Page 9 of The Night Prince

The girl knocks and the room falls silent.

There’s a strange sense of anticipation building in my chest. I hate to admit that I’m somewhat curious about the place Blake calls home. Callum once told me that some people wondered if Blake—the half-wolf from the Southlands—was even an alpha. Anyone who questioned it usually wound up dead.

Yet, here we are, in his territory—in a very real castle in the Northlands.

How did he get it? Is this truly his home? Do his people like him?

“Come in,” drawls Blake.

Chapter Three

There are three tall arched windows in the wall on one side of the council chambers, and mountains that are shades of orange and brown are visible through them. Torches in black iron sconces flicker between the windows, and a fire burns low in the curved stone hearth. The space is dominated by a large, oval table, and four men are standing around it. They all look at me as I walk inside.

Blake is at the head of the table with his hands flat on the surface. He leans forward. His white sleeves are rolled up, exposing corded forearms and the beginning of the scar on his elbow, which he must have got when he was bitten. Not for the first time, I find myself curious as to how he was turned into a wolf.

Callum’s expression softens when his gaze locks onto mine. “Rory, what are you doing here?”

“I invited her.” Blake’s gaze brushes over the large shirt I wear, which belongs to him. “You’re looking dashing today, little rabbit.”

I offer him a clipped smile, because I’m sure he’s trying to provoke me. “Thank you.”

A male with dreadlocks and tattoos winding up the dark skin of his arms smirks. Jack, I think his name is. I saw him in the dungeons when Blake kidnapped me and tried to get me to marry James. My displeasure grows.

The fourth male in the room, I’ve not been acquainted with. He is as large in build as Callum, with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His arms are folded across his chest, emphasizing biceps that strain against a black shirt. He wears an eye patch over his left eye, and faint scars crisscross his throat. Recognition jolts through me, though I cannot imagine where I would have met such a man.

“Please, come in,” says Blake. “We were just talking about you.”

I walk toward the table. “I heard,” I say. “What were you discussing?” I don’t like the idea that four men were talking about me, without me being present.

“You should be resting,” Callum whispers, with a note of reprimand. “Did you not read my note? You’ve had a high fever for three days.”

Three days?Callum is about to go to war with his brother, and I’ve been bedridden for three whole days. Questions pound through my already thumping head as I wonder what I must have missed.

“I couldn’t bear to be trapped in that room any longer,” I reply quietly. “I feel much better now.”

“Hm.”

Up close, Callum looks like he’s barely slept. Stubble peppers his jaw, and there are smudges beneath his eyes. His usual scent of the mountains is overlaid by male sweat, as if he’s not been washing. I put my arm around his waist and squeeze.On top of everything that has happened with his brother, he’s had to worry about me.

The woman who brought me here huffs in the doorway.

“Will you be joining us, Elsie?” asks Blake.

“No.” Elsie offers no deference to the male who I’m guessing is her alpha. She heads into the corridor, and her skirts make a rustling sound as they drag across the flagstones. The door swings shut behind her.

I breathe in quickly when I feel a sharp squeeze of emotion in my chest. It’s coming from Blake, and it disappears so quickly I might have imagined it. I’ve not gotten used to the strange link between us yet, forced onto me by Blake. It feels like there’s a thread of shadow in my chest that is wrapped around my soul. When he feels something, it seems to spread and tighten. I try to figure out what he’s feeling. Yearning, I think. I wonder who this woman is, to him.

The burly male I haven’t met before suppresses a chuckle.

“Has something amused you, Arran?” asks Blake, a slight edge to his silky tone.

“No.” Arran’s voice sounds a little hoarse, as if he doesn’t use it much. He doesn’t sound sincere. He leans closer to his alpha, whispers something in his ear, and Blake nods.

Arran strides away from the table, past Callum and me, and heads out after Elsie. He glances at me once over his shoulder, and again, I get that jolt of familiarity. The door swings shut behind him.

“As I was saying,” says Blake, “I want Lochlan and some of his clan to come to Lowfell for Oidhche Fhada.”

Callum’s hold on me tightens almost imperceptibly. “And asIwas saying, that’s not a good idea.”

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