Chapter Three
T here are three tall arched windows in the wall on one side of the council chambers, and mountains that are shades of orange and brown are visible through them. Torches in black iron sconces flicker between the windows, and a fire burns low in the curved stone hearth. The space is dominated by a large, oval table, and four men are standing around it. They all look at me as I walk inside.
Blake is at the head of the table with his hands flat on the surface. He leans forward. His white sleeves are rolled up, exposing corded forearms and the beginning of the scar on his elbow, which he must have got when he was bitten. Not for the first time, I find myself curious as to how he was turned into a wolf.
Callum’s expression softens when his gaze locks onto mine. “Rory, what are you doing here?”
“I invited her.” Blake’s gaze brushes over the large shirt I wear, which belongs to him. “You’re looking dashing today, little rabbit.”
I offer him a clipped smile, because I’m sure he’s trying to provoke me. “Thank you.”
A male with dreadlocks and tattoos winding up the dark skin of his arms smirks. Jack, I think his name is. I saw him in the dungeons when Blake kidnapped me and tried to get me to marry James. My displeasure grows.
The fourth male in the room, I’ve not been acquainted with. He is as large in build as Callum, with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His arms are folded across his chest, emphasizing biceps that strain against a black shirt. He wears an eye patch over his left eye, and faint scars crisscross his throat. Recognition jolts through me, though I cannot imagine where I would have met such a man.
“Please, come in,” says Blake. “We were just talking about you.”
I walk toward the table. “I heard,” I say. “What were you discussing?” I don’t like the idea that four men were talking about me, without me being present.
“You should be resting,” Callum whispers, with a note of reprimand. “Did you not read my note? You’ve had a high fever for three days.”
Three days? Callum is about to go to war with his brother, and I’ve been bedridden for three whole days. Questions pound through my already thumping head as I wonder what I must have missed.
“I couldn’t bear to be trapped in that room any longer,” I reply quietly. “I feel much better now.”
“Hm.”
Up close, Callum looks like he’s barely slept. Stubble peppers his jaw, and there are smudges beneath his eyes. His usual scent of the mountains is overlaid by male sweat, as if he’s not been washing. I put my arm around his waist and squeeze. On top of everything that has happened with his brother, he’s had to worry about me.
The woman who brought me here huffs in the doorway.
“Will you be joining us, Elsie?” asks Blake.
“No.” Elsie offers no deference to the male who I’m guessing is her alpha. She heads into the corridor, and her skirts make a rustling sound as they drag across the flagstones. The door swings shut behind her.
I breathe in quickly when I feel a sharp squeeze of emotion in my chest. It’s coming from Blake, and it disappears so quickly I might have imagined it. I’ve not gotten used to the strange link between us yet, forced onto me by Blake. It feels like there’s a thread of shadow in my chest that is wrapped around my soul. When he feels something, it seems to spread and tighten. I try to figure out what he’s feeling. Yearning, I think. I wonder who this woman is, to him.
The burly male I haven’t met before suppresses a chuckle.
“Has something amused you, Arran?” asks Blake, a slight edge to his silky tone.
“No.” Arran’s voice sounds a little hoarse, as if he doesn’t use it much. He doesn’t sound sincere. He leans closer to his alpha, whispers something in his ear, and Blake nods.
Arran strides away from the table, past Callum and me, and heads out after Elsie. He glances at me once over his shoulder, and again, I get that jolt of familiarity. The door swings shut behind him.
“As I was saying,” says Blake, “I want Lochlan and some of his clan to come to Lowfell for Oidhche Fhada.”
Callum’s hold on me tightens almost imperceptibly. “And as I was saying, that’s not a good idea.”
“What is Oidhche Fhada?” My mouth stumbles on the unfamiliar words.
“It’s a wolf ritual that will take place next week,” says Callum. “We believe Oidhche—or the Night God, as you call him in the Southlands—has a prison in the sky in which he keeps Ghealach —the Moon Goddess—prisoner.”
“I remember,” I say.
“Oidhche moves her into a different cell each night, so she can never be found by those who seek her. On the night of the full moon, that is when she’s closest to us. Once, though, every two and a half years, he moves her so deep inside his prison that her light cannot touch the earth. For a few moments, the world is cast into darkness. That is when we perform Oidhche Fhada.”
