Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Gray

" I see the lass is working tonight, then," Drake says as he slides into the seat beside me.

I scowl at him. She works every night, so that is not much of a revelation. "You think I'd come here if she weren't?" I say, before I can think better about the dangerous waters I've just plunged headfirst into.

Drake chuckles. "Good point. You'd be scouring the streets looking for her."

"Fuck off," I mutter without heat. Not that I care what Drake thinks about my decisions that lead to yet another bowl of stew.

Time changes things—our mindset, our ways, and our desires—and I need to remind myself that I am here for a reason.

He nods his head at my lamb stew before me. "Good?"

I came straight here after our day out following up on leads… and because I was fucking impatient to check on the lass.

"Edible," I grunt, just as Betsy weaves through the rowdy patrons to drop a pint in front of Drake.

"Can I interest you in the stew?" she asks him with a smile. The wench is pretty and popular with the patrons, whether they can persuade her to slip out back with them or must make do with crumbs as she drops off their orders. I saw her sneak away with three sailors not long ago. They returned with a swagger. She returned with a blush on her cheeks.

"Nay, lass," Drake says. "This beer is perfect, thanks." He slides a coin across the table, which she tucks into a pocket of her apron before she sashays off, collecting empties as she goes.

He turns back to me. "Everyone knows Bleakness is a shit hole, but the pretty wenches here are a small redeeming point."

Drake speaks true. I'm confident that if Ada and Betsy were working elsewhere, at least some of the business would follow. This city has lived long under the banner of the Blighten. Anyone who escapes never looks back. Circumstances trap people. Yet within all that desolation are ordinary citizens and hidden gems among the rough.

I hate it here. The city makes my skin crawl for reasons more than the Blighten. Give me the mountains and the forests to the east of Hydornia any day.

But I have a purpose, and I won't leave until it's done.

"How the mighty fall," Drake quips.

I chuckle. It turns into a snort before I laugh some more. Also, I am not falling for a wench. I need to focus on my mission.

"I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh in months," he says with a note of fake wonder. "Maybe a whole fucking year."

"I'm a bitter bastard," I say, realizing this quintessential truth. As a pack leader's son, my life was perfect until one event sent everything tumbling down the hill.

"We'll get them back," he says, and his face, more often graced by a smile, takes on a determined air.

"Aye," I agree, unwilling to entertain any other option, nor to linger on the worry that consumes me when I consider they have been gone a whole year.

"The lass needed a firm hand," he says, his gaze turning distant. "A sound spanking would have sorted her right out."

The lass in question is my destined mate. At least, that was what my father wanted. I was an easygoing male back then; she was pretty and spirited, and I had no firm objection to letting things run their course.

We had yet to consummate the bond, with our pack following the old ways where public claiming is the accepted norm.

Then she was taken.

A year is a long time to search for someone. Not only her but my younger brother, who was with her at the time, and fuck, how I love that runt.

Guilt assuages me that I am eyeing a tavern wench when the shifter lass who should be mine is the prisoner of orcs. I drink deeply of my ale. When those you care for are snatched from you, it's hard to find happiness anywhere or in anything. I feel fucking guilty even as my eyes cannot help but stray.

My gut churns with never-ending worry. They won't be the same when we find them… if we find them—no, I cannot consider that.

And so returns the guilt all over again, near choking me.

The opening of the Tavern door brings in a waft of icy air. I lift my head from my bowl to see that little beta prick saunter in.

Callum.

Young.

Starry-eyed.

And fucking hot for Ada.

The truth is that he is not so little and is possibly the largest beta I have ever seen, but my bitter heart seeks any form of imaginary defect.

"Gods save me from hapless bastards," I say, dunking the bread deep into my stew like that might make it more palatable.

I miss venison.

Drake swings his head to look over his shoulder before turning back to me with a grin. "Ah, the competition is in."

I glare at him. "That whelp is no competition."

"You're right," Drake says, leaning across the table to pat me on the shoulder. He is a heavy-handed bastard, and my bread drops in my stew. "He's balls deep in her every chance he gets and has got you beaten by a mile."

I growl. A patron sitting at the neighboring table gives me a wary look.

"That little prick is not rutting her," I say. "Likely she wouldn't notice his small dick even if he was?—"

Drake's snort is derisive.

"Is he?" I regret how much I give away in asking that question.

He raises a brow. "As often as he can, I'd imagine. I've seen them slip out the back together, and I heard her sounds of pleasure when I was heading up to our quarters Wednesday night." He winks. "He might have a small prick, but he knows how to use it."

The metal tankard dents under my fingers.

He smirks. "Do not destroy another tankard. Had to pay extra coins last time."

But I'm not looking at Drake or the tankard buckling under my fist; no, my eyes are on him, all bright-eyed and perky with his ginger hair and fresh face with freckles. Barely a man, in my opinion. And a beta. He is no protection. Just the thought of them marrying and him fucking his whelps into her belly when he's barely more than a whelp himself is enough to bring a red haze down over my eyes.

