Page 7 of The Wolf King

“So you bear no accountability for your actions? Is that what you’re saying?”

A low growl reverberates in his throat. “I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” I snarl back. “It may not be an easy choice. But it is a choice nonetheless.”

His breathing is hard, and he swallows—as if pushing down whatever emotion my words have provoked. “What would you know about choices,Princess?”

“Enough.”

He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “I wonder if you’ll be so brave when there are no bars to separate us.”

“There will always be bars to separate us.”

“Will there?”

My heartbeat quickens at his tone—at the implication in it—and from the curl of his lips I wonder if he can hear it.

He turns his attention to the boy as though he is done with me. “Get over here,” he snarls.

“No,” the boy whimpers.

“Stop being such a bloody great wuss.”

“I told you to leave him alone,” I snap.

“And I told him to get over here.” The alpha’s eyes narrow on the boy. “And it’s the second time he’s disobeyed me in just as many days.”

“Why on earth would he obey you?”

He sighs as though I’ve asked the most exasperating question in the world. “What is he wearing?”

“What?”

He nods at the boy, and I look down at him—at his pale slender chest, then the red tartan kilt he wears.

“And what am I wearing?” he asks.

I turn back to the alpha, noting his kilt, made from red tartan. My gaze inadvertently drops to his calves, which are as thick as tree trunks. I swallow hard.

“They’re the same, aye?” he says.

“So?”

“So! You destroy our lands, steal from us, do your experiments on us, kill us, imprison us, and still you don’t know a damn thing about us.” He shakes his head, and sighs. “We’re from the same clan. He’s one of mine. The wee shite’s called Ryan.” He glares at the boy. “And if he doesn’t get his arse over here, then he won’t be coming with me when I leave.”

“I... Why would he...” I frown. “What do you mean, when you leave?” I fold my arms and look pointedly at the cell he is confined within. “I hardly think you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

He shifts, folding his corded forearms through the bars. “No?”

“No.”

“Why do you think I’m here, Princess?” He looks pointedly around his dank cell. “For the accommodation?”

“You’re here because you’re an enemy of the kingdom. And you’re a prisoner. And a wolf. And,” I add, somewhat shrilly, unsure of why he’s getting under my skin so much, “because you killed three men and almost killed this poor boy.”

He shrugs a big shoulder. “Be that as it may, I don’t plan on staying for long.”

I grit my teeth, my breathing faster than it should be. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I am a master of my emotions. I have been all of my life. I have pushed them down far enough that most of the time, I forget they are even there.

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