Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Callum

One week later…

" F uck!" An involuntary cry leaves my lips as I am doused in a bucket full of cold water. "Gods!" And another one. "The fuck is wrong with you all?"

This is my lot in life now, being roused at the crack of dawn from where I've been chained all night, brought out onto the deck, stripped, and doused liberally with cold water. It is salty and leaves a residue on my skin that makes me fucking itch. I suppose it is better than the scent of my stale sweat and seed… which I spew copiously as I must watch that bastard rut the woman I love.

I understand that I'm pissed because it is not my dick she is getting… and craving, but that would require a reasonable side of me to be in command of my wits, and that is not the current case.

Worse, every single time, I am caught up in it, too. I swear there is something in shifter pheromones that bewitches otherwise sensible human minds. The moment he starts at her, my cock begins to harden… fuck, I am getting hard now, and all I'm doing is thinking about him rutting her, taking her, bending her over this or that, spreading her legs wide, and eating her out until she is begging him for his cock.

I didn't know a man could take a woman in so many different ways. I didn't know a woman could take a man in that many ways and not be broken as a result.

Okay, she is a little dazed afterward… and it gives me some small comfort that he cares for her, sitting her on his lap, feeding her, and ensuring she has plenty to drink—the lass is assuredly losing a lot of fluid.

Still, he would not need to coddle her at all were he not rutting her until she is too fucking weak to lift her arms to feed herself.

Then there is her pussy… he is very attentive, tending to any soreness there.

Fuck, I need to stop thinking about that.

"Uff!" The third bucket of water finally makes my cock go down, and I snatch up my pants that have copped some of the water as they lay on the deck and shuck them on. I barely notice the cold anymore—I guess I have gotten used to it.

Only something is not quite right today, and I frown as I look around.

Where is the shifter bastard, Drake? He is usually on hand to deliver his daily pearls of wisdom.

"Where's—"

Clubs at the ready, the deckhands take me by the arms. Only they do not take me back toward the captain's quarters. No, they manhandle me in the other direction… and the open hold door.

"Where are you taking me?" I grunt, summoning enthusiasm to fight when I haven't for the last few days. I know I should fight more often, but at least when they take me back to the room, I can see Ada, and even if that bastard is rutting her, it comforts me in a twisted way. The thought of being separated from her for longer than the short time I spend on the deck—just fucking no.

I don't like this development one bit. What does this mean? What is going to happen next? "Where the fuck are you taking me?" I thrash and kick out as they drag-shove me down the stairs, tossing me down the last few steps before following after me.

Mean bastards, all of them, taking no chances and using the short, rough clubs to keep me in line.

"Where is Ada? What have you done with her?"

"She be wit' the wolf cap'n," one deckhand says, slamming the club into my belly lest I think of causing trouble. "Ye know as much."

I have bruises everywhere. Not that I care about that. My only relief is that they have not yet tossed me over the side. But I don't like that they've put me down here and worry for what it means. "I want to see Ada."

"Ye will see her when the cap'n says so."

"He is not a fucking captain. You are all fucking delusional."

Somebody lands a blow across my back, and too easily, I am chained up against a wall.

I swallow sickly.

"He be a pack leader's son, 'n he be destined t' be the leader hisself one day. His wench will make a fine queen."

Great, not only is he a big bastard who can shift and who has stolen my women, but he is also to lead a pack! "Ada is not a wench ," I mutter as I strain with renewed vigor against the chain.

They hold me tight. As one crewman pointed out on the second day, they use chains intended to hold all manner of prisoners, including orcs. What chance do I have?

They leave. At least the hatch remains open, and weak daylight is coming in. There is an open space on this side of the hold. The area I am bound in now is comparable to the tavern footprint, with crates stacked up on the other half. They could carry much more in the way of goods, people, or soldiers, whatever their purpose.

I stare up through the open hatch, worried about the time when they will close it and leave me in darkness. The swaying movement feels worse down here.

Ada has changed somewhere along the line. She used to be my good girl. Now she is good for him… and bad, and sinful, and fucking hot.

Blood begins to surge into my cock as I think about her with him. The damn thing is broken. I should not grow hard thinking about another man touching my woman. It should disgust me.

If Gray has broken the sweet lass, he has broken me, too.

If I were to try to take her away from him now, if I could somehow, assuming there might be some opportunity when we finally reach land, I believe I would hurt her by doing so. Yet, what is this life? A slave forever? Bound to wolves until I must die and wither?

My gaze lowers to my naked feet—they took everything but my pants from me the first day—I frown as I notice that my pants end a little way up my legs. They are snug against my thighs now that I think about it, yet they feel loose around the waist.

Maybe the salt water makes them shrink.

Only, I also seem bigger.

Am I bigger? Other than my pants, I have no point of reference, yet I seem bigger and stronger. Also, the frigid wind and cold seawater have not bothered me since that first day. My feet are bare and should be fucking freezing.

