Chapter Nine
To assume waking up the next morning would have been uncomfortable, is the greatest understatement in history of understatements.
I woke before the sun had fully risen, my senses slowly clawing their way back to consciousness. At first, I thought the warmth surrounding me was some lingering dream. Until reality crept in.
I was pressed firmly against Rhael’s chest. His breath ghosted across my skin, warm and steady. Sinking into my body like heat from the dying embers of the fire.
His arm tightened around my waist, not in a cautious way. This was possessive. His callous hand pressed through the thin cotton of my clothes, the fabric wrinkling beneath the strength of his grip. I could feel the callouses on his hands through the material.
At some point during the night our legs had tangled together. His thigh was hooked around mine, heavy and solid. His chest rose and fell in slow controlled breaths.
My first instinct was to bolt. To tear the blankets away and stumble out into the cold morning air just to breathe. However, the moment I shifted even slightly his arms tightened, fingers clamped against my waist like iron bands. It wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to freeze me in place.
“You move too much,” he murmured. His voice was rough with sleep, low and gravelled.
“I wasn't trying to wake you. I just thought maybe I should move,” I whispered quickly. My head gestured to the way our bodies were tangled together.
His eyes snapped open, silver and sharp even beneath the haze of sleep. His gaze moved down at the way our bodies were tangled together.
“Fine,” he said flatly. The moment the word left his mouth he released me, his arms moving quickly as if I had burned him.
For a brief moment, something twisted uncomfortably in my stomach. Regret maybe. It slithered through me like an unwelcome snake, tightening around my insides before I could stop it. I hated the feeling instantly.
I did not want the Fae King. Rhael was cruel, calculating and manipulative. He owned me, I was tied to him through his own design. None of this was real. I silently cursed my own foolish heart for allowing him to slip beneath my skin. Even if it was only for a moment.
Beside me, Rhael sat up. The shift of his weight made the makeshift bed dip slightly as he stretched. The movement rolled through his muscles like a predator waking from sleep.
When I glanced over my shoulder, the first pale streaks of morning light were slipping through the tent. The golden glow carved across his face, catching his features, crowning him in molten light.
It didn't take long for his expression to harden. The familiar cold returned to his silver eyes, replacing any trace of lingering sleep.
“We should leave, Lycanthyr is not far,” he said as his hands pushed the covers back.
Rhael was already rising from the bed before I could respond. His back to me as he pulled on his clothes, ignoring the fact he had been tangled with me not ten minutes earlier.
The silence returned easily. Part of me felt relieved. Another part wanted to scream like a child, who had their favourite toy ripped away from them.
The final stretch of the journey was nothing like the first. The day before excitement had run through my veins, the world had seemed vast and wild, full of places I had never been allowed to see.
This morning though everything was off. The light was too sharp, the wind too cold.
Even the rustling of leaves sounded darker, more ominous.
Rhael rode behind me again, guiding the horse with quiet precision. His arm hovered near my waist, close enough that I could feel his heat, but he did not touch me. Not like he did this morning.
I was grateful. We were riding into the wolves’ den, I needed my mind to be clear.
“You are quiet,” Rhael observed after almost three hours of silent riding.
“I am simply enjoying my own thoughts,” I replied lightly. As if there was anything inside my head worth mentioning.
“That is dangerous.” The faint smirk in his voice was unmistakable.
Rhael tightened the reins as he guided the horse through a dense section of trees. Fireflies burst from the underbrush as we passed, swirling around us in clouds that buzzed loudly enough to test anyone's patience.
“For whom?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, expecting some kind of snarked comment in return.
“Me,” he replied simply as he turned us onto a narrow path. Barely visible beneath thick roots and fallen leaves.
“Why on earth would I be a danger to you?” I asked. I wanted to turn my head and see his expression, but his arms caged me in, keeping me in place.
“Your thoughts usually end with you doing things you shouldn’t,” the faint humour in his dry tone was the only sig he was joking.
“You make me sound like a feral animal,” I mused.
