The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(62)

“Let her go,” he growls.

“No,” says James. There are three blistered lines down both of his cheeks where I attacked him. They look like claw marks. “Not until I’m finished with her.”

“If you touch her—”

“You’ll what? Defy me? Betray me? Attempt to lead an uprising against the throne?” James’s voice increases in volume. “It seems you’re already doing those things, brother. We are at war. Our people are dying. And you see fit to set wolf against wolf, when our real enemies lie south of the border.” The alphas murmur in agreement. The man holding the dagger to Callum’s throat tightens his grip on the hilt, and his knuckles whiten. Callum doesn’t seem to notice. “When our real enemy is here. You align yourself with the daughter of the conqueror who invades our lands, the prize of the lord who holds Claire in his kennels, the lass who was betrothed to the man who flayed our mother!”

The color drains from Callum’s face. He clenches his fists, as if he can hide his shock and pain. Regret swims through me.

I’d broken the news of her death to Callum, but I didn’t disclose my suspicions about how she was murdered, gleaned when James told me about the fur coat that had arrived addressed to his father. I’d wanted to spare him that pain.

I hate James for using this against him, as much as I hate him for what he has done to me.

Callum blinks a couple of times. “Rory is not our enemy.”

“Sit down, Brother.” The wolf disappears from James’s eyes. “You and I have a lot to discuss.” He nods at the man who holds a blade to Callum’s throat. “Put that away, Hamish. You can all sit back down, too.”

Hamish pulls back and sheaths his dagger. He sits, and the others do, too. Callum removes his foot from the alpha’s neck. The male, who seems younger than the others, pushes himself to his feet. He narrows his eyes at Callum.

“Cunt,” he mutters.

“Don’t test me, Kenneth,” snarls Callum.

Kenneth sits down and folds his arms as if he’s unbothered, but his face is as red as his hair.

“There’s nothing to discuss, James,” says Callum. “You took my lass, and you will die for it. First, I shall be taking her back.”

He strides toward me. Duncan points a blade at my throat. I gasp and raise my chin to stop my skin from puncturing. Callum halts.

“I’d advise you to reassess, Brother,” says James.

Flexing his hand at his side, Callum walks back to the table. He seats himself at its head, opposite his brother. He points at Duncan. “You and I will be having words when this is through.” Duncan pales as Callum turns his attention to the head of the table. “Talk.”

“Your father would turn in his grave to see his two lads fighting over a southerner.” The male beside James leans forward. He’s older than the others, with grey hair. He has an angular face, and there’s an absence of laughter lines around his eyes.

“Our father thought you a coward, Malcolm, after you ran to the High Peaks with your tail between your legs rather than coming to our grandfather’s aid when he needed you,” growls Callum.

Malcolm’s eyes flash.

“He’s right,” says James. “Our father despised you. This is between my brother and me.”

“I presume Alexander is on his way?” Blake interjects.

“He is,” says James, and my stomach feels watery.

Blake drums his fingers on the table. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

“You’re looking very smug for a dead man, Blake,” says James.

“You’re looking very smug for a wolf who expects to rule a kingdom after negotiating, yet again, with southerners,” says Blake.

James’s lip curls up. “As opposed to my brother, who surrounds himself with them.”

Blake laughs, the sound cold. “Please. Aurora is no threat. As for me, I was on your council once, too, James.”

James clenches his fist on the table. “And look how that worked out, you untrustworthy bastard.” He shakes his head. “You’re both a threat to this kingdom, and my brother needs to see it.”

“Rory is not a threat,” growls Callum.

“He’s right,” says Blake. “She’s not. James, you’re getting paranoid, just like your father did before his end. He said some interesting thing about you, you know?” A muscle feathers in James’s jaw, and Malcolm narrows his eyes. “If you’d let Callum keep his pet, we’d not be in this mess, now, would we?”

James laughs, the sound gruff and humorless. “She’s Callum’s pet, is she?”

“Whose else would she be?” says Blake.

I try to contain my indignation for the sake of self-preservation, but I can’t. “I’m no one’s pet,” I blurt. “I’m the princess of the bloody Southlands!”

Duncan presses his blade into my skin, and I tense. “Probably not the best idea to remind everyone of that right now.”

A few men jeer, and Callum growls to silence them. “What do you want, James? You’re my brother. We grew up together. We hunted in the forests round Highfell, and picked flowers for our mother. When I broke my leg, you carried me up Glen Ghealach on your back. You taught me to wield a sword, and I have supported you, loyally, always. I could have challenged you a thousand times, but I pledged myself to you.” His expression hardens. “You have insulted me. You have harmed the lass I care about above all others. You hold her now, against her will. You knew how I felt about her, and you asked for her hand in marriage anyway. You have dishonored yourself, and brought shame to our family, to our mother. What’s more, you’re keeping Fi, one of mine, hostage. My honor will not let you walk away from this unscathed. You know that.”