The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance

My heart is in my throat as Callum leads me across the shore. Pebbles crunch underfoot.

His hand is firm and warm around mine. I am reminded of the first time I took his hand, back in Sebastian’s castle. Like now, I was nervous. Uncertain of what was to come. I took his hand anyway.

I think I will always take his hand, if he offers it to me.

My mother once told me that we always have a choice.

I chose Callum that day—when I turned my back on my people and travelled with him to the kingdom of my enemies.

Sometimes it does not feel like a choice at all. It feels inevitable. Like the setting of the sun, and the rising of the moon.

What other choice could there be? It feels as if it has always been him. This. Everything has led to this moment.

Nerves tangle in my stomach, because I think I know what is going to happen next—what Callum might expect from me. I want to give him it, yet I cannot deny that I fear it a little too.

When Callum gently squeezes my hand, he must be able to hear the pounding of my pulse.

He leads me through the copse of trees he disappeared into earlier, nudging aside an overhanging branch with his free arm. The scent of wet pine is released into the cool night air, and a few raindrops—collected among the needles—fall on me as I follow him.

I stop, my eyes widening with surprise.

I nudge past him.

“What’s this?” I ask.

We’re on the shore of the loch, but we’re partially sheltered from the Northlands winds by the trees on one side, and steep rocky land on the other. In the center of the intimate clearing, there’s a tent.

“I remembered the last time I tried to get you to sleep on the ground.” Every sense in my body is attuned to him as he steps closer. “Do you. . . do you like it?”

Warmth spreads through me at the slight note of uncertainty in his tone. He seems almost nervous.

The tent is triangular in shape and it’s small. It is high enough to sit or kneel inside, but certainly not to stand. The fabric is off-white and it has seen better days.

It reminds me of a miniature, worn-out version of the tents that my father and brother stayed in when they went hunting. Teams of servants would ride ahead of the hunting party to erect them before the noblemen and women arrived. The structures would be dressed in silks and banners, some with interiors as nice as rooms in the palace itself.

This tent is nothing like that.

And yet, it is so much better. Because Callum did this. He did this for me.

An unfamiliar rush of emotion surges through my body.

“Yes,” I say softly. “I like it very much.”

“Do you. . . do you want to go inside?” Again, that slight note of uncertainty in his tone. As if part of him expects me to say no.

My pulse hammers against my chest. I nod, crouch down, and crawl through the opening.

Red tartan rugs, furs, and cushions cover the ground—giving it a cozy feel, despite the cool air and the breath that plumes in front of my face. A candle Callum must have lit earlier flickers at one side, filling the space with warm orange light.

I kneel upright, and smile.

I’m about to turn around when the fabric rustles. Callum’s thighs brush my hips as he kneels behind me and places a hand flat on my stomach. A lick of heat flares in the pit of my stomach as my back touches his chest.

“I wanted to do more.” He runs his thumb along my torso, and I wish my shirt wasn’t in the way of his touch. “We could only carry so much on horseback.”

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

He dips his mouth, and kisses the sensitive spot behind my ear, then peppers a trail of kisses on the back of my neck. I suppress a moan.

“Goddess,” he says. “I’ve wanted to be alone with you like this for so long.”

Gently, he tugs the hem of my shirt out of my breeches, and slides his hand beneath. His palm is rough and warm as it skims my torso. My gaze snaps down, transfixed, as he moves his hand lower and unfastens the button of my breeches.

My heart is hammering against my chest. It is almost deafening in my ears.

I want his hand there. I ache for it. There is heat between my legs, throbbing and wet, and it is almost unbearable.

And it is not as if he hasn’t touched me there before.

Yet it feels different this time. Perhaps because it means something. It symbolizes that I am truly leaving the past behind. It solidifies the truth, and the choice I made so many nights ago.

I choose him.

Or perhaps it is because before, when we were in his bed, he was only willing to give to me. This time, he will take from me, too.

I have not done this before. What if I disappoint him?

Callum stills. He removes his hands from the fastening of my breeches, and flattens his palm on my bare torso.

“You don’t need to fear me,” he says, softly.

“I’m not afraid. I’m—” I exhale, realizing there is no use in trying to hide my emotions from him. “You can hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

“Aye.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “I can.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Turn around.”

I shuffle, the furs soft beneath my knees, and face him. He shifts to accommodate me between his thighs. He looks so huge and strong in the small space, his head almost brushing the fabric ceiling of the tent. His expression is soft.

“Give me your hand,” he says.

He brushes his lips against my knuckles, then presses my hand against his chest. His heartbeat thumps quickly, agitatedly, against my palm.

My eyes snap up to his. “You’re afraid?”

“I told you, you’re a fearsome creature.”

When I narrow my eyes, he grins.

“No. I’m not afraid. I am. . .” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “I am excited. Excited that I have you alone. But I’m nervous, too. I’m nervous that I will not please you. I’m nervous you will not share your emotions with me, and I will push you too hard. I’m nervous that I will scare you away.” He inclines his head at me. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me what it is that you fear.”

My pulse beats faster.

I am not used to sharing my emotions with anyone. I’m not used to people caring what I think, or what I want, or what feel. Yet this evening, I have already shared more than I have before in my life.

Callum lets the silence extend, stroking my knuckles with his thumb, his heart thumping beneath my fingers. The air in the tent is hot. Too hot. Stifling.