“A feral animal would be easier to manage,” he laughed. The sound filled the space between us. I had never heard him laugh so openly. I considered elbowing him, twitching my arm. Rhael shifted slightly, just enough to make it clear he was ready for it.
It was infuriating how easily he seemed to read me.
Eventually the forest began to thin. The land sloped upward, revealing a valley carved deep into the heart of their territory. The air changed, filling my nose with the smell of iron mixing with the pine of the forest.
The change in smell caused my pulse to quicken as a strange urge stirred in my blood. An almost overwhelming desire to leap from the horse and run into the forest.
“Do not move,” Rhael whispered, his voice brushing against my ear as he leant forward. “This is an enchantment to lure prey. Stay with me.”
His breath brushing against my neck did absolutely nothing to calm the strange pull flooding me. If anything, it made it worse.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, trying to force my mind to focus. Continually reminding myself that it was not real, it was magic twisting my instincts. Trying to make me follow my deepest urges instead of reason.
“Focus on me, it will make it easier for them to believe in the bond.” Rhael instructed, shifting forward until his back was pressed against my chest. Grounding me, kind of. I noticed how he kept his voice low, as if he was wary of someone listening.
My only response was to nod, unable to make my mind or mouth form words. Every inch of my body fighting against the urge to let go and give in.
The Lycanthyr pack house rose from the forest like a fortress carved from timber.
Wolves waited in front of the structure.
Dozens of them. Some half shifted, their glowing eyes locked on our every movement.
All of them were massive creatures. Some curled their lips into harsh snarls, whilst others just tilted their head as if considering their next move.
As we reached the stone spanning the front of the home, growls rippled through the crowd like thunder.
“Do not flinch,” Rhael instructed. His hand settled against my hip in a calculated display of affection. The performance had begun, so I played my part. I leant back into him, allowing my braid to fall over his shoulder, as though the gesture were natural.
The werewolves of Lycanthyr were not the same as told in children's stories. They did not shift into full wolves, losing their humanity to something entirely more animalistic.
Instead, they stood on two legs, their bodies more monstrous than a normal wolf would appear.
Taking on shapes of muscle and fur, claws curling from their hands like blades.
The hardest part was looking at their faces, long snouts grew outwards, brows became more defined and teeth lengthened as if they wanted to break free from their gums.
I could only hope their human forms did not look as terrifying. Although, it was said their human nature fuelled their wolf forms, so I was sure to be in for a warm welcome... Or not.
A man stepped forward as we reached the front of the pack house. Man was a polite way to describe him, he was a mountain wearing a human shape. Taller than any creature I had ever seen, built like the war gods of myths. Broad shoulders, so thick with muscle that they could block out the sun.
His skin was tanned deeply, not the golden warmth of the fae courts but the rough weathered warmth of a man who spent his time beneath the sky.
Norse looking features carved his face, a straight proud nose, high cheekbones, paired with a strong jaw.
A large, long beard tapered into a tie just below his chin.
His hair was long and dark, shaved at the sides with the remainder braided back from his face, decorated with different clasps and cuffs.
It was the tattoos that marked him as a King. Dark runes spiralled over his forearms and shoulders. Inked into his skin like ancient magic stitched beneath flesh. Old, powerful and wild. Even without him shifting I could feel the command rolling off him.
“Rhael Sorenthis, what a surprise to see you crawling back to my home.” Magnus growled. The sound slid down my spine, Magnus was not King because he was clever at politics or secrets. He was King because no one alive could unseat him.
“Magnus, thank you for your welcome,” Rhael replied calmly without an ounce of discomfort.
I could feel him sit up straighter behind me. Even from the saddle I could feel the clash of power between them. Two kings, neither of them willing to bend, with my sorry arse stuck in the middle.
“I assume you have something you require. I would be foolish to expect this to be a social call.” Magnus asked with a slow, cruel smirk. His arms crossed over his chest. Large hands gripping his elbows, making his muscles bulge out of his shirt.
“I came to discuss threats which impact us both,” Rhael said as he dismounted the horse with effortless grace.
I watched, taking the reins, as he placed his body in between myself and Magnus; a clear power play, as he refused to bow to the Wolf King.