Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Gray

N o sooner do we board the ship than supplies for the journey start arriving.

Ada, my whelp of a younger brother, and Lizbeth—the brat I was due to mate—are bundled below deck out of my sight lest I do something regrettable.

The delay while necessary supplies are stowed makes me twitchy. I want to be away before some fool ashore decides to challenge us. Betsy will have gone straight to her father, her father will have gone to that city guardsman, Anders… maybe even to Callum and his blacksmith father, who is no simple fucking blacksmith, for all he lives as such.

Drake and I muck in to help with loading the ship.

It still takes fucking ages.

Drake is unusually quiet, perhaps rightly worried that we might have trouble on our hands. Not about Arlo and Lizbeth, for they are both shifters, and no one will care that we are taking our own. But Ada has acquired a cast of loyal friends in her short time working in the tavern, and every one of the bastards would rally for her.

Drake doesn't call out my foolishness for taking her. Had I not handled it as I did, my wolf would have waded in and been far less circumspect about it. As a shifter himself, Drake understands that instincts are forcing me to act in ways that cannot be denied.

As the anchor finally lifts, to say my mood is disagreeable is an understatement beyond all reckoning. As the clanks and rattles come to a stop, the crew hastens to release the sails.

The sky is stormy, heavy looking, and darkening—this is not a good time of year for sailing.

I heave a breath as the sails billow in the brisk wind, taking us out to sea.

We are on our way.

In contrast to my sour mood, my wolf is fucking perky, prancing around under the surface of my skin with his tail high and proud.

I swallow down my impatience as the captain calls me over for a word. It takes far longer than I am happy with and before long my wolf is back to prowling and urging us that it is overdue we checked on our mate.

Mate.

Not Lizbeth, my former intended, but another lass: Ada, with her dark hair, pretty hazel eyes, and tasty cunt.

When I turn from the captain, premature darkness has fallen due to the heavy cloud cover. A few lanterns have been lit, casting pockets of weak golden light over the glistening deck. It is quieter now that dusk is falling and jobs are mostly done. The ship powers through the waters. Drake is leaning against the rail, in quiet conversation with a deckhand while keeping his eye on me.

I nod. He pushes away from the rail and, accompanied by the deckhand, goes to collect our ‘guests' from the hold. As he disappears from my sight, I attempt to bring my inner beast to heel. He is having none of it and is yipping with excitement—I am cursed to have a wolf whose disposition is more often that of an oversized pup, although his mood can swing from playfully exuberant to territorial fast enough to make my head spin.

Arlo and Lizbeth emerge first and come to stand to my left. Ada stands to my right, the gag still firmly in place and her eyes spitting fire at me. Their hands had remained bound lest they caused mischief while we were busy.

I sigh heavily, then nod at the deckhand—he removes Ada's gag and cuts the binding on her wrists before moving to do the same for Arlo and Lizbeth.

I spare the two wayward shifters only a glance before my eyes return to Ada. That she thought so little of me as to believe I would snatch a lass makes me seethe. This is a calamity of the highest order.

"You didn't need to come in like a fucking savage," my whelp of a brother bemoans, breaking the silence and redirecting my attention to him. Arlo has a bloody nose where Drake has cuffed him—he is lucky I was not the one administering a thump, for I would likely have broken the whelp's jaw. "We were looking for a ship. We would have been home before spring!"

I growl. The whelp averts his face in the first genuine show of submission.

My anger softens, for I am proud of him for getting them both free of the orc bastards who took them. That my involvement in their rescue is negligible is of less importance than what it cost me with Ada.

Ada, who now thinks I am a monster who snatches innocent lasses.

Ada, who has remade me into that very monster for snatching her from her betrothed.

A growl rumbles in my chest as I think about Callum.

"It's not what you think," Lizbeth says, her cheeks blushing under the lantern light.

Not what I think? My mind skips over her words before enlightenment blooms. "You have rutted her," I say bluntly, fixing my glare on Arlo, who has likewise turned ruddy-cheeked at her confession.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I wonder what the fuck to make of this development. There is a measure of resentment in me that, while I have been mindless with worry, my younger brother has been rutting my betrothed. Worse, I have just stolen the woman who would be my fated mate from the streets ‘like a fucking savage' as Arlo just rightly pointed out.

It is not the way wooing is generally done, even among shifters…

We are on a fast ship powering through the waves for safety and Hydornia. Callum will come looking for her. I saw his dedication written upon his face, and further, I believe his father has connections enough to aid the lad.

A sense of needing to claim our territory rises within both me and my wolf. By the time he tracks us down, Ada will be plump with child, and Callum, royal blood and all, will have lost his claim.

She will fucking hate me for it.

My wolf doesn't care.

And the man in me is resigned to the fact that she hates me already and I recognize that no actions I take can make this any worse.

I may as well embrace the role of villain and be damned by the pleasure I take.

It is like the twisting of a knife in my gut, even as I feel relief that my brother and Lizbeth are whole and well, although a little weary from their terrible ordeal.

Drake suddenly chuckles.

My younger brother's eyes bounce from me to Drake and back again.

Drake rolls out a phantom crick in his neck, like he is limbering up.

Arlo swallows. "Don't let him at me, Gray."

Him?

"These two have run amok," Drake says ominously. "I had my suspicions, but now I see it is true. You were fucking her before you were taken, weren't you? Sneaking off where you shouldn't. And that is how you were caught."

My brother begins to stammer.

"Please, Drake," Lizbeth pleads. "It's not what you think."

Assuredly, it is. Yet more pieces fall into place as Drake cracks his knuckles and turns to me. "Do you have any issue with me taking on this arduous task?"

I shake my head. "Have at it." Well, that is one less problem for me.

Drake grins: for such a generally agreeable male, it has an unusually sinister cast.

I know Drake and Arlo have fucked on occasion. Young wolf shifters are gregarious when it comes to rutting and often form temporary bonds with other males in the pack. Yet this is not only about my brother. Drake's many comments about Lizbeth during our travels also begin to make sense… how his wolf was convinced that she and I were never meant for each other and that she needed a firm hand.

How have I been so blind?

A creak snags my attention, and my head swings back to my captive, my prize .

My chest heaves as her scent is carried on the wind and slams straight into me. The predator inside me rises, his tail upright and demeanor playfully alert with a side serve of dark lust.

Mine.

Finally .

Ada—trapped where nothing and no one can stop me from taking her.

A low growl is all the warning I get before a dripping wet apparition heaves onto the deck, thrusts Ada behind his back… and draws… a fucking massive sword.

Everyone freezes. Ada gasps.

A few deckhands alerted to the stowaway draw swords and call the alert.

I hold up a hand, stilling them all lest this deck turn into a battle zone, one that might see Ada hurt. If anyone is spilling the bastard's blood, it is going to be me… once Ada is out of the fucking way.

Where the fuck did he come from? Has he been hanging to the side of the boat all this fucking time?

My wolf growls under my skin, no longer feeling playful, ready for combat, to fight for what is ours.

The man retains control, just.

Drake chuckles.

"Who is he?" my nosy brother demands.

"None of your fucking business, whelp," Drake says, all business again as he cuffs my brother up the side of the head for good measure before fisting a handful of Lizbeth's hair. "Inside, both of you. Your pack leader has matters to tend to."

Don't I just.

Not only Ada, now, but that whelp shifter wannabe with his green eyes and royal blood—Callum.