I swallow.

“I am scared,” I admit. “It is not because I fear you. I do not. It’s just. . .” I glance away, not quite able to meet his eye. “I have not done this before. I do not know. . . how to do it. I do not know what to. . . what to expect, or what is expected from me. It may not. . .”My cheeks flame. “It may not be very good for you.”

I expect him to laugh at me, but instead he raises my chin.

“I will not hide from you that I want you,” he says. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I first set eyes on you. I told myself I took you from the Borderlands because I needed you for the Heart of the Moon, but I think even then, I knew the truth. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you there. And I wanted you. Goddess, I wanted you. I’ve been like a lovesick pup since that moment. I think about you all the time. I want to make you smile, and make you happy, and to impress you.” He lets out a half-laugh. “I don’t usually make a habit of wearing breeches. I wore them because I thought you might like me in them.”

His eyes darken. “And, aye, I want to lose myself in you, too. I want to feel your warmth and your heat. I want to take my pleasure from you.”

His heart thumps quickly beneath my fingers, despite the stillness of his body.

“But I do not expect anything from you. Do not think that for a minute. And don’t apologize, nor think you could ever disappoint me. We will only do what you want, Aurora. We will take this only as far as you wish to take it. There is no rush.”

He smiles, and the pressure bearing down on me lifts. Yet the air in this tent does not feel any easier to breathe. It feels hot and thick and static.

“It’s just you and me now. We have all the time in the world.” He cups my face in his hand. “Tell me, what do you want, Princess? If you only want to lie down and go to sleep in my arms, I will still think myself the luckiest wolf in the Northlands.”

Warmth swells inside me.

What do I want? I have asked myself this question many times since I came to the Kingdom of Wolves. It was a question I never dared ask myself before I left with Callum.

And for the first time, it seems, I have an answer.

I want him. This. Us.

Still, I am lost. Inexperienced. Out of my depth.

“I do not want to go to sleep,” I tell him and a slow grins spreads across his face. “But. . . well. . . I do not know. . . specifically.” My cheeks feel hot.

He inclines his head gently, as if he understands. “How about I tell you what I want? And you can tell me whether or not you find it agreeable.”

I swallow, and incline my head.

“Good,” he says. “I want you to take off your shirt so I can see you.”

His eyes glint as he waits to see if I will do it.

I pull my hand away from his chest.

The smile dies from his lips as, slowly, I unfasten the buttons. His eyes track my every movement as I part the material, then shrug the shirt off my shoulders.

He makes a low sound in his throat, almost a growl. My breasts feel heavy, swollen, and my nipples harden at the approval that ripples from him in waves.

I expect him to touch me—I want him to touch me—but his arms remain at his sides. His biceps strain against his sleeves as if he’s restraining himself.

“Good.” He nods, and his voice is gruff. “Now, your breeches too. I want to see all of you.”

My breathing quickens, but I shift back. I take off my boots. I touch the already-open fastening of my breeches. He inclines his head.

I pull down my breeches and underwear, and shuffle out of them.

The wolf flickers behind his eyes. He swallows, his jawline hardening.

“Come here,” he says.

I move closer.

One of his hands cups my hip. His other moves to the back of my neck, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Now, I want you to kiss me.”

I lean forward, and brush my lips against his. He groans softly, before claiming my mouth with his.

His hand slides into my hair, his tongue moving in deep hot strokes against mine. His kisses are dominant. Powerful. Hungry. It is as if whatever control he has been keeping over himself is slipping, and the beast inside him has been set free. And I want it. I crave it.

I match his wildness with my own, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling his face closer. He groans, and my body melts into his. A jolt of pleasure surges through me as my nipples brush against his shirt. His hand moves lower down, cupping my bum and squeezing. I whimper.

He pulls back.

Despite my vulnerability, a thrill courses through me at the way he is looking at me. As though I am the only thing in the world. As though he wants to devour me.

He is holding back, his chest rising and falling deeply, his muscles tense.

I almost whimper.

I may be naked, but the alpha of Highfell is on his knees before me—waiting for me to give him permission.

“What do you want me to do next?” I ask, my voice breathy.

His jaw tightens. “I want you to lie down, and spread your legs for me.”

I breathe in sharply at the impropriety of what he’s asking me to do. A surge of heat floods me and makes it hard to think straight. My core throbs, aches.

I shuffle backward. I lie down on the furs and rugs, and rest my head on one of the cushions. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.

Tentatively, I spread my legs.

A low sound scrapes against his throat as he curses under his breath.

He shifts closer, and pushes my knees further apart to spread me even wider for him. The wolf is dominant in his eyes as he stares at the place between my legs that aches and throbs with need. My cheeks flame, yet beyond the shame of letting him look at the most intimate part of me, I feel powerful.

He seems completely enthralled.

“Fuck. You’re so beautiful.” His eyes travel up my body. His eyelids seem heavy, and his breathing is fast. “Do you want to know what I want you to do for me next?”

I nod, breathless, sure that whatever it is, I will give it to him. I will give anything to keep him looking at me in this way. Anything that might ease this throbbing ache inside me.

The corner of his lip quirks. “I want you to come in my mouth, against my tongue, as I taste you.”

I blush deeply, heat surging through my body.

“Do you think you can do that for me?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper.