The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(83)

Callum releases a bitter laugh. “You think that’s why he kissed you?”

“Enough! Enough with this jealousy! You act as if you suffer, yet it’s suffering of your own devising. You could have challenged James the moment I was brought into that room, but you didn’t. You chose to do nothing. You chose to let it happen. Why? Tell me the truth!”

“I had to know.”

“Know what?”

He puts his head in his hands. “I started to suspect, long before that night, that I had been cursed to want something that could never truly be mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

He drags his fingers down his face. “Do you have feelings for him?”

“What? No!”

“Now who is not being honest? You expect me to tell you the truth when you’re concealing it from me.”

“I’m not lying to you—”

“I’m a wolf, Rory! Your heartbeat, your movements around him, your scent. . . Can you look me in the eye and tell me you felt nothing when he pressed his lips to yours?” I open my mouth and he shakes his head. “If you cannot be honest about this, I don’t think I can get past it.”

“You know James did this to get under your skin, don’t you?”

“Of course I know!” He slams his hand against his chest. “Yet I wonder if in his own way, he was trying to help me.”

“This is the wolf who attacked me, bit me, damned near killed me!”

“Answer the question.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Perhaps I am.” He leans forward, and rests his forearms on his thighs. The mattress creaks beneath him. His shoulders are hunched, the muscles in his neck tense. He’s such a sorry sight that if I weren’t so frustrated with him, I would comfort him. “My wolf is so close to the surface when you’re near, I cannot make sense of my emotions. I’ve never felt so out of control. I don’t know if I’m overreacting, or underreacting. I don’t know what’s real. My blood is roaring and my teeth ache and I feel as if I could shed my skin and shift at any moment.” His eyes shine in the darkness. “And that was always my father’s excuse. He would lose his temper, and act jealous, and hurt the people around him, and he would say he did it because of the wolf. I don’t want to turn into him. So I suppress it, and I tell myself I’m not right to feel the way I do, but I have to know, Rory. I need you to tell me. When he kissed you, what did you feel?”

I take a shuddery breath. I turn to the window, and place my hands on the desk, littered with books. I catch the slither of the moon that peeks from behind the clouds. The wind ripples the loch, and stirs the branches of the evergreen trees on its bank. “I don’t know. I felt angry with you.”

“And?”

I think of the moment he brushed his lips against mine. I felt like I was falling, and darkness was flooding me. I felt an intense ache, like nothing I had felt before. I felt heat in my blood.

“I felt his emotions,” I say.

“And?”

I shake my head, and turn back to him. “That’s all.”

He makes a frustrated sound and stands. “I don’t know if you’re lying to me or yourself.”

His footsteps thud as loudly as my heartbeat as he walks to the door and grabs the handle.

“I felt something!” The words tumble out of me, traitorous and painful, and he halts. The muscles in his back bunch beneath his shirt. “Is that what you want me to say? I felt a glimmer of something, perhaps. A fleeting moment. It was because I was angry with you. My feelings were mixed with his, and it was intense, and I was afraid.”

He turns, and the wolf blazes in his eyes. He swallows. Hard. Then nods. “Thank you. Thank you for being honest.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I need. . . I need to calm down.”

I walk to him and grip his hand. I’m angry and frustrated, yet I feel it needs to be said.

“I’ve met men like your father, Callum. You are not like him.” I put his hand on my chest, over my heart. “And you say you don’t know what’s real? This is real. We are real. I took your hand, and I chose you that night in the Borderlands. I choose you now. But I cannot, will not, be the princess you keep locked in your tower while you spiral over things that neither of us can control. I did not want to kiss him. You know that. So go for a walk, swim in the loch, take the time you need to get past this. But get past it, because if you cannot. . .”

I can’t bring myself to say it. He nods, and presses his forehead to mine. His skin is hot. He feels almost feverish. “You don’t know how much I want you to be mine, Rory.”

“Then stop being such a territorial beast. And stop pushing me away.”

He releases a half-laugh, but there is no humor in it. He turns to the door again.

“Callum, wait.” He looks over his shoulder. I need you, I want to say. Stay. But I feel as if I need some distance, too, after everything he has said. I think we both need to sort through our emotions. “You said you would not protect Philip, if he stays.”

“Do you want me to?”

My insides twist. “I. . . I don’t know. I hate him, but he’s my blood.”

I wonder if he—with his relationship with James—understands more than most how complicated siblings can be. “I shall tell my people Philip is our hostage,” he says, “and we mean to use him to get to your father. Perhaps, once we beat Alexander, we will do so.”