He's not good enough for her. Not by a long shot. She needs a real man to protect her.

She needs a wolf.

"Fuck's sake, Gray!" Drake chuckles.

I release the tankard.

I'm here for a reason, and my reason isn't Ada.

I still want to go over there and snap his neck. Just like I want to break the arm of every bastard in the room who puts his hand on Ada. I'm definitely going to be having words with the guardsman in the corner who put Ada on his lap, consequences be damned.

"Your claws," Drake says casually.

When I glance down, I realize I have partially shifted, and my claws are embedded in the table. It takes a bit of effort before I can yank them back out, and they can shift back to human form. I should go back to my stew. Only stew can't hold my attention for long when Ada, blushing a pretty shade of pink, passes the table where Callum and his father sit.

As she leans in to say something, his eyes lower to her cleavage.

How the fuck can he possibly satisfy such a saucy lass?

"He's a strapping lad for a beta," Drake says conversationally like he's not skewering my belly with every word. "Although Ada is not opposed to his attention for all she is so tiny by comparison. Got that spark, you know?"

"Do not talk about Ada and her spark unless you want me to rearrange your face."

He chuckles and takes another swig of his beer, unbothered by my threat. "Fine then. I heard there's a certain ship due at the end of the week."

I am all business at this news. "You think they might be on it?"

He nods, expression turning grave. "Aye, that's the word."

Cold pinpricks tickle the back of my neck. I can't let myself get distracted by a pretty lass with ebony hair and a sensual smile. I don't even know why I like her. She's not my usual type, being tiny for a start and little more than skin and bones. Well, her tits are plentiful, and her ass is not too bad either. My wolf paces, telling me he knows all he needs to in her scent.

The man in me needs a little more than base instincts.

The man in me is fucking poleaxed by her smile and has tossed sleeplessly on too many nights, imagining how her pretty face will scrunch as I plow her with my dick.

Callum finally drags his eyes from Ada's tits and smiles up at her. He's not for Ada.

"Then who is?" Drake asks.

Fuck! I only realize now that I spoke out loud.

"You?" Drake continues, making a scoffing noise when I don't answer. "The lass is a survivor and doesn't belong with our kind, where pack life would only fuck her up worse. Sweet lass like Ada belongs with her own kind. He is a good man, by all accounts. Put a beating on her father for his part in selling Ada out."

My spoon drops into the bowl, and I am all ears.

He shrugs. "I asked around when I realized your wolf was imprinting. Her father was a mean bastard, worked in the slaver markets, and sold her for coin enough to pay a debt he had racked up. The lad's father is part of the secret rebellion here. You heard those lowlife flesh traders took Betsy. Well, Ada was put in the cell with her. That's how they met. when Tim, along with the blacksmith, his son, Callum, and a few others broke them out. The lad is no pushover, despite his age. He takes part in the underground fights on occasion. He handles himself well, I heard. You've convinced yourself he's not good enough for her, even as you suffer guilt. You are wrong on both counts, Gray. Nothing was consummated between you and Lizbeth and, to be blunt, my wolf always questioned the match. What you need to realize is that, wolf instinct or not, Ada is already taken by a blacksmith's apprentice who saved her life and would worship her like a queen."

I swallow thickly, devastated to learn what happened to her, and hating myself that I still want to challenge the whelp, dominate him utterly, and then take her from him.

Worse, I can sense the truth of Drake's words: my wolf has imprinted. He doesn't care that Ada deserves something better than a battle-scarred shifter who has spent a year searching for those he lost and might spend another year and more, or for however long it takes.

I have nothing to offer her.

The blacksmith's lad has already won the fight.

"I was going to go along Monday," Drake says, stirring me from my painful rumination.

He is wearing a look of feigned innocence, and my eyes immediately narrow.

He thumbs over his shoulder. "Callum is fighting at sundown at a warehouse near the docks… You probably won't be interested?—"

"We're going," I say, cutting him off.

He grins. "Good. We were going anyway to meet a contact there about the ship coming in."

"Bastard," I mutter, snatching up my ale and scowling when I notice the dent I put in the tankard, which will cost me more fucking coin.

"Your wolf really has imprinted," he says, serious for once.

"Aye," I say sourly. "He will get over it." We will both have to. I have a younger brother and a shifter lass counting on me to stay focused and remember what is at stake.

Callum

As I push through the door of The Green Man, it is to meet a wall of heat and raucous merriment. High winds have kept several ships trapped in the dock, and every tavern in the city is heaving. My eyes immediately go to that bastard sitting in the corner. The shifter who goes by the name Gray. Despite my father's comments about them looking for lost pack members, I wish they would hurry up and fuck off.

I hate the way he eyeballs Ada all the time. I hate the way every man eyeballs her, even though she is not mine, and I've got no fucking right.

