Chapter 32: The Wolf King: Chapter 32

Callum is quiet as he carries me through the forest.

While he was relaxed and easygoing when he awoke, his expression becomes increasingly strained as we get closer to the castle.

With every step, his jaw tightens, and his arms harden around me. His hold on my thighs gets firmer, his fingers digging into my skin through the material of my dress. A couple of times, I catch his nose wrinkling as if he smells something bad.

I sniff the air and all I can smell is the wet leaves from the forest.

I flush, wondering if the problem is me. I got hot last night as I ran from Blake, and I can’t imagine I smell particularly pleasant.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

His eyebrows raise and I wonder if he’s surprised I noticed. “I. . . it’s just. . .” He shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “It’s just a wolf thing. Don’t worry about it.”

When we reach the grassy expanse that leads back to the castle gate, the morning is quiet. A thin layer of mist coats the loch, and the heather and fern are dull in the grey light.

Ahead, there are a few Wolves making their way back through the castle walls, laughing and joking with one another.

They’re all as naked as Callum.

“Goddess!” I turn my head, only to be confronted with Callum’s hard chest. My pulse beats a little faster, warmth blooming in my lower stomach. His grip on me almost imperceptibly tightens. “You Wolves really have no modesty, do you?”

Callum chuckles. “It’s only natural.”

“Natural, perhaps. But it’s far more acceptable to wear clothes when in other people’s company.”

“Only because that’s what your society has taught you.”

“So if I started prancing around without my clothes on, you’d be perfectly okay with that?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “If you started prancing around with no clothes on, I think I’d like that very much, Princess.”

“Brute,” I mutter.

I expect Callum to take me back to my room, but instead, he carries me into his chambers.

There’s a fire crackling in the hearth, and in front of it stands the copper tub, filled with steaming water. I glance at it longingly as Callum places me down on his bed, then turns and walks over to his wardrobe. I stare at the ceiling, determined not to look at him.

Then I glance at Callum, even though I know I shouldn’t.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled on a pair of loose-fitting cotton breeches. He’s still topless though, his muscular back on display as he closes the wardrobe doors.

“I didn’t know you wore breeches,” I say.

“The way you were looking at me earlier. . .” He leans against the wall by the window, his eyes glinting playfully as he shakes his head. “I thought I’d better cover myself up as much as possible. I was feeling very vulnerable.”

I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest as I lean against the headboard. “And yet, you seem to be absent a shirt.”

He laughs, then shrugs. “I left my kilt in the forest. Don’t tell anyone, but these breeches are actually rather comfortable. Do I look like a gentleman?”

I laugh, too, and shake my head. “No.”

“No?”

“You look like a rake.”

He puts a hand on his chest, his eyes widening in mock indignation. “A rake? Me? Why?”

“Firstly, there is the case of the missing shirt.” My gaze drops to his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. I look at the hard V of his hips, and the line of hair trailing downward, and swallow. “Also. . . a gentlemen wouldn’t wear those breeches.”

“Why not?”

“Look how loose-fitting they are! And the material. . .” My gaze drops even further, before I hurriedly meet his eyes again, heat creeping into my cheeks. “I don’t think you’re as covered up as you think you are. Wherever did you get them from?”

“I got these from the King’s City when I was looking for my mother. A market by the docks, if I recall correctly.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Why’s that?”

“The docks are an incredibly disreputable place to go.” I raise an eyebrow. “I should have known you would find yourself there.”

A half-smile plays on his lips. “It was easier to blend in there as a wolf, that’s for sure.”

Something in the air seems to shift.

“Why did you bring me to your chambers?” I ask.

He opens his mouth as if to speak. The humor disappears from his expression and he sighs.

“I. . . the wolf hasn’t quite settled down yet,” he says. “I suppose I’m feeling a wee bit. . . protective of you, right now. I would rather that you were here.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

Some of the tension leaves his upper body, and he raises his eyebrows. “Really? That was easier than I expected.”

“I can be agreeable when I want to be.” I shrug off my torn cloak, then I take off my boots, and shuffle back on the bed. “Plus, your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

His gaze moves to my bare feet as they sink into the downy quilt, then back to my face. His jaw tightens.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

He takes a step toward the bed. Then he halts, his hand curling into a fist.

Gritting his teeth, he swivels on his heel and starts pacing up and down the room. The floorboards creak beneath his weight.

My brow furrows. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

“I. . . nothing. . . It’s a—”

“Do not say it’s a wolf thing. You’ve barely spoken to me all week, I was chased through the forest last night, and now you’re acting strange. Tell me what’s going on.”

He stands still and blows out hot air. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Irritation prickles beneath my skin. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. Goddess knows that you should. You’re inappropriate, and you’re the enemy of my kingdom, and last night you turned into a wolf and slept on top of me! But you don’t. So stop acting as if I’m made of glass and you’re afraid I might shatter, and tell me what’s wrong.”

He runs a hand over the back of his neck, then he sighs.

“Look, Princess, like I said, the wolf hasn’t quite settled down,” he says. “And you’re in my bed, with the scent of another male all over you. And I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit. I want you to smell like me. When another wolf is close, I want it to be my scent they smell on your skin. I want to mark you as mine. And I can think of countless ways I would do it. Countless ill-advised, highly pleasurable ways I would do it. It’s all I can think about. And I know I should leave and calm myself down. But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with you.” He shakes his head. “You smell so much like him. . . like Blake. . . It’s driving me out of my mind.”

I should leave before things get out of control. I shouldn’t allow a male so say things like that to me. I definitely shouldn’t like it.

I am held captive by his helpless gaze. Something hot is pooling inside me, heating my blood and making my skin hum.

I swallow. “Oh.”

He rubs his face with both hands. “Fuck. I’ve frightened you.”

The heat turns into angry flames. “Stop doing that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He stares up at the ceiling. “It was inappropriate—”

“No. Not that. This. Stop treating me like I’m some precious doll that needs shielding from the world. Stop treating me as if I can’t handle things. As if I can’t handle you. You are inappropriate. You shouldn’t say half of the things you say to me. But has it occurred to you that perhaps I like it that you do? That perhaps I like it that you talk to me as if I’m an actual human being? That, perhaps, my entire life, no one else ever really has?”

My skin is burning now, and I’m breathless. It feels good to say it, to unleash it, to let something out that I think has been building up inside me for quite some time.

Callum’s eyes widen. It’s as if he’s not quite sure what to do.

He releases a half-laugh. “No, I suppose it hadn’t occurred to me.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“About what?”

“You said I smelt like Blake. I don’t want to smell like him either. Do you want me to wash?”

He exhales, then goes back to his pacing. “No. I want to wash you.”

He sounds so sullen that it almost makes me laugh. “Callum!”

“What?” His lips are twitching, even though his body is tense. “I thought you liked how inappropriate I am.”

I roll my eyes.

Then I glance at the copper bathtub.

Something has been knocked loose inside me. Telling him off has made me feel daring. I want to feel that way again. I’m fed up of locking up my emotions. I’m fed up of making myself smaller than I am so that others can feel bigger, stronger. I’m fed up of being shielded from the world and all it has to offer.

Curiosity flares inside me.

He protects me because he thinks he holds all the power. But the way he is acting. . . I wonder if I am powerful, too.

“Okay,” I say. “Wash me.”