Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
“She was,” I say softly.
It’s not yet midday when we reach the village, and the rain finally stops.
Stone houses scatter across the sloping landscape, many with smoke coming from their chimneys. The streets are packed with people heading in the same direction as us, toward a market by the edge of a loch. The women wear simple dresses beneath their cloaks, and most of the men wear the same black-and-grey tartan of Arran’s kilt. Blake’s colors.
“They don’t all wear the Lowfell tartan,” I observe, as an older man stalks past us, wearing a blue-and-green pattern on his kilt that I’ve not yet encountered.
“Some of the older generation still wear Bruce’s tartan.” Elsie’s lips harden. “Blake changed it after he’d killed him, but it didn’t catch on with everyone.”
“Do they not all support Blake as alpha?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Most like him well enough. Our father caused a lot of disruption. He was constantly grappling for more power, invading villages and taking nearby territories. It was the villages like this one that suffered for it when other alphas decided to fight back. Blake has given them some semblance of peace, and most respect him for that, even if he is an outsider.”
“Most?”
“He killed a lot of the Wolves who were in Lowfell Castle the night we arrived,” says Arran quietly. “Most of them had family in villages like this one.”
Elsie points at a building isolated from the others, with black stone walls that look like they’ve been charred. “Plus, he banned the worship of Night, which didn’t go down well with some of the older folks. He’s managed to dowse any sparks of rebellion over the past few years, but some wear the old tartan to remind him that they supported his father, not him.”
Elsie keeps Alfie closer, now, as we pass vendors selling eggs, fruit, and grain from carts. A few say hi to her, and others dip their heads in deference at Arran-clearly recognizing him as one of Blake’s close confidants.
We pass a stone building by the water’s edge, with a sign reading
The Star Inn above its doors. The faint scent of ale comes from within, and adds to the scents of fish and woodsmoke that come from the market stalls. Elsie tenses.
“I’ll take him to get his apple juice,” says Arran, putting his hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “I have no desire to go dress shopping.”
Elsie grips Arran’s bicep, her gaze flitting to the tavern once more. “Just the apple juice. Aye?”
He stiffens, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. I tense because he’s an imposing man. He doesn’t seem like he has a temper like my father, but it’s hard to truly tell. He steers Alfie through the crowd. When he’s reached a cart filled with apples opposite the tavern, Elsie sighs and continues walking.
I don’t want to pry, but. . .”What was that all about?” My voice is barely audible over the sound of a woman shouting about the cheap price of her fresh mussels. The water ripples in the loch, behind her.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything, but he has a bit of a problem with alcohol. Ever since. . . well, he had some dark years, before he came to Lowfell.” She offers me a terse smile. “He’s doing well now, but. . . there are temptations in places like this.”
Alfie’s squeal cuts through the crowd. Behind us, Arran has the small boy in a headlock while he talks to a couple of men by the cart. “He seems like a good father,” I say.
A dark laugh escapes her lips as she pauses by a cheese stall. “I wish he was the father.” She shakes her head. “Alfie’s not mine, either. Not biologically, anyway. His mother was my dearest friend. Blake. . . he scared me, that night when he killed Father. I left Lowfell, fled to a village close to Madadh-allaidh. Alfie’s mother took me in.” She bites her bottom lip. “Her husband was an abusive shite. I watched it happen, how he slowly killed her. She wouldn’t leave him-even though I implored her to. Eventually, it was too late. He murdered her, and damned near killed the wee lad, as well. I got him out of there, and brought him here.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She shrugs as if she’s pretending to be unaffected, but her jaw sets. “The bastard never paid for what he did.” She pats her dagger again. “One day, I’m going to make him pay.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Castle Madadh-allaidh. You might have met him when you were there. His name is Magnus.”
Ice spreads inside me as I recall the sallow-faced wolf with greasy dark hair. He was a prisoner in the Borderlands Castle when I met Callum, and he threatened me that night, and has done so numerous times since. The last I heard of him, Blake had poisoned him and left him in his infirmary.
“I had the displeasure of meeting him,” I say. “Does Blake know all of this?”
“Aye, he knows. I asked him not to kill him. I want to look into his eyes when he dies. Blake’s been torturing the bastard for the past few years.” She shakes her head. “Magnus knows Alfie is here. He thinks Blake is keeping him hostage. It’s how Blake has him wrapped around his little finger.”
“You disapprove,” I say.
“I’ve no qualms with him tormenting the bastard, but I wish he wouldn’t use the lad to do it.”
Sensing I’ve touched on a sore subject, I ask, “Are you and Arran together?”
