is wedged against the carriage door and one of Philip’s knees is pressed against mine. He is in shackles too. The scent of his blood hangs in the air and he groans when we hurtle over a bump in the road through the mountains.

“Our father will see you hang for this.” Philip’s voice is hoarse.

Alexander sits opposite, thighs parted. “Your father’s a cunt, and when I’ve achieved my goal, he’ll be dead. As will you.”

Waves of panic keep riding over me. I try to calm myself, but my breathing is fast, and my skin cold. This is too similar to what happened with Sebastian. I escaped that, yet I don’t think I’ll be so lucky this time.

How about you show me what else you learned while you were being a whore to that Highfell beast?

“What do you want with me?” I ask.

“Shh.” Alexander leans forward and takes my chin between his finger and thumb. My soul recoils. “Save your strength for later, my love.”

“Get your hands off me.” I spit in his face and jerk back.

Philip stiffens. Alexander merely drops his hand and laughs—a low, gravelly sound that sends a shiver down my spine. He leans back, wipes the saliva off with his fingers, then sucks them. Fear tightens in my chest, and Philip shifts slightly, as if he can put himself between us.

Alexander’s eyes shift. “If she moves against me again, deal with her.”

Philip’s jaw clenches. A vein throbs in his neck. I sense the wolf beneath his skin, as if it’s fighting Alexander’s command. If I’m going to do something, it needs to be now. I grab the letter opener Callum gave me from my pocket and hurl myself at Alexander. Philip’s anguished roar fills the carriage as he grabs me by the middle and slams my head into the door.

Pain bursts into my skull.

Philip’s eyes swim with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

The last thing I see is Alexander’s wide grin.

Black.

***

I groan. The scent of seaweed and sweat permeates the cool air. I peel open my eyelids and push myself onto my forearms. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. I’m in a cage. No. A cell. One of the walls is curved and barred. I touch my head—my hair is wet and sticky. Blood.

Panic tightens in my chest. Philip is not here. I’m alone. I’m going to die.

Someone is mumbling not far away.

“Stop your whining.” The voice is rough and familiar, thick with the Northlands accent. My heart jumps. I turn toward the next cell. The wolf inside grins. “Hello, Princess.”

He has the same powerful shoulders and almond-shaped eyes as Callum. For a moment, I let my heart tell me it’s Callum who sits against the damp wall, that this man’s kilt is the Highfell tartan, not the pattern that combines all the clans. Until I’m forced to confront the tangled brown hair that brushes his shoulders and the ink that covers his arms.

“James?”

“Shouldn’t you be up there with that southern bastard?” He gestures with his chin at the ceiling.

“Where is my brother?”

“Your brother?”

“Alexander took him, too.”

James tips back his head and a low, gravelly laugh fills the cell block. “They said Alexander was a mad dog, but he’s kidnapped both of the heirs to the Southlands throne? Fuck me. We really are in trouble.”

A low moan comes from the cell next to James’s. “I should never have come here. I should never have fucking come here.”

“Be quiet, lad,” says James.

I straighten. “Ryan? Is that you?”