The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(61)
I’m dragged around a corner, through some double doors, into what could have been a ballroom once. My heart almost stops. The room is vast and moonlit, and the wall is half torn down on one side. Cold wind blows through it and rocks the dusty chandelier. Six men sit around a long table.
James sits at one end. He leans back in his chair with his legs slightly parted in a display of dominance. His shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbows to display the floral tattoo on one of his arms.
Robert sits beside him—the alpha of the clan who wear green tartan. He’s a huge male with a shaved head who took on the role of the Wolf King when James was absent. He leans toward James and whispers something as I’m pulled closer to them. James grins.
The other men who are facing me—no, the other alphas—are familiar, too, though I can’t put names to their faces. Dread roils in my stomach. These are the alphas from Madadh-allaidh who support James’s claim to the throne.
I fight every instinct I have to struggle, and keep myself limp. Pliant. Unassuming.
I’m thrown to the floor at James’s feet, and I let myself crumple onto the chipped tiles, my dress pooling around me.
“I thought you wouldn’t kneel before a false king, Princess.” James’s gruff voice echoes around the space. The alphas jeer. One of them growls. “How things have changed.”
Adrenaline crashes through me. This is the male who bit me, who attacked me, who tried to force me to marry him. He’s going to send me to a man who will hurt me. Loathing mixes with my fear. I don’t think I can get away from all of these men, but I want him to know what it is to be afraid.
I take a couple of deep breaths to steel myself.
I launch myself at him like a rabid animal. I expect to knock him off his chair, but his feet are planted firmly on the ground. The chair merely rocks before he grabs my waist. A surprised sound escapes his lips.
“I didn’t know you felt that way about me, Princess,” says James, and Robert laughs. “But—”
I grab his face. The amusement drains from his eyes. A hissing sound fills the ballroom as his skin burns beneath my fingers, which I’d dowsed with my vial of wolfsbane. He grabs my wrists, and hurls me across the room. His roar reverberates off the high ceiling. I land, hard, on the cold tiles, the wind knocked out of me. My elbow bangs hard against the floor, and I suppress my whimper.
There’s a loud bang, like the door slamming open, then uproar. Men shout. Chairs are scraped back as the alphas jump to their feet. “Tie her up,” snarls James. Through the chair legs, I see one man get thrown to the ground. Boots thud. A growl fills the space. I don’t know what’s happening, instincts take over. I need to escape.
I scramble to my knees.
James’s eyes shift as they lock onto mine. “Get back down.” He puts the force of his wolf behind his words. It’s like being knocked back by an avalanche. He is using the ?ithne—the alpha’s command—on me. I grit my teeth and withstand it, before shoving it off. I get up and run.
Duncan grabs me under my arms and drags me to a column that supports the ceiling. He wrenches my arms around it and binds my wrists with rope. A male roar fills the air, but that wildness inside me wants release and I can’t focus on it. A scream builds inside me, hollow and endless.
A smooth laugh cuts through the chaos like a blade. I breathe in sharply.
Blake strolls toward the end of the table. His black shirt is stiff and buttoned up to the collar, though his dark hair is as unruly as usual. He drops into one of the seats, and throws his arm over the back. He winks at me.
My heart squeezes. Callum is behind him, and I realize what caused the uproar. They must have just arrived. He is carved out of rage and thunder. He has a foot on the neck of one of the alphas, who must have risen to greet him, while a blond man in a light-green tartan kilt holds a dagger to his throat. Callum barely seems to notice.
It strikes me how unpoised he looks in comparison to Blake. His cheeks are flushed, and his dark-blond hair windswept, like he rode fast to get here. There’s a tear on his shirt, and a streak of blood that I hope is not his. The wolf flares in his eyes as he stares at his brother.
“Touch her again, I dare you,” he growls.
I can practically sense his wolf pushing against his skin—wanting to claim, to protect, to kill.
“Callum,” I whisper.
“It’s going to be okay, Rory.” His voice is rough. “No one is going to hurt you.”
“We’ll see about that,” growls James.
A dimple punctures Blake’s face. “We’re here to negotiate the terms of your release, little rabbit.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We’re here to negotiate the terms of your release, little rabbit.
Blake’s voice echoes around the derelict ballroom. I’m breathing hard, and the bindings pinch my wrists. I don’t want to negotiate. I want Callum to challenge James, and make him pay.
The alphas on their feet around the table look at me like I’m prey. Wolf eyes glint in the darkness. The man on his back, beneath Callum’s foot, gasps for breath and Callum pushes his boot down harder.
Only Blake seems calm, though I know him well enough to guess it’s an act. He sits back in his chair and straightens his collar. Beside him, Callum’s chest rises and falls deeply, and veins throb in his neck.