Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ada

T he absence of warmth rouses me from a fitful sleep. I am cold, but it is a coldness inside, one that the thick fur bedding that surrounds me doesn't protect me from. I shift my legs, restless, feeling needy and slick between my thighs. My breasts feel heavy and sensitive as I slide against the furs.

My mind shifts from the ignorance of slumber to high alert, and the dire nature of my predicament slams into me.

"Callum!"

I fight my way out of thick furs to turn my head, blinking when I find myself very much alone.

My racing heart settles a little and then ramps up again. "Callum!"

I throw the covers aside and lurch out of bed before rushing to the thick wooden door. I depress the handle and push—locked. I pound on it. "Callum! CALLUM!"

No answer comes. I press my ear against the wood, hearing noises beyond: the creak of rigging and wood, the roar of the ocean, and distant voices. No one is near. I yank on the handle again for good measure, rattling the sturdy door in the jamb. It is locked tight, possibly bolted or barred from the other side.

Still, nobody comes.

I bang on the door again. "Let me out, savages!"

A faint chuckle rouses me to full fury before desolation cuts me loose, and I rest my forehead against the door. "Callum," I whisper.

I can't believe Gray would hurt him when, by hurting Callum, he would hurt me and forever damage the bond he seeks between us. Yet my instincts are at sea as much as this cursed ship. I don't know Gray well, and I hate that Callum is not here where I can see him for myself.

I swallow down a heavy lump in my throat.

My bladder turns my thoughts to practical considerations with urgency, and I push away from the door to stare around the room. It is a captain's cabin and finely appointed, if a little worn in places. Beyond the window, I see daylight and a stormy sea and sky.

It would serve them right if I were to go all over the polished floor.

My gaze settles on a small door leading off on the right of the big latticed windows—I did not notice that last night. My bare footsteps patter against the wooden floor as I dash past the table. This door yields to my fingers, and I yank it open to find a small bathroom, complete with a lavatory.

I realize I need to avail myself of it, urgently.

After I am done, I make use of the pitcher of water, fill the basin, and, with trembling hands, I wash myself up.

The cleaning is cathartic as I swipe the grime away before patting myself dry on the soft cloth.

My stomach turns over with unease that I cannot blame on the gentle swaying of the boat. My body is fevered as if I am coming down with a cold.

How did I even sleep?

My fingertips trace the side of my throat where Gray's teeth latched onto my flesh.

A shiver ripples through me from my light touch—it almost feels like he is biting me there again. And although he did not break the skin, it feels strangely sensitive.

I feel sensitive everywhere, truth be told. Frowning, I hasten back into the main room, determined to find something to pound on the door with until someone is forced to come. They will not keep me locked in here all day, not when Callum's life is in danger.

My eyes land on the lamp on the table. I lift off the glass fitting and wrap my fingers around the thick base. It is cool to the touch and looks like brass. I will use it to smash the door down or at least make enough noise that someone will come to check.

"Gods!" It is ridiculously weighty, maybe to prevent it from being tossed from the table when traveling through a storm. It nearly pulls my arms from my sockets. If I drop it, I will surely break the floor… or my foot.

I lug it over to the door. Here I stand, limbering up to deliver a mighty blow, when the door suddenly rattles and swings open.

"What the fuck are you doing, wench?!" Gray snatches the swinging lamp base from my fingers.

"Uff!" I grunt as the momentum slams me into the wall of his body, which is about as soft as the hard wooden door.

He grasps the scruff of my neck with his other hand, peels me off him, and gives me a little shake. "Gods, woman. You could have broken your small toes had you dropped it!" He shoves the offending lamp base at a deckhand I only now notice lingering beyond him.

The deckhand takes it with a grunt, seeming similarly confused by the hefty weight.

"Unhand me, brute!" I flail around.

He shakes me again, stepping aside. "Bring the bastard whelp back in here and chain him up afore he causes more trouble."

Only now do I take in the scuffle on the deck: the three deckhands straining to return Callum, still gagged, to the room.

His eyes turn wild when they latch onto me, nostrils flaring as he takes in my naked form before he glares at Gray, who still holds me by the scruff of the neck like I am a wayward pup.

