Fiona’s stare is puzzled. Appraising.
“You seem to understand that snake better than any of us,” she says.
“I grew up in the palace, in a den of vipers. I would be a fool not to learn their language.”
“I hope you’re right.” She shuffles off the bed, and heads to the door. “Can I ask you something, Rory?”
Her gaze is so penetrating I have to force myself to meet it. I don’t want her to look too deeply inside me. I’m afraid she’ll see that I’m a viper too. Didn’t I allow myself to be taken here, to gain intelligence on the Wolves that I could use to barter for my freedom?
“Do you want to go back home?” she asks. “To the Southlands? Your father? Sebastian?”
Every muscle in my body hardens, and every bone stiffens.
No, my soul is screaming, but I’m that statue in my dreams again and I can’t get the words out. No. No. No.
I am not ready for that question. I am not ready to admit I want to neglect my duty, my kingdom, my role as the princess.
I am not ready to give voice to the truth.
I am a traitor to the Southlands.
“Why do you ask me that?” I have to fight to keep my voice even.
“Because you’re right. You do speak their language.” She shrugs. “I think you could be more useful to us than a hostage to be traded for the Heart of the Moon. Don’t you?”
I don’t respond. I may not want to go home, not truly. That doesn’t mean I want to commit treason.
She closes the door behind her—leaving me alone with my thoughts and the darkness.
I am restless as I get back into bed.
My mind whirls over everything Fiona said. My thoughts are like daggers. I am destined to either betray my kingdom, or betray Callum by telling my father all I’ve learned about the Wolves since I got here.
Through my guilt, I keep thinking about Callum prowling toward me with his eyes dark with intent.
What would have happened if Fiona hadn’t arrived?
Would he have thrown Blake aside and kissed me? Would he have carried me to the bed? Would he have eased this ache that consumes me?
Heat surges through my body and throbs between my legs.
I’m on fire as I imagine his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my hips. I slide my hand up my thigh, and imagine it’s his. I’m aching. I need it to stop, I need—
Someone knocks on the door and I breathe in sharply. I know, without opening it, that it’s Callum.
Cheeks flaming, I slip out of bed, and prowl across the room. I open the door a crack, my heart hammering.
Callum’s eyes are human once more. His expression is soft, remorseful, even. He’s soaking wet, and his shirt and breeches cling to his body. As usual, he’s emitting heat.
“May I come in?” he asks.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I step back, giving Callum access to my chambers.
He closes the door softly behind him, and turns to face me.
The scent of the outdoors clings to him and his hair is ruffled and damp. I wonder if he’s been in the loch, even though the night is pitch black outside my window.
His face is serious, and something in his eyes seems lost. Nervous, even.
He runs a hand over the back of his neck, and releases a long breath.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice is rough. “The way I behaved earlier. . . I. . . I want you to know I’d never hurt you. Ever.”
His eyes bore into mine, and in them there is a silent plea that I believe him.
He’s standing so close that I could touch him. Goddess, I want to. Yet neither of us move. His hands remain firmly at his sides, his forearms corded, as though he’s making a concerted effort to show me he can behave like a gentleman.
A shameful part of me doesn’t want him to.
“I know that,” I whisper.
The air feels warm and tight. Stifling. I need to break this tension, somehow, before it breaks me.
“Did you get the message from your king?”
“Aye. He needs my help. I’ll have to ride out in the next couple of days to meet him.”
The tension thickens. I swallow.
I note how the moonlight reflects off his skin. “It’s a little late for a swim, isn’t it?”
He huffs a laugh. “Aye. A wee bit. I had some extra energy I needed to get out of my system.”
I think of the feeling that’s been crackling beneath my skin all evening. I think about what I was about to do before he knocked on the door.
“Did it work?”
His jaw tenses. “Not really.”
“And now you’ve come back.”
“I can’t keep away.”
There’s something so raw in his voice that my stomach jolts.
“I wanted to show you. . .” Tentatively, he puts his hand on my cheek. “I wanted to show you I can be gentle.”
I feel, again, as if I have swallowed the Northlands winds. That they’re billowing inside me, raging inside my chest, demanding I release them.
I force myself to remain steady, to not reveal the wildness that’s building inside me.
Even though I want that release.
Even though I want to scream and bite and tear into something. Into him. I want the storm that has been building for days—or perhaps since Callum first set foot into my bedchambers during the siege and threw me over his shoulder—to finally break.
From the way he is breathing, I wonder if Callum is containing something too. I’ve seen what he cages inside him—so different to the storm building in my chest, yet just as wild. I touch his chest, so I can feel his heart pounding. I wonder whether the beast within will stir.
“Show me, then,” I say.
His eyebrows raise. He smiles.
He cups my cheek. He brushes his lips against mine. True to his word, he is gentle, restrained.
Yet his kiss unleashes something violent within me.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, Princess—”
My fists curl into his shirt, and I pull him back.
I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes before his mouth clashes against mine.
One of his hands slides into my hair and he tilts my head back. He parts my lips with his tongue, and a low sound scrapes against his throat and vibrates through my core as he tastes me. His scent of woodsmoke and the mountains floods my nose, and I am burning and drowning in him at the same time.
A soft whimper escapes me.
“Fuck.” His voice is rough and raw against my lips.
He grabs my hips and pulls me closer, and I press myself into him—desperate to ease the ache that’s building.
His kiss deepens as he backs me into the wall and slides his thigh between my legs. I breathe in sharply at the spark of pleasure that ripples through me.
I grab him tighter, my knuckles pushing against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. His tongue moves in hot, deep strokes against mine and he tastes like pure heat. All I can think of is more.
My senses are heightened to everything—the grip of his fingers around my hips, the scrape of his stubble against my jaw, and the hardness of him. Wet heat pools at my core.
Is this what it is like to be a wolf? So attuned to every sensation.
It is overwhelming. Yet it is not enough.
I shift against his thigh and moan at the friction it causes. A low growl vibrates in his chest, and his grip tightens around my hips.