She laughs a little too loudly for it to be real. “Us two? Together?” She waves a hand dismissively. “No. Of course not.” I must not hide my skepticism, because she exhales and can’t quite meet my eye. “He’s a good man. He’s been good to us both. He’s even tried it on with me a couple of times over the years, but. . . well. . .” She bites her lip, some of the spark dimming in her eyes. She shakes her head. “The goddess has other plans, unfortunately.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“Ah, nothing. Just. . . his soul belongs to another.”
“He has feelings for someone else?”
“You could say that. She’s back in King’s City, I think.” Elsie shrugs. “He pines for her, sometimes. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.” She bites her bottom lip. “I wish I could look past it. After everything I’ve been through. . . I want someone who belongs only to me-heart, body, and soul. I think I deserve that.”
“You do.”
She grins suddenly, and her face lights up. “Have you started that book I lent you?”
“Yes. But then your brother took it off me.”
“Did he now? I’ll find you another.” She points toward a stall by the side of the loch, laden with different colored fabrics, and speeds up. “Come on, let’s get you a dress for the feast. I get all of mine from here.”
I can’t deny I’m a little excited as I follow her to the vendor. After everything that has happened lately, it’s nice to have some semblance of normalcy. My fingers itch to pick something that will make Callum as tongue-tied as he was the last time I wore a nice dress.
***
On the way back to Lowfell an hour or so later, I have three new dresses draped over my arm that Elsie was kind enough to purchase for me. Arran is in a dark mood. I wonder if he drank something, and Elsie’s nostrils flare a couple of times as if she’s trying to determine the same thing. Sensing they might need a moment, I stride ahead to join Alfie. He offers me an apple, and starts naming the nearby sheep.
“Is everything alright?” Elsie’s lowered voice carries in the wind.
“I’m not sure,” says Arran. “Apparently people have been seen entering the chapel by the water. I have a bad feeling Night’s Acolytes might be rising once more. There are rumors that the Night Prince is getting ready to free his master. It could make things difficult.”
“Aye,” she replies softly. “It could.”
Chapter Fifteen
Callum returns to Lowfell that evening. He joins me in our chambers as the sun is setting over the loch. Settling in one of the armchairs in front of the hearth, he tells me about his day. It’s drizzling outside, and his shirt is damp and clings to his muscular shoulders and torso.
Despite the bad weather, he’s in high spirits. Flynn, the alpha he went to visit, has promised to support him when he goes head-to-head with James.
“I knew he would have my back,” says Callum. “I’ve known him for years. He was my first friend when I moved to the south.”
I don’t bother telling him Madadh-allaidh is hardly “the south”. I know he thinks anywhere below Highfell is southern. I tell him about my day, too. He frowns when I tell him what I overheard about the chapel.
That night, Callum makes love to me softly and slowly before we fall asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning, I wake up restless.
The sun has not yet risen, but I can’t get back to sleep. My dreams were agitated. I found myself stalking long endless corridors, past barred cells shrouded in darkness, with the ominous feeling that something bad was following me.
I have tasted freedom here, in the Northlands. But my dreams make me wonder if I still feel trapped-caught in a game between alphas I have little control over. The fact that the new Borderlands lord seems to have resumed the search for me makes me feel even worse.
I wonder if, when I slid the blade across Sebastian’s throat, some vengeful seed was planted in my soul. It longs to be watered, fed, to grow and spread its vicious thorns. I wish to coil my hateful vines around James and my father. I want Blake on his knees, defeated and gasping at my feet.
I glance at Callum. He’s lying on his front, covers pulled down to his waist as if he got too hot in the night-despite the chilly air. He looks gentle now. His dark-sand colored hair is mussed, his lips plump and soft, his body rising and falling with each breath. When James had threatened me, though, those relaxed muscles had tensed and he had become a hard, angry force. When Blake bit me, I thought he was going to kill him.
I know he won’t let me put myself at risk. He will do anything to protect me, even if I want to be able to protect myself.
There is a childish part of me that wishes to incur Callum’s wrath, his full strength, in the way my enemies probably will. I want to see his sizeable biceps clench, and his jaw to harden, and that low growl to build in his chest because I have angered him. I want his eyes to flash with his wolf, enraged, and to meet him with my own wildness, which I always swallow. I want him to take his pleasure from me roughly, as if he’s not afraid that I’ll shatter or break.
If he did, I would know he thought me equal to him. Someone unafraid of the parts he keeps hidden. Someone capable of looking after herself. Without thinking, I bite the edge of my fingernail, and the tang of blood creeps into my mouth.
Lochlan said Callum enjoys damsels. I don’t wish to be a damsel.