I think he’s talking about the lunar eclipse. We have a festival to mark it in the Southlands, where we light bonfires to honor the Sun Goddess, and cast away the darkness.
“And you don’t wish to perform it this time?” I ask.
“It’s not the ritual I object to, but the alpha Blake wishes to invite. Lochlan Christensen is the alpha of Glas-Cladach, and we cannot trust him.”
There’s a map of the Northlands on the table, and Blake taps part of the coastline. “Lochlan has the second biggest army in the Northlands, and we have a mutual enemy.”
“James?” I ask.
Blake inclines his head. “I wish to persuade him to join our cause. If we want to move effectively against James, we’re best doing it while he’s licking his wounds after the battle with Sebastian. We have three weeks until the full moon. I want us to make our move just after. We’ll need an army to get into the castle, and the support of at least four alphas to join us if we are to hold it. Lochlan can provide us with an army.”
Callum grits his teeth.
“You don’t like Lochlan?” I ask.
“I’ve nothing personal against the man,” says Callum, “but while it’s true that he and James don’t get along, he has as much reason to dislike me.”
“He thinks inviting Lochlan could put you in danger,” says Jack. “Particularly after—”
Callum makes a low sound, a little like a growl, and Jack shuts his mouth.
“Why would it put me in danger?” I ask.
“Do you remember when I rode out to aid my brother while we were at Madadh-allaidh?” says Callum. “We lost the battle against Sebastian and I was shot with wolfsbane.”
Fear had clenched my heart when Callum fell to his knees in his chambers, covered in sweat and gore. Blood ran down his arm from the bullet wound in his shoulder. A lick of shame flickers through me. I’d told Callum that morning that Blake was not as bad he seemed. How wrong I was.
I nod.
“The fort Sebastian took used to be a part of Lochlan’s territory,” says Blake. “The alpha who took over in his stead was someone Lochlan was fond of. He’s likely dead, now, or worse.”
“Sebastian was only there because he was looking for me,” I say. “Lochlan may blame me for what happened.” My voice is dull as I realize why I may have an enemy in Lochlan, despite never meeting him.
“Aye,” says Callum. “We cannot trust his loyalties.”
Blake sighs. “Lochlan will find Aurora delightful. Trust me.” I don’t bother pointing out that we can’t trust Blake. “I’ve already invited him, anyway. This conversation is fruitless.”
Callum’s jaw hardens. “ What? ”
“Come on, Callum. You and I can handle him, and you know it. Why don’t you tell your little pet the real reason why you’re being so overprotective?” A dimple punctures Blake’s cheek and my head snaps toward Callum.
“Blake.” Callum’s voice is laced with warning. Jack smirks.
“What is it?” My tone is sharp.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, then pulls a piece of parchment from the pocket of his kilt. I take it.
“Ryan and his lass, Becky, arrived yesterday,” says Callum. Relief courses through me. The sixteen-year-old boy I spared in the Borderlands fighting ring is alright. “James let them go, but he sent them with this letter.”
Callum McKennan is scrawled in ink across one side . The wax seal is broken, and I flick it open. I turn the parchment over, and read.
You have something of mine. I have something of yours. Want to swap?
My brow furrows. “What does he have of yours?”
“Fiona.” Callum’s tone lacks intonation, and he stares blankly at the parchment in my hand.
Panic and anger twist in my gut. Callum’s bloodshot eyes are not just the consequence of worrying about my fever and the bite that throbs in my side. James has taken Callum’s oldest friend prisoner. She’s my friend, too, though I don’t know her well. Fiona was one of the only people at Madadh-allaidh who treated me with kindness, and she did so knowing I was from her enemy kingdom.
My fear hardens to resolve. I touch Callum’s arm. His bicep is clenched beneath his sleeve. “We’ll get her back. He thinks you have something of his?”
Callum swallows. “Technically, I do.”
“Then we should negotiate a trade.”
“That’s where it gets complicated.”
“Why? What does he want?” I frown. “What do you have that belongs to him?”
He runs a hand over his mouth. His gaze darkens when he looks at my waist, where James’s bite marks my skin. His eyes swim with regret when they meet mine. “You.”