Werewolves

 

Sonia felt like she’d just fallen asleep when Callum moved, sliding gently away from her but holding her body still. Only when he’d disengaged did he settle her carefully on the mattress, a pillow under her cheek where his chest had been.

She felt his heat leave the bed but the hides came up to her neck and then they were tucked softly around her.

She drifted, but on the edge of her consciousness she heard a door open and close.

Then she drifted again until she heard hazily from somewhere far away Callum muttering, “Bloody hell.”

She smiled into the pillow and then let out a soft fluttering sigh. She loved it when he got annoyed, she thought it was cute.

Though she’d never tell him that.

On that fuzzy thought, she fell asleep.

For about thirty seconds.

“Baby doll,” his big hand was curled around the side of her head, “you need to wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she tilted her head to look up at him.

A nagging ache struck her temple and a dull pain which hinted at something more piercing dragged her back and she remembered.

She closed her eyes and twisted her neck on a half wince. She heard him curse and her eyes opened again.

His mouth was hard when she looked at him.

“Does it hurt?”

Did it hurt?

Her head and back, sure. She’d banged her head on a stone step and had a freaking werewolf claw through her jacket.

But she hurt other places worse and for reasons that she knew down to the depths of her mortal soul, those wounds would never heal.

She decided to answer his question. “Just a little bit.”

His handsome face softened and she wanted to scratch it with her nails. She wanted to lean into it and scream. And she wanted to tilt her head and kiss him. She couldn’t do any of those things and she hated him for it.

“I’m sorry but I need you to come with me, honey, just for a little bit. Then we’ll get you back into bed and you can sleep,” he told her, and before she could blink, he was gone.

She stared at the place where he’d been, suddenly uncertain that he’d even been there.

Then he was back, the hides were pulled away, and he put his large hands under her arms and tenderly lifted her from the bed.

When she was on her feet, she tipped her head back to look up at him and started, “Callum—”

“Lift your arms for me, little one,” he murmured, his hands up, holding a stretchy, pink cotton nightgown.

Since she was naked (mostly) and a nightgown would be good, she did as she was told.

She winced when, at her movement, the dull pain became piercing.

“Fuck,” he hissed low at her wince, making fast work of pulling the nightgown over her head, and then he commanded, “Arms down.”

Gratefully she lowered her arms as he carefully pulled the nightgown down her body, rounding to her side to yank it out before he tugged it down her back and it fell over her hips to her knees. She registered this vaguely as a novel experience, considering Callum was putting a nightgown on her rather than taking it off as he’d stated repeatedly he preferred her naked in their bed and usually did something about it.

He sat her down on the edge of the bed and she stared, this time in out and out shock, as he knelt in front of her and put thick, woolen gray socks on her feet.

King Callum kneeling at her feet.

He’d only knelt for her once but that was to put his mouth between her legs.

Now he was putting socks on her feet to ward away a chill.

Before she could cope with this, he took her hand and cautiously tugged her up from the bed and then leaned into her, reaching to the side as she reared back (trying not to look as if she did) and he brought up her cashmere robe.

“Now this,” he stated. “Turn around.”

She did as she was told, mainly so she wouldn’t glare at the robe, which, if she had been thinking, should also have gone in the fire with her rings and her wolf. She was doubly glad she threw the wolf in the fire now that she knew he was her puppy and he hadn’t told her that, not for weeks. Not, apparently, for years (though, she wasn’t actually doubly glad, she’d miss her stuffed wolf like crazy).

He pulled her robe up her arms, and, hands at her shoulders, turned her around and gently tied it closed.

When he was done, his hands came to her neck, and with thumbs at the undersides of her jaw, he tilted her head back to look at him.

“You can walk okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, his eyes soft. He took her hand in his and guided her out the door.

They were down two flights when she tugged on his hand. “Callum, really, where are we going?”

She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to eat, drink or, possibly, breathe.

