Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Callum

" I 've had a taste now, Ada. And I'm going to want another one."

I cringe as I replay what I just said and shovel another spoonful of beef stew into my mouth.

It is fucking hot, and I burn my mouth. I barely notice. I'm on a mission to eat as fast as I can like it might distract me from the nonsense I just did and said.

"Everything alright, lad?" my father asks, lifting his head to pin me with a look.

"I'm good, thanks, Pa," I say, busy trying not to think about how hot my ears feel. They are like a fucking beacon announcing to the world that I have been an idiot. The lass probably thinks I'm a complete lout, mauling her like I did.

Only that kiss. I groan. My father side-eyes me before turning back to Pete. It's hot in here, and maybe I can blame my ears on the heat coming off the fire. I'm fucking sweating, not that I can blame that on the fire, either.

Tim comes over to toss a couple more logs onto the fire like divine intervention calls him to make my situation even worse. I adjust the collar on my shirt and dunk a slice of bread into my stew before shoveling it into my mouth. I tell myself she wanted the kiss, but truth be told, I'm confused about how it started. If Gareth hadn't come round the corner to get another barrel of Pilkington ale, I fear where things might have gone.

Only I'm not the kind of lad to hurt a lass. It would be on her terms, and I would go fucking slow about it. But damn, everything is muddled up in my mind. I think she nodded when I asked her if I could kiss her, but I'd got tunnel vision at that point and can't say for sure.

I glance up in time to see Ada weaving between tables as she delivers a round of ales. She's only been here a few months but has already settled in. I can't help the scowl when someone pats her ass. The lass has been through a fucking trauma and doesn't need to deal with handsy men.

Fuck! I am also a handsy man!

I don't realize I'm growling under my breath until I notice my father pause with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

He grins. I wind my unnatural aggression down a notch and try to ignore my hot ears. I envy that my pa has brown hair and eyes and has never blushed once, while I take after my mother with her ginger hair and green eyes. My father tells me I have her ways, too, although I don't know exactly what that means.

"So you got the pump working, then?" Pete asks conversationally. He is also eating stew and is on his third pint of Pilkington.

"Aye," I say gruffly. "It'll need Will to look at it properly. I put a bit of grease on it. At least it's moving for now."

"Good work, lad," my father says. He has always been forward with praise and notices when I do something he considers worthy of a comment. I never thought about it before, but when I consider what a terrible father Ada had, I appreciate him even more.

"If I'd known Tim was handing out free food and ale, I'd have offered to help," Pete says, grinning.

As if on cue, Betsy arrives at our table with two fresh pints for me and my pa. "Compliments of the house," she says with a smile.

"Thank you, Betsy," my father says.

"My pleasure," she replies, before winking at me. "And a special thanks to Callum for putting a blush on Ada's face."

I choke on the mouthful of beer I've just gulped. Pete chuckles and thumps me on the back.

Great! Now everybody fucking knows.

"Young love," Pete says with a grin, making me feel an even bigger chump.

I had it bad for Ada before I tasted her lips. It's worse than anything I felt for Doreen or the young lass who works at the bakers that I was smitten with before that.

As Betsy sashays off, the tavern door slams open, bringing a gust of frigid wind.

Two strangers walk in, big men, broad-shouldered—alphas for sure. We get few of their kind around here, especially in The Green Man, so I can't help but notice, and more so given my recent involvement with the secret side of the rebellion. There is a grace to their movements that makes me think of soldiers like Jacob; only something is off. As I study them, I realize they carry no weapons.

My pa casually leans back in his chair to glance over at the two newcomers.

Tim heads over to speak with them as they stop at the bar. A conversation follows, one I can't hear over the tavern's din.

The two men take a table on the other side of the fire in my direct line of sight.

"I'll call it a night then," Pete says, rousing me from my thoughts. He downs the last gulp of his pint and rises from his seat, calling goodbye to Tim before heading out the door.

"Shifters," my father says, and I realize he is talking about the newcomers.

I feel the prickling of unease. "You sure?"

"Aye, they have their bearing," he adds.

My curiosity is piqued, not just about the shifters but how my father knows such things instinctively. When I was little, I found a sword carefully wrapped in cloth under his bed. I got in trouble for snooping, a dozen licks of the belt, and a stern lecture on looking where I shouldn't.

He doesn't talk about it often, just snippets here and there, but he wasn't always a blacksmith. My late mother came from Hydornia, and they moved here before I was born. He's more than just a blacksmith—the sword and the part he plays in the rebellion tell me as much.

"You're getting older, Callum," he says. "There are things I should tell you. You're part of it now and have shown your nature and capability. Yet there is danger in that route, and I promised your mother I would shield you from it." He sighs. "Even as I promised, we both knew it might prove impossible to keep. You cannot easily walk away when you're part of something like I am."

