Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
In fact, I no longer feel like stone at all.
I feel as if I’m finally waking up.
As the days pass, a restlessness grows inside me. It’s wild and dark and aching. It is as if my soul is responding to the crackle of energy that pulses through the castle as the full moon approaches.
And I feel alive.
The day of the full moon, I’m dismissed from the kitchens early. Apparently, the Wolves fast during the day, and hunt during the night, so there is no work to be done.
It is raining, so I spend my day reading.
I find myself thinking about my mother’s symptoms and searching for answers within the countless medical tomes within these chambers. I wasn’t allowed access to such books at the palace-they were reserved only for the healers and the educated men-and I wonder if I may finally find my answers here.
I’m distracted, though. My skin itches, and every time I see the word “wolf” on the page, I think of Callum’s eyes. Every time I shift position on the bed, I think about how he massaged me. Every time I catch the smell of woodsmoke drifting from one of the rooms below, I’m reminded of his scent.
Twilight arrives, and my room is painted in grey shadow. I’m reading about how a wolf bite can activate the wolf gene in a half-wolf, when someone knocks on the door. I drop the book.
I expect Callum to walk into my room, but instead, Fiona enters balancing a tray laden with bread and cheese, and a fresh jug of water.
Disappointment swells within me.
Is Callum not going to visit me tonight? I thought he would.
Fiona arches an eyebrow as she sets down the tray, as if she knows what I’m thinking.
“He sent me to tell you to stay in your room,” she says. “He says you’re not to come out for any reason.”
She’s even scruffier than usual. Her shirt is untucked and her dark hair is loose down her shoulders. I catch the scent of alcohol on her breath, and her cheeks are rosy.
“Where is he?”
“There’s a ritual on the night of a full moon, out in the forest. We’re all expected to be there to welcome the Moon Goddess. The alphas especially.” She leans back against the writing desk. “Callum’s there already.”
I try not to feel hurt. I try not to feel anything. It shouldn’t bother me that he is having a good time without me. Why should he give me a second thought? I’m just the bargaining chip that he will use to get his Heart of the Moon.
It’s just, I’d started to think. . . I’m not sure what I thought. It was a silly fantasy, I suppose, that the powerful alpha of the Highfell Clan could fall for the spoiled Southlands princess.
I’m betrothed to another, anyway. Callum has always intended to give me back to him. And I have always intended to give my father information about the Wolves, so I might escape my fate with Sebastian.
How could anything ever happen between us?
I try not to think about the crude things Fiona said, about what the full moon makes Wolves want to do. If Callum wants to enjoy himself, then that is his right, and there are certainly plenty of females who would happily enjoy him.
Something dark and ugly twists in my chest. “What do you do at the ritual?”
“We drink, and dance, and cut loose.” Her eyes are bright. “Then the moon rises, and we shift.”
She pushes off from the desk, and heads to the door.
“No one will bother you tonight. We’ll all be hunting in the forest. Stay in the castle.” She nods at the letter opener on my bedside table. “Keep that close, too.”
She leaves me to join Callum and the others.
As the room darkens, so do my thoughts.
The old me-the one who existed before I was taken-would have accepted that someone as important as Callum would not visit me before an important event. When I was left at home while my brother went hunting, or when I was sent to bed by my father at feasts so the men could talk, I accepted this without question.
But something is changing within me-shifting and transforming.
I deserved a visit from him. Didn’t I?
The shadows grow, and in the distance, I can hear men shouting. I wonder if Callum’s is among them. I try not to think about what he might be doing, and who he might be doing it with.
I’m sure Isla will be all over him tonight.
Before long, a ghostly glow fills my chambers, and curiosity pulls me to the window.
The full moon is high in the sky. I have never seen it so bright before. It paints the evergreens an ashy silver.
As I’m staring, time seems to stand still. Silence sweeps over the land. The wind drops, and the loch is deathly quiet. A howl breaks the night, followed by hundreds more. My arms turn into gooseflesh and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The Wolves have shifted.
I’m peering through the glass, wondering if I’ll see any of them, when I hear a roar of pain. It’s distinctly human, and sounds like it’s coming from within the castle.
I breathe in sharply.
Has Ryan woken up?
Wolfsbane attacks the wolf. I’ve been reading about it all week. I wonder if he is unable to shift.
I move my weight from one foot to the other. I want to go to him, but I was told to stay in my room.
He screams again, and I cannot bear it. He is hurt because of me, because Sebastian wants me back and sent him with a message. My mother’s voice comes to me, just as it did on the night when I went to the kennels to tend to his injuries.
Have courage, little one.
I have to do something.
I pull on my cloak and boots, pocket the silver letter opener, and hurry out of the door.
The castle is eerily quiet, and I can barely see where I’m going as I feel my way down the spiral staircase.
I reach one of the landings. The male cries out again, and I follow the sound down a sconce-lined corridor. There’s a loud clatter ahead, followed by a low grunt. It’s coming from one of the rooms.
Heart in my throat, I push open the door.
The room is dark, but I can see I’m in someone’s bedchambers.
A regal four-poster bed with black silk bedding dominates the space. An oil lamp has shattered on the floor and shards of glass glint on the sheepskin rug.
“Ry-“
The young wolf’s name dies in my mouth.
There’s a male in the room, but it isn’t Ryan.
He’s facing away from me, so all I can see is a muscular back-a silver web of angry scars crisscrossing his skin. He’s leaning against a desk and he’s breathing hard.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of breeches.
“Blake?” I whisper.
I don’t understand. He should be a wolf.
“What are you doing here, little rabbit?” His voice sounds strange-as dark and smooth as the night sky outside the window.