"Callum!" My feverish eyes inspect him even as I try to wrest free. I see no fresh damage and that calms me some. "What have you done to him?" I demand.

"Nothing yet," Gray says ominously. "Although a beating might do wonders for settling his temper. The mouthy bastard has been nothing but trouble, and all we have done is untie him so he can fucking relieve himself. I have a good mind to drown the bastard a bit in the hopes of making him see some sense."

Callum is red of face and livid as they chain him against the wall.

"Anythin' else, Master Gray?" a deckhand asks as his companions finish chaining Callum to the wall.

"No," Gray says. "See that I'm not disturbed."

They bow their heads in deference.

"And lock the door," Gray adds as they reach it. … "From the other side."

The deckhand raises a brow at that.

I also raise a brow at that.

The door shuts, and I hear the rattle of a key in the lock.

"Umm guuung urhh uofff urr oooh!"

A muffled grunt comes from the other side of the room, followed by a banging sound and the violent creaking of wood. I try to peer around Gray, but he moves to block my view.

He glances over his shoulder. "Unless you want me to lock you in the hold, whelp, you will shut the fuck up."

The sudden silence is broken only by ragged breathing.

Callum is not hurt; he is here, and somehow, although he is bound, his presence soothes me.

But I am also aware of Gray's intentions, and my stomach takes a slow dip as familiar heat pools low in my belly. I lift my chin to stare up into Gray's eyes. They flash with a brilliant blue light, reminding me, once again, of the otherworldly power that lives within him.

The air crackles, and Gray flashes between forms. His clothes fall into a heap on the floor, and he's naked.

I gasp.

A rumble emanates from his chest. He picks me up and drops me face down on the mattress in the bedding nook. My heart rate takes off at a gallop, and my traitorous pussy clenches with unmistakable interest, reveling in the ease with which he masters me.

He is behind me now, looming, yet in my mind's eye, I see the line of his serious face and the savage, animalistic beauty of his body as it was in beast form in the tavern. The compulsion I have felt since first meeting him is still front and center. My core throbs with need, like it has been primed for him by his closeness throughout the night.

Despite Gray's orders for Callum to be quiet, a growl is issued from the other side of the room.

Gray holds me a prisoner in ways more than my current state of captivity. Yet, it is not fear that grips me; it is more outrage at what he has done and what he plans to do.

I am at his mercy.

But he is not a real monster, not like the one I lived with all my life, and I want to believe he can be reasoned with, despite my being naked on a bed. Before I can coach myself to focus on the important task of reasoning with the big shifter, his words of yesterday slam into my mind. "…even though your cunt is juicing with need. Rest assured; my wolf can scent your arousal. Let there be no pretense between us."

His big hands are on me, enclosing the tops of my thighs. Slowly, he pushes them apart, opening me up. His low purr is steeped with approval for what he can scent and see. Fresh arousal, sharp and insistent, hits me anew.

"Please, Gray," I push through gritted teeth, as my pussy weeps with interest that my mind seeks to deny. "Let Callum go. You don't want to do this."

"Don't mention that whelp's name." His fingers tighten on my thighs, squeezing with enough bite to bring a whimper to my lips. "I was set to walk away. Even though it fucking killed me to do so. But you followed, didn't you, Ada? The Goddess herself thrust you into my path. Now, you are mine. Pretty wenches who follow shifters get rutted in ways their whelp lovers can't begin to imagine."

Ice floods my veins… then heat sweeps through in its wake as something passes underneath me. A rope? I struggle in earnest.

It doesn't help me.

It didn't help me last night when he brought me here like a war prize tossed over his shoulder.

"Please!"

"Sweet Ada." He pauses to draw gentle fingers through my hair, and how my body craves that touch even as my mind tries to keep hold of the importance of what is at stake. "You think I don't know what you need? I could smell your arousal every time you came to the table. You think I didn't know it was for me?" His laugh has a low, husky quality, and, Goddess help me, my body sparks in anticipation of his deviant plans.

He pulls my hands behind my back. My attempts to fight don't trouble him—the man is built like a warrior.

Only he isn't a man—he is a wolf and a beast.

