The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(24)

Callum strides across the clearing. He bunches Blake’s collar into his fist, and slams him into the nearest rock. He curls his hands around his neck and squeezes.

The air supply is cut off from my lungs. I stagger back, clawing at the invisible fingers around my neck.

“Callum,” I croak. “Callum. Stop.”

Callum inhales sharply, as if he’s only now remembering the connection. The pressure eases as he pulls back. He’s breathing quickly. A muscle flickers in his temple. He clenches his jaw, then brings his mouth to Blake’s ear. “When the time comes, I’ll enjoy killing you.”

Blake only drags his teeth over his bottom lip, my blood tainting it like burgundy wine. His expression is bored, even if his cheeks are flushed and his dark hair is messy.

Callum shoves, then releases, him. He strides toward me and scoops me into his arms. Without a backward glance, he crosses the circle and walks away from the gathered Wolves. Agitated conversation fills the darkness.

“I’m quite capable of walking by myself,” I hiss, my cheeks flaming. I don’t know what the Wolves must think of me, but getting bitten then carried away was not the first impression I hoped for.

“I cannot let you go right now. Please do not ask it of me.”

Callum begins the decline toward Lowfell Castle, the angular stone building small from such a height.

“At least we’ve established that James definitely doesn’t have the Heart of the Moon.” Blake’s smooth voice follows us, and he sounds completely unaffected by what happened.

“Indeed,” says Lochlan. “Why bring muskets, if you can use your teeth?”

Their voices fade into the night. Callum doesn’t speak again as he carries me down the mountain, through the torchlit courtyard, and into Lowfell Castle. He takes me straight to our chambers. The fire is almost out, and embers glow in the hearth. He sets me down in front of one of the armchairs. His hands are on me again instantly, running up and down my arms, before cupping my face. His eyes are wild when his gaze drops to my shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” His voice is as gruff as gravel.

I shake my head. “It’s just a bite.” It’s not, though, and we both know it. It’s an assault on my freedom, and an insult to a territorial alpha who considers me to be his.

A low sound escapes him. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“No.” My jaw clenches. “He shouldn’t have.”

He touches my throat. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m alright.”

“Can I see?” he asks.

I nod. He unties my cloak and drops it to the floor. I turn and move my hair aside so he can undo the fastenings of my dress. I flinch, knowing he can see the scars that brand my back, but when I face him, his eyes are on the bloodstained fabric on my shoulder.

Gently, he pushes my sleeves down my arms, until my dress bunches at my waist. Cold air brushes my bare skin. I feel exposed, but he’s not looking at my breasts.

Blood is smeared across my shoulder, oozing from the teeth marks that puncture the skin. The wound glistens in the low light. The blood makes it look worse than it is. It should heal quickly, but Callum swallows. Hard. He squeezes his eyes shut as he presses his forehead against mine. “Fuck. I want to kill him.”

“You can’t. Not yet.” I touch his chest, curling my fingers into his shirt. “I’m okay.”

“He claimed you—”

“I don’t care what anyone says.” My tone sharpens. “I don’t belong to anyone. Least of all Blake.” His chest is rock hard beneath my knuckles, his muscles strained.

He stalks away, into our bathing chambers. It’s as if he can’t bear to look at me.

“Callum?”

The air is cold against my bare chest, and I cover myself with my arms. I feel vulnerable, even more so than when Blake bit me. My skin pebbles, and I’m starting to pull my dress back up when the floorboard creaks.

I release a breath, and my grip on the fabric. Callum holds a washcloth and a small bowl of water. He has not abandoned me like I feared. He takes my upper arms, and steers me into the armchair by the fire. He kneels before me and places the bowl between my legs.

Dampening the cloth, he brings it to my shoulder. Gently, he wipes away the blood. I feel the warmth of his palm through the cloth.

The look on his face. . . I feel as if I need to comfort him, reassure him, even though I’m the one who has been bitten. When the blood is gone, the circular mark is barely visible on my skin.

“It’s not deep,” I say. “It will heal soon.”

Callum wrings out the cloth in the bowl, and my blood dances across the water. “There is power in an alpha’s bite. If Ghealach accepts the claim, it will scar. This may well brand your skin forever.”

My pulse kicks up. “What?” For the first time since we arrived here, the fever rises within me, again. Sweat beads on my skin, and my insides feel like they’re burning. I try to pull it all back, to cage my emotions, but all I can think of is how much I want to sink my teeth into Blake and tear him apart, limb from limb. “He bit me, knowing I didn’t want it, knowing it would scar me forever?”

“Aye.”

Blake has seen the scars that mar my back, given to me by the priest to suppress the wolf inside me. He was there when James’s teeth sank through my flesh and almost killed me, branding my waist and torso. He knew this, and decided to leave his mark on me, too.