Since not breathing would be bad, she decided she’d breathe but she wanted to do it somewhere alone so she could get her thoughts in order and sort out her crazy unbelievable life. A life which was already pretty unbelievable, say, because it included kings of secret sects of society and enchanted castles in tiny, unknown, independent countries in the depths of Scotland. But now she was forced to come to terms with the fact that she had to share that life with an arrogant, self-absorbed, philandering werewolf.

“It’ll only take a minute, baby doll, and then back to bed,” he told her, not pausing in leading her down the steps.

If whatever it was would only take a minute, which seeing someone, talking to them, or eating and drinking the way Callum’s people did would take longer than that, she followed without protest.

At the front door, he stopped her and turned her to him.

“One last thing,” he muttered and his hand went into the pocket of his jeans.

She watched, her breath catching, as he pulled out her wedding rings.

How?

What?

Again, how?

What, did he have backups or something?

He lifted her limp hand and slid them on her finger.

Then he lifted her hand farther and bent his head to it where his lips touched her rings and brushed her finger.

Her stomach clenched, her heart leaped, and her sinuses tingled with unshed tears.

That was how you put wedding rings on a woman’s finger.

Just his eyes came to her, his lips remained at her hand, and he said quietly, but very, very firmly, “Never take these off again, little one. Hear me?”

She was so stunned she could do nothing but silently nod.

He lifted his head, squeezed her hand, and then pulled her a bit back from the door. He opened it, and hand still in hers, he guided her numb body outside.

She almost stumbled at what she saw.

Across the clearing at the foot of the steps, around the fountain, even up the hill, not to mention tall warriors flanking the sides of the steps, stood Callum’s people.

Even Regan, Ryon, Caleb, Lucien, and Leah were standing along the top of the landing.

All of them silent, some of them carrying candles, others holding bunches of flowers or tins.

All of them looking at the castle, looking at her.

In her robe!

Callum led her to the edge of the top landing where he stopped and pulled her into his side with his arm carefully wound around her shoulders.

Nearly the minute they stopped and nearly at once, every last wolf dropped to their knee, hand to the snow or stone, head bowed (though Lucien and Leah didn’t, of course, not being wolves and all).

Sonia quit breathing and learned that, even not breathing, you could still cry.

When she started breathing again, she whispered, “Oh my God.”

“They need to see you’re all right,” Callum murmured.

“Make them rise.” Sonia was still whispering.

Callum ignored her and carried on, “They heard you moved to protect me.”

“Callum,” she whispered, not able to tear her eyes from the bent multitudes, “let them rise.”

“Though,” he continued to ignore her, “they would have come all the same.”

“Please,” she breathed.

His arm came across his chest to her chin where his fingers grasped her and he tipped her face back to his.

Then he kissed her lightly, a brush on the lips.

His head lifting nary an inch, his sky-blue eyes looked into hers, and he said quietly, “These are my people. These are your people. These men and women bowing to you are werewolves.”

With that, he released her chin, turned to his people, and in a clear, carrying, deep voice, he commanded, “Rise!”

His people stood.

They also moved.

As the warriors at the steps stood sentry, flowers, tins, and lit candles were placed on the steps as wolves came forward giving Callum a nod and Sonia a smile before giving their gifts.

This all happened silently before they turned to their cars or to make their way back up the hill to their tents.

It took longer than a minute and she was chilled through to the bone by the time the last wolf dipped his head to Sonia’s mate and sent a smile Sonia’s way.

But Sonia barely felt the cold or the biting pain that had begun to torment her back.

As any queen would, she stood for her people, injuries and all.

When it was done, without a word, Callum guided her back to their room, slid the robe from her shoulders, and carefully pushed her into bed.

He kissed her injured temple at the bottom of the torn skin.

Then he slid his temple along her hair and in her ear, he whispered, “Sleep now, baby doll.”

He pulled the hides higher and he was gone.

Sonia didn’t think she could sleep. Not after that.

But it didn’t take long before she did.