Chapter Thirty-Six
I hurry past the stairwell on my way to Blake’s bedchambers. Downstairs, people are shouting and hurling insults at one another, but it’s quiet up here. I pass Callum’s chambers, and make my way further along the corridor to Blake’s room. This is my best chance at finding the book that should give me some answers.
I push open the door.
The room has been torn apart. Ripped black curtains hang in shreds off the posts of the bed, and the armchair by the window is turned on its side. The books have been swept off the shelves, and are scattered across the floor. Shards of glass glint on the surface of the desk, and the scent of whisky hangs in the air. It mingles with the smell of bracken and the mountains—James’s scent, I think.
Blake faces the window, and is arranging the littered parchment on his desk. He’s wearing a fresh white shirt and breeches. He must have come here to change. My pulse quickens.
“Can I help you, little rabbit?” His tone is like silk.
He turns. The fire in the hearth casts soft light onto his face. When he leans back against the desk and supports himself with both hands, I realize he must be mostly healed. He is no longer the wounded animal I helped in the chapel. “I came to check that you were alright,” I say.
My gaze snags on a book that sits on the desk. It’s the only tome that is not on the floor, and the way Blake leans... it seems as if he’s trying to block it from view.
I lock a cage around my emotions so he can’t feel the anticipation that buzzes beneath my skin.
Blake smiles. “I’m well now, thank you.” He cocks his head. “Are you? You feel... nervous.”
I step into his room, and the door clicks shut behind me. “It has been a long night, that’s all.”
“It has.”
“Are your wounds healing?”
“Well enough.”
He steps closer to the tome on the desk, and brushes the smashed bottom of a bottle aside with the movement.
“Let me check.” I step closer.
“So concerned for my wellbeing, little rabbit.”
“Your wellbeing is my wellbeing.”
A dimple punctures his cheek. “True.”
He unfastens the top buttons of his shirt, and slides the material off his shoulder. I walk toward him. The book is so close, I could almost reach out and grab it. It’s blue, and I have the strangest feeling I’ve seen it before.
“Turn around,” I say.
His dark eyelashes fan against his cheeks. He turns. My heart is in my throat. The muscles in Blake’s back tense. I lurch toward the book. Blake reaches for it at the same time, grabs it, and turns. He holds it before me. “Looking for something, little—”
I slam my right hand down on the broken bottle. I cry out as shards of glass sink into my skin, and blood pumps from the wound. Blake makes a soft sound as he feels it, and the book slips out of his grip. It thumps onto the floor, and I grab it.
I half stumble, half run to the door. Blake grabs my wrist and tugs me back. I wrench away from him and clutch the book to my chest. My entire body stiffens. A snarl vibrates in my chest.
Mine.
This is mine.
Blake laughs, and I want to bite him. I’m going to bite him. It’s all I can think about. My teeth ache. Everything aches.
“Settle down, little wolf. I’m not going to take it from you.”
He lets me feel him. The shadows that coil around my soul feel soft, nonthreatening. I taste moonlit forests, and hear ducks in a river. The wild thing inside me settles, and I breathe out slowly. My cheeks heat.
“Wolves guard things that are of high value to them.” He inclines his head at the book. “Keep it. I don’t need it anymore.”
I sense no threat from him. Perhaps this is the wrong book. Perhaps this is another of his games. I relax slightly, and pain flares in my hand. I’m bleeding onto the cover of the book.
Blake pulls his shirt back over his shoulder. He drags out the wooden chair that’s tucked beneath the desk and pats it. “Sit.” When I stand there, breathing hard, my grip tight on the book, he arches his eyebrows. “You’re hurt. Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re in enemy territory, surrounded by Wolves who will not hesitate to kill you or hand you over to Alexander, and I’m the best healer in the Northlands. Sit down.” I eye him warily. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to take the book. Come on.”
I let out a shaky breath. I put the book on his bed—far enough away from him that he can’t snatch it from my grip. I sit down.
“Good girl,” he says.