What is happening to me?

A creak draws my attention to the stairs. Heavy boots appear, then the rest of him. The shifter who came into my life and destroyed everything.

I tell myself I'm not frightened of him, but I'm still tense as he reaches the bottom of the stairs carrying a lantern, which he attaches to a small hook in the hold ceiling.

He steps closer, gives me an up-down look, and sighs.

The steps creak as Drake comes into view. He closes the hatch before descending the stairs.

The closed hatch makes it darker and ominous. I think about the sky, all stormy and gray, and how it wasn't much to look at. Now I wish I could look at it again, for something tells me I will not see it again.

And Ada. Her sweet face as she lay sleeping when they took me outside. I only got a glance and didn't resist the deckhands, thinking I would see her again soon.

I clench my fists lest I betray myself and the shaking there.

Is this where they end me for being too much trouble? Rip out my throat and then toss my remains over the side of the ship?

Maybe I shouldn't have fought so hard.

Maybe I should have fought harder.

They are sensible, bringing me down here out of Ada's sight.

"You are seeking to end me where Ada cannot see," I say, hating how my voice breaks. "She will eventually see through whatever glamor you have placed over her and will cut your throat in your sleep."

Gray huffs out a breath. "If I had a mind to toss you over the fucking side, I'd have done it on the first day."

His brusque tone settles me a little, but I'm still nervous.

"Then what is this about?" I look between them. Gray is looking pissed, although I have no idea why, and Drake… smug?

"You have left it too long," Drake says. "Too busy rutting the wench."

Gray growls.

I growl, too, and their heads swing in my direction. I have done that a lot lately. I've not thought about it much, but now that I do, it sounds much like their growls.

My head hurts—my whole body aches. I've been thumped, cuffed, and battered with a club more times than I can count. Yet the way my head hurts is different and sudden. I think my body is finally giving out from the stress.

"He is a mouthy bastard," Gray says, turning back to Drake. "He's lucky I don't fucking strangle him instead of helping him out."

That statement throws me before my anger rises. "Do not help me out, shifter scum. I will help myself," I sneer. "And the woman who will be my wife." I strain against the chains, pulling and tugging, even though I've tried it a thousand times and failed on every one.

"You need to tell him straight," Drake says.

I pause my thrashing. "Tell me what?" Neither of them answers as they engage in a glaring match like I am not even here. "Tell me the fuck what?!"

"Fine, he has a very poor attitude," Drake finally says to Gray, as if he is conceding a point. "I will cut you some slack. Also, your wolf is dominant, and I could see why this is challenging. Knowing the lad has been pleasuring her, taking her, getting his cock all up inside her long before you did must be?—"

Gray bares distinctly canine teeth and claws string from his right hand like he is thinking of ripping into the man who is supposedly his friend.

"I do not have a poor attitude. I have an exemplary attitude," I say. "I was the most reasonable person on the fucking planet until this wolf lordling swept into my life, snatching lasses from streets."

"See?" Drake nods. "The lad makes a good point. These are testing circumstances all around. We should cut him some slack, too."

"Thank you," I say, mollified and then confused that he is backing me up.

"So now you are taking his side?" Gray demands of Drake. At least his claws are gone.

"Well, I am if you're acting like a whelp," Drake says.

A small snort-snicker escapes me despite the tension and the small matter of my life being on the line.

Their heads turn my way. Drake's lips tug up on one side. Suddenly, I feel—confusingly—like I might have an ally in this. I might even like Drake if I got to know him. He is certainly plain-talking toward Gray, which I appreciate.

Gray sighs heavily. His scowl could level a lesser man, but Drake looks unperturbed. "You can get out any time you want to," he says, turning to me.

I frown, looking down at the cuffs on my wrists, tugging ineffectually. "Is there some trick? Why would you do that?"

"He has grown," Drake says, distracting me from my exploration of the cuffs as if a mechanism of escape might suddenly appear.

"Aye," Gray says. "So I noticed. I think it is the rutting… That is why I brought him down here. I don't want him to get any bigger. Fuck knows. I will have a battle on my hands as it is."

"Aye," Drake says, grinning. "His shoulders are as big as a barn door, and he is skilled, too."

I can't follow this conversation, but I have slept very little since we boarded seven days ago, and likely circumstances have addled my mind.

They, too, think I have grown… further, I realize I am at eye level with Gray and had the impression he was taller than me before.

I tug on one of the cuffs; it does not give.

Drake folds his arms. "You need to tell him and tell him plainly."

"I have just told him plainly," Gray says. "It is not my fault if he cannot work it out."

Drake scoffs. "You have been with a pack all your life. You are the pack leader's son. What do you know of wolf struggles?"

Gray's scowl is back, and he looks about to thump Drake. I brace myself in case they launch into a fight.

They do not. They merely glare at one another for a long, protracted period while my slow-moving mind tries to catch up with what was said.

Drake turns toward me. "You're a shifter," he says.