Page 72 of The Wolf King

Heart beating fast, I turn it over. The wax seal has a star in its center; the sigil of the Borderlands.

My skin turns cold as I rip it open and read.

A present for you, my love.

Think of the boy as a betrothal gift. I know you were fond of him from our time at the dog fight.

I’ll be seeing you soon.

Yours,

Sebastian

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ryan’s chambers are warm and quiet.

A fire crackles in the hearth, casting light onto Callum’s face as he sits in the wooden chair beside it. He’s changed out of his blood-soaked clothes—as have I—and he’s bathed. His hair is damp and brushed back from his face. He looks younger and more boyish when he’s clean.

Becky snoozes in a chair next to the bed, and Ryan breathes softly as he sleeps. Alongside my relief at his recovery, a swell of satisfaction blooms in my chest. He is going to be okay. And I helped.

Still, a dark shadow hangs over me.

“What are we going to do about Sebastian?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Not all of your people have returned. He hurt Ryan because of me. And if he has more of your men...”

Callum runs a hand over his mouth. “It’s not your fault. We’ll get him back for this, I promise you.”

Something twists in my gut. Now, more than ever, I do not want to go back to Sebastian. And, after spending time with Callum, my initial plan of giving my father information about the Wolf King is getting less appealing.

Yet, if I stay, people will be tortured and die because of me.

I’m not sure if I can stomach it.

“I should go back,” I say.

“No.” Callum’s eyes blaze into mine.

“You’re going to trade me for the Heart of the Moon, anyway. Why not do it now?”

“No.” This time his tone is final. “We’ll find another way.”

***

I’m not sure how much longer we sit there, but it feels late by the time that Callum walks me back to my chambers.

“Thank you for earlier,” he says. “What you did for Ryan... I appreciate it.”

“It was nothing,” I say, embarrassed by the emotion blazing in his eyes.

“No. It wasn’t.”

Callum follows me into my room. Someone has been here in my absence, and lit the candles on the desk and the bedside table. They emit a soft glow, and flick shadows over the books and the small bed. They do nothing to fight the cold, though. My breath plumes in front of my face.

It has been a long day, and the adrenaline that was pumping through my body earlier has desisted—leaving me with aching limbs and heavy eyelids.

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