The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(4)

He undoes the button, just beneath my breasts, then gently makes his way down. His thumbs and fingers lightly brush my skin. He draws the shirt apart to expose my midriff, and though the cool air touches me, I’m burning.

I want him, I realize. I want him urgently. Desperately. I want his hands on my body, and to dig my fingers into his muscles. I want the warmth of his mouth. I want to climb on top of him and claim him as mine. I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anything before in my life.

I don’t know what has come over me. Perhaps I feel like this because I almost died tonight. Perhaps I want to cast away the cold shadow of whatever nightmare awoke me. But I want to feel warm. I want to feel alive. I want to expel this energy that’s coursing through me.

Callum stills. I prop myself on my elbows. There’s a long jagged scar across my waist and torso where James sank his teeth into me. The skin around it is red, but it must look a lot better than it did only hours ago when I was bleeding on the grass.

I should be worried about it, yet I watch Callum, fascinated. He looks so intense, so impenetrable. His expression is like stone, and he’s every bit the warrior I first saw at the dog fight in Sebastian’s castle.

The wolf flickers behind his eyes. For a moment, I wonder if he has sensed the change in me—this need.

While my anger is mostly directed at Blake for using me as a pawn in his games, Callum’s seems wholly reserved for his brother. “He will die for this.”

It sounds like a promise and it heats my blood more. It’s not just that he cares that I’m hurt—there’s something more primal to it. Possessive. As if he can’t bear that his brother has marked my body.

I’m on fire. A furnace.

Goddess, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I need it to stop. I ache for him. My skin is sensitive, and I shift on the mattress. The strange urge to bite something comes over me. I feel almost feverish. A soft shaky breath escapes me.

Every muscle in Callum’s body becomes rigid.

His gaze snaps to the place between my legs, which now throbs with need, as if he can sense what I’m feeling. I’m only thinly covered by my underwear, and I feel myself getting hotter and damper. He sucks his bottom lip. A soft growl comes from his throat.

When he meets my eyes, his wolf is there, dark and beautiful and powerful. He blinks a couple of times as if he’s trying to pull it back.

“I thought I’d lost you, tonight.” His words are strained.

“You did, for a while. But you found me.” I smile. “Come here.”

He takes a deep breath as he seemingly tries to settle himself.

I’m injured. No doubt, he thinks me a fragile thing that he doesn’t want to break. Goddess, I want to be broken. I want to be consumed. I want to release this caged beast that’s pacing, agitated, inside me. I want all the horrors of tonight to disappear.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t be a gentleman.”

“Rory. . . You’re hurt.”

“Don’t you want to take care of me?”

He lets out a shaky laugh, and drags his gaze away to stare at the floorboards. “Aye, I want to take care of you. But I fear it wouldn’t be right.”

“It would.”

One of his thumbs rubs frustrating circles on my leg, still resting across his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

He shifts so he is kneeling on the mattress between my legs, and triumph bursts within me. His expression darkens.

“You need to get some sleep,” he says.

“Then why don’t you help me relax so I can?”

He groans. “You’re a demanding wee thing, aren’t you? Brave, too, to be tormenting the alpha of Highfell in this way.”

“He doesn’t scare me. I’m courting the future Wolf King, don’t you know?”

He chuckles, a soft husky sound that fills the small bedchamber with warmth and dark promise. “Oh aye? You’re courting him, are you?”

“Do you not think so?”

“What is he like? Handsome, I presume?”

“He’s very handsome. And strong. And he likes to think he’s a gentleman. He’s not. He’s a wolf.”

“Is that so?”

He moves, lowering himself and forcing my thighs to part further to accommodate his broad shoulders.

“Yes,” I whimper.

“I think we’re way beyond courting, Princess.” He plants a soft kiss on the damp fabric of my underwear. “Don’t you?”

My back arches. “Yes.”

Sweat beads on my brow and I want to beg for more, something I’ve never done in my life. Yet as he hooks my underwear to one side with his finger, I stiffen. My body cools, as if I’ve been plunged into ice. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision and a panicked sound escapes my lips. Callum stills between my thighs.

A growl builds, crescendos, vibrates inside me. It’s like there’s something caught in my chest, thrashing against a cage, trying to break free. It wants to run toward something, but I don’t know what. My skin is clammy. My hair sticks to my face.

“Callum,” I whimper.

“Princess?” He’s up, instantly, caging me within his arms. “Ghealach, you’re burning up.”