The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(52)

“Oi! That’s private!” snarls Ryan, cheeks reddening.

Callum arches an eyebrow. “Would it hurt you to offer me, your alpha, a bit of respect every once in a while?”

“I would if you wouldn’t go around proclaiming my private business!”

I touch Callum’s wrist and squeeze, hoping he won’t torture the boy any further. He rolls his eyes at me—the boyish gesture at odds with his big physique.

“Ah, young love.” Jack grins as he slings his arm over the back of his chair, provoking another snarl from Ryan. “Come out with me tomorrow. We’ll do some training to keep your mind off things.”

“I’m better than you, anyway,” says Ryan.

“Fighting talk, indeed,” says Jack. “I suppose we’ll see about that. You are good with a sword, though.” Ryan sits a little straighter, chest puffing out ever so slightly. “Callum teach you?”

“Aye,” says Ryan.

Callum grins and shakes his head as he goes back to his soup. Jack was trying to get Callum to fight him a few weeks ago, to learn how Callum fought. I suppose his implication is that if he can beat Ryan, he can beat Callum. Callum doesn’t seem threatened by the blatant challenge.

“Aren’t lobsters saltwater creatures?” says Arran suddenly, spoon paused halfway to his mouth.

“What? No! No, they’re not!” says Elsie, looking at me, alarmed. “Those were freshwater lobsters. They’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll live long and happy lives.” Blake takes a sip of wine. “And soon, Lowfell will be overrun with lobsters. There will be shellfish all over the island, and I’ll be known as the oddball alpha who lives in a castle among his crustaceans.”

Alfie squeals with delight, clapping his hands together, and Jack pretends he has lobster claws on the other side of the table. A smile spreads across my face as Callum laughs beside me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was starting to enjoy his time at Lowfell, and the company within its walls.

Strangely, I am, too. I think about what Lochlan said, about Blake collecting broken birds. There’s Elsie, abused by her father, and little Alfie, who barely escaped his. Arran sits with a beaker of water, when everyone else has wine. And Jack, whose history I don’t know, but whom I catch with a dark look in his eyes every so often.

There’s a peace here that I didn’t find at Madadh-allaidh, and that I certainly never knew back home. Blake may be an alpha, but he doesn’t seem to take the role particularly seriously when the other alphas are not watching.

Yet as laughter spreads around the table, and Elsie pinches Alfie’s side with fake lobster claws, I can’t help but feel like this is the calm before the storm. Tomorrow night is the full moon. After that, if we manage to knock James off his throne, we will all be enemies once more.

Blake catches my eye across the table, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

I avert my gaze, and have a mouthful of soup.

The corner of my mouth twitches. Callum is right.

It tastes horrible.





Chapter Twenty-Four





The next evening, as the sun descends behind the mountains, Callum and I walk away from the castle walls. My fingers are laced with his.

The energy in Lowfell has been charged all day. As the hours raced by, tension built within me. It’s not just fear that makes my skin hum. I feel as if something is awakening within me. Something that longs for release.

To my dismay, Callum left for a few hours, so I was alone with my thoughts all afternoon. I was unable to concentrate, unable to do anything but pace up and down our chambers and prevent myself from searching Lowfell for someone to pick a fight with—preferably Blake. Or Callum, because I didn’t want to be left alone.

Now, I keep my emotions and my restlessness close and my head raised as we pass other Wolves gathering by the bank of the loch. Someone is playing bagpipes, Ryan is sitting on the bank with Jack, and the two pass a flask between them. A few Wolves in yellow tartan build a bonfire—assisted by Arran. To them, this is a night of celebration.

I hope the cold wind masks the sound of my racing pulse, and the scent of my fear. I grip Callum’s hand more tightly than necessary, and he runs his thumb along my knuckles as the rain-drenched grass squelches beneath our boots.

Lochlan beckons us over, but Callum merely waves in acknowledgement and tugs me into the woodland. We walk in silence for a while, and pass the crumbling chapel. He leads me to a clearing. I halt.

A soft laugh escapes my lips and mists in front of my face. Warmth spreads through me, and some of my tension dissipates. “This is what you were doing today.”

He stands beside me and curls his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my head. “Do you like it?”

Candles of varying sizes flicker at the edges of the clearing, about fifty in total, sheltered from the wind by the tall trees. A small campfire crackles in the center, a pile of rugs and furs beside it. The air smells like evergreen and woodsmoke.

I smile. “I like it very much. Thank you.”

I walk toward the middle of the clearing, and Callum follows. I glance upward. There is a gap in the evergreen canopy, and the darkening sky strains through. My heart beats faster, and I release a shaky breath. It won’t be long.

“Took me a while to find and light the candles.” Callum grins. “Ryan helped. He moaned about Becky the entire time, which made it take even longer.”