Page 112 of The Wolf King

“Maybe it’s because you’re irritating me.”

“Or maybe it’s because you’ve just taken poison, you fool. Where’s the antidote?”

“I’m the healer. Not you.”

“You’re a mess. And your potion hasn’t worked. You’re not asleep, are you?”

Lightning floods the room and he curls in on himself as he braces for the thunder that cracks through the sky moments later.

I sigh, and perch on the edge of the bed.

“You know, I used to be afraid of storms. When I was a child.”

“Piss off.”

I smirk, then something softens in me. Though part of me is glad to have seen him in this way—sure I will be able to use it to my advantage at some point—he’s in a such a pitiful state, I cannot help but feel a bit of sympathy for him.

When I was afraid as a child, my mother would sing to me. I try to recall her melody.

Softly, I start to hum.

The tune always brought me comfort, and I hope that it will do the same for him.

When she sang it, I would imagine myself running through the wild grass, the moon shining, the stars clear and bright. And I would know that I was not alone. I was safe.

Blake’s shoulders soften, and he releases a gentle sigh. “I’m serious. If you speak of this, you’re dead.”

I shush him and continue with the soft melody.

I have not thought of this song for a while, and I find myself getting lost in it as the thunder rattles the castle, and lightning illuminates the loch through the window.

It is not until I hear a gentle snore that I stop, startled.

Despite the storm outside, Blake is asleep.

He’s rolled onto his back, and one of his arms is flung above his head. I take the opportunity to openly look at the angry white scar that marks his forearm near his elbow. It looks like a bite from a very large beast. A wolf, perhaps.

His expression is peaceful, and it’s a stark contrast to the dark violence he usually emanates. He looks almost pleasant, handsome, even, without the smirk on his lips or the cunning ambition glinting in his eyes.

His chest rises and falls softly.

I blink, suddenly aware that I’ve been staring too long.

I stand abruptly and cross the room.

“I prefer you when you’re sleeping,” I mutter as I close the door and head back to my chambers.

***

I will have my revenge on Isla.

I’d like to have my revenge on Magnus, too, but that awful wolf seems to be giving me a wide berth. He’s not been in the Great Hall or running drills in the yard for the past couple of days.

In fact, most Wolves seem to be avoiding me. It seems Blake’s collar acts as a larger deterrent than Callum’s—even though I’ve not seen the dark-haired wolf since the storm.

The negative side of this is that Kayleigh will no longer speak to me in the kitchens. Her face turned white when she first saw the black strip around my neck, and since then she’s wanted nothing to do with me.

Isla, however, has taken every opportunity to call me a slut, and to giggle with her friends about me every time I see her.

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