"It was neither stew nor Tim's company that drove me to take lodgings at The Green Man. If my wolf hadn't been obsessed with claiming you, I'd have taken a room elsewhere." The rope loops around me, opening my thighs, binding my ankles to my wrists—opening and spreading me for whatever he might want to do. And all the while, my chest heaves with the strain of fighting him, impossible as that is.

"I must be honest in this moment, for everything is about to change." He pauses his rope work and leans down to growl low, for my ears only. "It is not only my wolf that was obsessed. The man and beast are very much aligned."

When he was at the tavern, he barely spoke to me other than to place an order. Except for that last night, when he saved me, and then ravished me, and set my mind adrift.

"We are not in The Green Man anymore, wench," he says, reminding me of my present situation and that this isn't gentle banter in a civilized setting surrounded by others.

I'm on a ship, far from safety and help.

Why did I follow him?

Why would I do something so stupid?

"Who is she?" I demand.

He stills before he chuckles again.

I have given myself away. I should not be jealous of the lass he was snatching—not when Callum is bound, and I am about to be ravished. Still, I can tell she is important, for all he handed her off to Drake to deal with… along with the younger man with her.

"Lizbeth, my former promised mate, was taken by the Blighten a year ago, along with my younger brother."

"Oh."

I am bound… I sense there is more binding to come. I have brought this on myself by challenging him in the market. He has admitted he was prepared to walk away.

And I would have been free to wed Callum.

But I would never have seen Gray again.

"What am I, then?" I say bitterly. "A plaything until you claim your mate?"

He rumbles a low curse.

Callum's growl is full of fury.

"What are you going to do?" I whisper.

Ignoring my question, Gray resumes his work. With every pass of the rope across my skin, every careful knot, tug, and loop, I feel myself sinking into a place of heightened awareness that centers only upon him.

The cabin is cool, and my body is naked, but his hands are warm where they touch me, and his body gives off heat like a furnace whenever it presses close to mine as he continues to bind me in the soft ropes.

"You're naked and bound, wench. And so am I." He leans in close, his warm skin brushing up against me from behind, and his cock, thick and long, slides between my spread pussy lips. "Happen you're about to be rutted," he growls close to my ear, making my stomach clench in heated anticipation. He rocks his hips, sliding his cock back and forth, catching my clit and spreading the wetness of my arousal around. "Happen you want me to do as much."

He steps back and the denial dies on my lips as I am suddenly lifted from the bed. I hang from his grip, thoroughly bound, ankles to thighs, wrists together, with more ropes surrounding my torso like a harness.

Callum growls.

Gray strides from the bed with me swinging from one hand.

He stops in the center of the room, where I find myself swaying slightly, eyes watching the polished floor pass beneath me. There is a noise I can't determine and then the sound of a faint chink as I jerk higher, another chink, and I rise again.

His broad, naked feet enter my view from in front of me as gentle fingers smooth my tangled hair.

He is no longer holding me, I realize… Has he chained me to the ceiling? He must have.

"When a wolf claims his mate, he must take her in every way." He edges closer, bringing his legs and thighs into view. The height at which I dangle is perfect for his use. "Open for me, my mate."

Rough fingers spear my hair, tightening when I try to pull away. The possessiveness of the touch and the way he handles me make the sweet pulse pound harder between my legs.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You like that, don't you, lass? Like it when I let my wolf out." He clenches his fingers again, arching my neck.

I groan. The bite of his fingers, the roughness with which he treats me, and the shock of seeing the fingers of his other hand closing around his thick cock all conspire against my determination to resist him.

I want him. I've wanted him on a primitive level since he first walked into the tavern. Every subsequent meeting has only imprinted him upon me more. His scent is stronger now and finds a direct line to my clit with every breath I take in.

"Open your pretty mouth," he growls.

The weeping tip of his cock brushes over my lips, and I part them instinctively, tongue darting to collect the offering. He teases me, letting me lick the tip, only to withdraw and leave me desperate for the next taste. I've fantasized about being with him, of taking him into my mouth the way I do with Callum, of him spreading me open and rutting me, too.

Reality is far sweeter than any of my dreams—and is tainted with guilt.

"That's my good girl. I knew you'd be eager for my cock."