Page 112 of The Night Prince

Someone has to pay for this.

Someonewillpay for this.

Body trembling, heart thumping, chest heaving, I pick a direction.

Chapter Fifty

Iburst into his chambers.

I barely notice the four-poster bed with the tartan throw, the fire in the hearth, the crescent moon that shines through the window.

Callum is in the copper bathtub. Even through my rage, my breath hitches at the sight of him. Powerful, muscular, yet completely at ease—the firelight dances across his wet skin and turns it bronze. His knees are raised, and his head is leaning against the edge, exposing his throat. His damp hair is the color of wet sand, and brushed back from his forehead in that way that makes him look younger.

He opens his eyes as the door swings shut behind me.

He grips the sides of the tub, and starts to sit. Water cascades down his chest, and I cannot deal with seeing any more of him right now.

“Stay where you are,” I say. He stills as if he senses the growing storm in me. I know he doesn’t fear me—could not fear me—yet wariness tightens his jaw.

“You need to calm down, Princess.”

“You lied to me.”

His expression darkens. “I did not.”

My chest heaves, because that is not the truth and he knows it. There’s a scream inside me, tearing me apart from the inside. My teeth ache, and I want to bite something. My skin hurts with the force of containing it all. My muscles vibrate; my bones shake. If I don’t release it, I will combust.

“Rory. . .” Callum warns.

I storm toward him, grab the slippery soap that sits on the side of the copper tub by his hand, and hurl it at him. Then the washcloth. Water sloshes over the side of the tub as he raises his forearms. Both bounce off him and hit the floorboards.

“Are you done?” he growls.

“No. I’m not done!” I swipe the candlestick off the mantelpiece beside me.

“Don’t you dare—”

I swing it at his head. He grabs the end and yanks it toward him. Instead of releasing it, I stumble, and have to grip the side of the tub to keep my balance.

“Am I going to let you do that?” he says.

My breathing is hard as that wildness in my chest struggles to escape. “No.”

“No,” he agrees. “Drop it.”

“No.”

“Drop it, or I shall make you.” The wolf shines in his eyes.

“You won’t hurt me.” I’m as convinced of this now as I was when I first set eyes on him.

“Still, you cannot come into my chambers in the middle of the night and threaten me. I cannot allow it.” His gaze darkens. “Drop it.”

I try to wrench out of his grip so I can aim it at his face again. He lets go and I stumble. He hooks one arm around my waist and grabs my wrist with his other hand. There’s a sloshing noise as I crash down on top of him, scuffing my knees against the sides of the tub.

Water spills everywhere. It careens over the sides of the bath, sloshes over the floorboards, and drenches the sheepskin rug. I release my hold on the candlestick, and it clatters to the floor and rolls beneath the bed. I gasp with shock as I’m drenched, and my core is pressed against his hard torso. He grabs my waist and holds me still. My legs are wedged between his thighs and the side of the bath.

“This is not the way we settle things,” he says.

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