"Callum!" My worries and angst fade away as the tiny lass insinuates herself into the space next to me. A rowdy sailor calls an order out. "I'll be with you in a moment," she says absently in his direction, her pretty eyes on me.

I swallow, and before I can counsel myself, my eyes drop to her cleavage.

That fast, I'm lost, thinking about how her nipples feel underneath my tongue, the way she writhes and moans and fists my hair when I suck or play with them. The little breathy gasps she makes as I go lower and get my tongue all up in her pussy.

I lift my eyes to find her lips twitching as she seeks to hide a smile.

"I get a break in a bit," she says.

I swallow.

"We'll have two bowls of stew," my father calls, breaking the spell enough for me to drag my eyes away from the beauty before me.

I adjust my collar. My father chuckles. Ada goes to place our order, and Charlie, a wheelwright, his shop a few doors down from ours, slides into the seat beside my father, and the two of them strike up a conversation.

In a bit… How long is in a bit?

I watch Ada take two pints to him and his shifter buddy, Drake, tucked in the corner. There is no mistaking her flush as she drops off the pints and collects the coins.

She smiles at everyone. I don't know why I see that bastard as a threat. As far as I know, he is nothing to her but a patron. Then again, how would I know? It's not like I'm in here all the time. Maybe the wolf bastard is rutting her, too. We have made no promises to one another, matters being too new, and every time I'm alone with her, my dick commandeers my brain.

Fuck! Maybe she thinks this is a casual fling. Maybe it doesn't mean the same to her. My palms grow sweaty as I sift through my chaotic thoughts for the answer and come up with an alarming realization. Not fucking once have I mentioned how I feel, or that I want to court her—I haven't even begun the wooing process. I am a dolt of the highest order!

I stumble from the chair. My father gives me a look, then smiles faintly before he turns back to his friend as I set out on a collision course for Ada. She squeaks as I take her by the elbow, liberate her of a tray full of empty tankards, and drop the tray on the counter where Betsy is busy serving. Her grin is pure mischief.

"I just need a quick word with Ada," I say, wishing my cheeks did not betray me by glowing like a fucking beacon.

"Go on then," Betsy says. "I'll cover for you, lass."

I have her out the back, in front of the small barn beside the stable, and pinned against the wall in a flash. My hands are shaking as they settle on her hips.

"Callum?" There is confusion in her eyes but a smile on her lips.

The noise from the patrons is muted but still seeps out. "I can't fucking wait," I say before I toss her over my shoulder.

She gasps and giggles. Gods, that sound does it for me. I fucking love her giggles.

I bet that shifter bastard doesn't make her giggle like I do. I know he wants to make a move. Well, fuck him. He can get in the fucking queue, can't he? I had her first, and I'm going to remind her why she is with me.

I stalk into the barn, toss her down on the nearest bale of hay, and then I'm on her with my fingers in her hair, holding her still as my mouth slants over hers.

"I need to get you off, Ada. And I need it to be fast."

She moans. Fucking moans for me, and only me.

My lips are against her throat, sucking against her soft flesh. Gods, why do I suffer this near-overwhelming urge to bite?

I need her taste on my lips, her moans filling my ears. Moving down with purposeful intent, I have her skirts up and my hands inside her panties, finding her already wet.

Why is she already wet when I have barely started? Was it being around the shifter? A deep rumble emanates from my chest, somewhere between a growl and a purr. She moans and fists my hair, dragging my lips back to hers.

I kiss her, fucking her drenched pussy with my fingers and wishing it was my cock. "Come for me, Ada. Right now."

She does, and I swallow up the sounds as she gushes around my fingers.

But once is not enough. A distinct tearing sound follows as I rip her panties out of the way, slide down her body, and bury my nose against her pussy. Her scent fills me, soothing me, calming the raging beast that brings yet more growls to my lips. I eat her out, smothering myself in her scent.

I lose myself in her and the blinding need to stake my claim.

She comes for me again, and then once more.

"Callum!" Her weak grasp on my hair and the pleading note in her voice finally rouse me from the stupor, and I lift my head, dazed.

My heart rate surges as guilt and panic crash through me with the fear that I have been too rough, that I have hurt her.

Her smile eases my worries some, and when she strokes her hand down my cheek they are reduced even more.

Then she giggles.

"I'm sorry," I say, helping her to straighten out her skirts and adjusting my painful erection with a grimace. "It has been a long two days since I saw you."

Her smile widens, and she sits up, reaching for my pants.

I close my hand over her, stilling her fingers. "Not tonight, lass."

She pouts prettily.

I kiss her to take the sting of my rejection away before taking her hand and helping her back to her feet.

The truth is, I do not trust myself to get my cock out, even for the promise of her lips. A monster is rising inside me, a latent part of me I don't recognize. I promised myself I would give her time.

But that is a promise that is proving ever harder to keep.