The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(36)
Bite.
The wolf shines in Callum’s eyes as he watches me, and the strange reaction I’m having to him that I’m trying to suppress. He steps closer, and slides his thumb further back. I should push him away. I should pull back. I should not be fighting the urge to sink my teeth into him with every ounce of my willpower.
My breathing quickens. Sweat beads upon my brow. Heat pools between my thighs, and Callum’s nostrils flare.
“No? Very well.” He huffs a soft growl, and pulls his thumb away. “I have not been as attentive as I should have been.” His voice is hoarse. “It’s a primal act. I worry I’ll lose control of myself. The fever. . .” He shakes his head. “It troubles me. But if you need me, come to me.” He takes my chin between his thumb and finger. “No more biting yourself, okay?”
***
When evening approaches, rain drums against the castle walls. The torches flicker, as Callum and I make our way to the feast. I’m wearing my new dress. It’s long-sleeved and blue, and I catch Callum trying not to stare at the low neckline
Noise hits us as we reach the doors to the Great Hall—raucous voices, the clatter of crockery, and music. We pause beside a man who plays the bagpipes, and I’m almost deafened.
The space is packed. I can’t even see the alpha table at the back. Blake must have invited people from the village, because many wear Lowfell’s black and grey tartan. I think there are more people from Glas-Cladach, too, who must have traveled for the festivities. Their kilts and dresses are wet from the rain, and the air is hot and damp.
“Ready?” asks Callum, threading his fingers with mine.
I nod. My shoulders bump against people’s arms, as we weave through the crowd. Callum greets Wolves, his voice loud and warm. A shriek makes us both stiffen, and we both laugh when we realize the source of the sound was the small boy, Alfie—a disgruntled-looking Arran confiscates a goblet of wine from him. Elsie, beside him, takes it off him quickly, then catches my eye and grins.
“Looking superb, tonight, Aurora,” says Lochlan as we reach the alpha table. He leans back in his chair, and the collar of his shirt shifts. Candlelight flickers over the edge of a tattoo on his collarbone.
I return his smile. “Thank you.”
Blake is on Lochlan’s other side, talking to Jack, but his gaze flicks up. Callum’s hand tightens around mine. We take our seats beside Lochlan.
The tension between Blake and Callum is palpable. Neither of them acknowledges the other, yet Callum’s biceps bulge against his sleeves, and Blake’s fingers flex by his butter knife.
Both relax as food is brought out—large platters filled with salmon that must have been caught from the loch, steamed potatoes, and green vegetables. Goblets are filled with rich red wine. Lochlan makes small talk about his clan. The air is alive with music, laughter, and the loud unruly conversation I’ve become accustomed to in the Northlands. Everyone is in high spirits.
“So, Lochlan.” Callum puts down his fork. Blake turns his head in our direction, his goblet of wine halfway to his lips. “Are we finally going speak about the reason you came here? I’m presuming you want something in return for supporting me when I challenge James for the throne?”
A slow smile spreads across Lochlan’s face. “I have three conditions for my support.”
Callum leans back in his chair. “Okay.”
“I want Fort Dubh-Clach, the territory Sebastian took when he was looking for Aurora. It was mine before Kai, my beta, rose against me and claimed it as his. I doubt he’s alive now.” His kohl-lined eyes glimmer in the candlelight, and he smiles. “If any of his clan survived, they will pledge themselves to me. They were mine, once. The transfer will be peaceful.”
Callum inclines his head. “I have no problem with that, though we’ll have to win it back when I’m king. The fort will be under the control of whoever has taken over the Borderlands.” Callum glances at me. “Do you know who the new lord will be?”
I shake my head. “Sebastian had no family. One of the lords of the nearby castles may have—”
“His name is Alexander,” says Blake.
Something inside me freezes at the name. The memory of a man packed with muscle, his breath sour with wine, his hand gripping my thigh, flashes behind my eyelids. “If you’re talking about Sebastian’s bastard brother, he. . . he died a while ago. It must be someone else.”
Blake looks at me curiously. “I assure you, he’s alive, and has laid claim to the Borderlands in his brother’s absence. My spy told me.”
I shake my head. He’s wrong. He has to be. I lean forward so I can see him properly, beyond Callum’s big bulk. “My father will never accept him as a lord.”
“He might, given the right persuasion.” Blake arches an eyebrow at me, and I take a sip of wine so I have something to do with my hands.
“So, that’s why he wants you, Rory,” says Callum. He runs a hand over his jaw. “Fine. Done. I’ll personally hand you his head while I’m at it. What else do you want?”
“I want to know if Kai, or any of the other Wolves from that clan, are alive.”
“Kai is dead.” Blake’s tone is even, but that thread of shadow tightens. He’s lying. He runs a finger along his butter knife. “They’re all dead. My spy told me that, too.”