Chapter Twenty
M y mouth drops open. “Marry you? Callum, I was not... I was... I was just...” I fumble for the words. I was not joking, as such, but—
“I know what you were doing, Princess.” The soft glow from the fire flickers across his strong jaw. “You were trying to manipulate me. You should have known it wouldn’t work. If you wish to talk seriously about this, then let’s.” He brushes a kiss on the inside of my leg. “Marry me.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“What game is this?”
He huffs a laugh. “I don’t play games, Princess.”
“You’re. . . you’re proposing marriage?”
He slides a hand along the back of my calf. Mischief dances on his lips. “I’m on my knees, aren’t I?”
“This isn’t a joke, Callum.”
“I know. I want to marry you.”
“For sex?”
He grins. “That’s one reason. Aye.”
Darkness spreads in my veins. “Are you expecting a political alliance? With my father?”
“No.” He nips my thigh with his teeth. “In fact, I think he’d be rather displeased to know what this savage wolf wishes to do to his daughter.”
“Do you wish to send a message to the Southlands, by marrying their princess?”
“No.” He smiles. “I want you to be my wife.”
I cup his face in my hands. His skin is hot, and his stubble prickles my palms. He truly means this. A few months ago, the thought of marrying someone like Callum would have been beyond my wildest dreams. It still is. Yet something feels... off. I feel... hesitant.
“Your wife?” I say.
“Aye.”
“You want me to be yours.”
His expression darkens. “Aye.”
My muscles tighten. It’s about ownership. The flames burn in the fireplace, and the log crumbles to ash. I wonder if that’s all love is when stripped bare—people striving to own one another.
He swallows, as if he knows the direction of my thoughts. He takes my chin. “I’m a wolf, an alpha, and there are certain things I’m struggling with at the moment. I don’t want to feel this way. But my brother has marked you. Blake...”A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Blake has bound himself to you and claimed you as part of his clan. So, aye, I want you to be my wife. Mine.”
“Callum—”
“There is more to it than that, though. I want to be yours, too. I want to be your husband. Your equal. I want you by my side, challenging me, supporting me. I want a family with you, and to provide for you.” He takes my hand in his, and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “You don’t have to agree. You can marry me tomorrow—we can ride to Dawn’s Craig in the morning and ask the Priestess to do. Or we can marry in ten years. We don’t have to marry at all, if you don’t want it. I’ll still be here, at your side, striving to impress you until my soul sleeps with Ghealach and the stars. Think on it, okay?”
My mouth is dry, and my eyes burn. I nod, and squeeze his hands. “I will think on it.”
He smiles, wide and open. Then he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He cocks his head to one side, as if coming to a decision, and mischief ignites within his eyes. I’ve seen this look on him before. It means trouble. The corner of my lip quirks.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“Perhaps I could give you a taste of married life, to help you make your decision.” In a sudden movement, he grabs my thighs and pulls my knees over his shoulders. “Just a taste...”
I gasp as I’m dragged forward in the armchair. “Callum!”
He pulls my underwear aside. “What?”
“I thought you couldn’t be manipulated.” My voice is breathy and doesn’t sound like it belongs to me. “It seems you’re doing exactly what I want.”
Slowly, torturously, he drags his tongue along my entrance. My hands find his head and my fingers curl in his hair to pull him to me.
“Who says I’m not manipulating you ?” His lips glisten in the firelight.
I tilt my head back as he feasts on me as if I’m his favorite meal. He sucks and strokes and laps as if he’s a rabid beast, and provokes sounds from me that I’ve never made before. I clamp my thighs around his head, and ride his face, rocking my hips until I’m nothing but liquid heat and the wind that howls through the mountains.
Somewhere, within the wild valleys and hurtling brooks that pass beneath me, I see his point. I would do anything he asked of me right now. If belonging to him means more of this, then I could give him everything I am.
Then all thoughts evade me and I’m only this feeling, this pleasure, as release crashes through me and I sink into never-ending bliss. I barely hear the voice somewhere deep within me, dark and primal and slightly annoyed.
Feral eyes. Amber.
A low growl.
You belong to no one.
***
I blink. I’m in my father’s palace, in the ballroom. I sit at one of the many tables that are dotted around the dancefloor, and I’m concealed behind one of the stone columns that support the domed ceiling. People dance in their finery on the checkered tiles, and the crescent moon shines through the sun-shaped window above my father’s throne. My brother Philip is by one of the tall arched windows, surrounded by adoring men and women alike. He throws back his head and laughs. His wine sloshes out of his cup.
Unease winds around my bones like a serpent. The notes of the string quartet are slightly off. The movement of the crowd is disjointed. The scent of liquor and sweat hangs heavy in the air. It’s suffocating.
A man sits beside me. He leans closer. Too close. He is packed with muscle, with black hair shaved close to his head. He’s drunk. Too drunk. His sour breath assaults my cheek, and as he slurs on about the glory he intends to bring to the kingdom, he puts his hand on my thigh. I stiffen. I know his history. I know the last time he visited the palace, one of my ladies-in-waiting was seen crying the next morning.
Touching me, on another night, would warrant his execution. Either drink, or the fact we are shrouded in shadow, has made him bold. My father wants me to talk to him, appease him. So, even though my skin crawls, I relax my posture, lean in for the jug, and refill his goblet with wine.
“You’re being too forward, Alexander.” My words are bold, but I force a coy smile onto my lips.
“I think you like it, love,” he slurs in his Borderlands accent. “You need someone forward. A bit wild. Not like these stiff southern bastards in their silk and finery.”
I nod at his black coat, embroidered with anchors and flowers. “You say that, yet your coat is one of the finest I’ve seen.”
“It would look even better on the floor of your bedchambers, with the rest of your clothes piled beside it.”
“Only my husband is supposed to speak to me that way.”
“Play your cards right, and that could be me.”
“My father would never agree to that.” I pretend to be sad about the fact. “He will make me marry a lord, or a prince. Someone to strengthen the kingdom.”
He slurps his drink, and brings his lips to my ear. “Fuck your father.” My heartbeat quickens. “Does that make you nervous, love? Fuck, you smell good.”
I force myself not to recoil, though I inch away slightly. “You don’t like my father?”
“Who does? The miserable cunt.” He takes another sip, and spills a little wine on the table. “You should do what I say, not him. After I’ve taken the Borderlands from my twat of a brother, I’ll turn the Borderlands army to the south, put your father’s head on a spike, and take you for myself. How does that sound?”
Like you’ve just signed your death warrant, Alexander.
I force myself to smile. “An appealing plan indeed.”
He leans closer, and something inside me rattles against its confines. My fingers hurt, and I fear claws will erupt so I can claw out his eyes. He opens his mouth and his eyes gleam with hunger. I breathe in sharply. A blade protrudes from his throat. It’s pulled back, and he slumps forward onto the table. The jug of wine tips over and spills onto the floor.
Blake stands behind him, and the muscles in his forearm flex as he sheaths the dagger. The moonlight illuminates the gleam in his eye, and the dimple that presses into his cheek. His dark hair is mussed, and his black shirt is baggy. The buttons are only done up to halfway—like he’s been lounging on his bed.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. This didn’t happen.
The music stops. The people dissolve into shadow. A cloud passes over the crescent moon that shines on the throne.
My fear and unease dissolve. This is not real. I’m not a fourteen-year-old-girl, being groomed by a man almost twice her age. This is a dream. A memory. Nothing more.
My lips tighten. It’s not something Blake should be privy to.
I straighten in my seat.
“Hello, little rabbit.” Blake’s lips curve into a wicked smile. “Have you been keeping secrets?”