"I'm ready," I say because I am. Only my attention is snagged from this important conversation when Ada approaches the shifters to take their order. As she stops to speak to them, I note the crimson blush that spreads over her cheeks and her shy smile.

My eyes narrow. Is she attracted to them, or did they say something inappropriate?

As she heads back to the bar, the big shifter with the dark hair turns to watch her ass!

"What the fuck is that bastard looking at?"

"A pretty lass," my father offers bluntly.

Fucking great! Now, I am a source of pity, and all I have done is kiss the lass, which I cannot rightly remember whether she even agreed to. I don't have any claim on her. She is free to smile at anyone… to kiss anyone she chooses.

"Do you know about Ada's father?" I ask.

"Aye." My father sighs. "I've heard he's employed at the slave markets. The bastard had gotten into debts with the wrong kind and, needing to find cash quickly, sold his daughter off."

My gut clenches, and I grab my beer and take a hefty gulp before slamming it back on the table. "He still lives, then?"

"He does," my father says. "I asked around to find out more about him."

"Are we going to pay him a visit?" As I hold my father's gaze, I see something. Recognition of his darker side, and understanding, too. He helped Tim track down those who snatched Betsy and dealt with them. The territorial part of me, the part that considers Ada mine, wants to see justice delivered on her part.

He nods once. "Aye, lad, that was my plan."

"You weren't going to tell me?" My indignation rises. What part of ‘I'm ready' did he not understand? Does he still think I'm too young even after I killed a man… more than one?

His face softens. He always did see through my emotions. "You carried yourself well the last time."

"But?"

"But it's one thing to take a man in the heat of the moment: when you have to, because it is either him or you. And another to approach violence with premeditation."

"I saw the bruises on her face," I say. "Betsy said Ada admitted her father was responsible, that it wasn't the first time, but a regular occurrence."

"Aye," my father says, sadly. "Tim told me what his daughter said. Betsy has taken to Ada and cares for her. I asked around, wanting the facts before taking action." He raises a hand when I am about to wade in. "Steady, lad. Ada is one who has been dealt much abuse. That does not mean you should react without due attention to the facts. So, yes, I checked. And now I've got his full measure, I know that death would be too fucking good for that worthless bastard."

My heart aches for her suffering even as my fury rises. "I want to go with you."

He holds my eyes and offers a small smile. "You know I'm going to do something soon, then, do you?"

I am thinking about the sword. "I know you're not only a blacksmith."

He reaches for his ale, taking a deep drink before setting it back on the table and smiling at me. "You have your mother's compassion, and her strength of purpose." His smile fades. "But that night when we freed Betsy and Ada, I saw you were also my son. I was so fucking proud of you… I remember when you were born, as we stared down at you in wonder, your mother counting all your fingers and toes and cooing over your baby-soft red hair as you fed from her breast. She was no ordinary woman, and now I must acknowledge that, although she is gone, her legacy continues in you. Her blood carries power. And it will shape you into a powerful man."

I swallow past a lump in my throat. "I want to do my part. To make her proud. Whatever it takes. I despise the Blighten… and as for Ada's father, I fucking burn with anger at what happened to the lass, and worse, knowing he sold her to pay off his debt and save his own skin."

"He is not the only such lowlife," my father says. "And Bleakness harbors more than its share… I've got plans for him."

"What sort of plans?" I demand to know.

"A beating because he is definitely overdue for one. And afterward, he will find himself in a new situation more fitting to his deeds. I know a city guardsman who works at the main gate. Anders will slip him in with the next lot of prisoners bound for the orc mines. They work them hard. Life is cruel and short. Time enough for him to repent his sins. A swift death is too easy for him."

My nostrils flare. I already know I want to be the one to beat him. I sense my father will approve when I do. "A fitting punishment."

"I wish I could save them all," my father says. "I wish I could do more, and suffer much regret that I cannot. Progress is slow, but still moving in the right direction." He nods his head toward his shoulder, drawing my gaze toward the table where the two shifters are in deep conversation, nursing their ale. "I can't remember the last time I saw shifters, and never in Bleakness. Their kind don't frequent such cities. They are here for a reason, mark my words."

I frown, feeling uneasy again.

"There are rumors," he continues. "I hear through my contacts, and through Tim. Imperium and Hydornia have allied with the shifters and the fairy kingdoms through the portal lands. Those rumors say troubles brew at the borders, and the Blighten are being pushed back. Distracted by the escalating war and their losses, their domination over Bleakness will slip. I have a feeling that in the future, near or distant, this city might be liberated and known as Port Arden once again."

I feel a prickling across the surface of my skin and a surge of emotion as these words instill hope.

"What do you think they are here for, then?" My gaze returns to the shifters.

My father shrugs. "They have the look of men who are here with purpose… A personal quest. The darker-haired one is the leader of the duo. Perhaps there are others from their pack here. Shifters are not known for subtlety or finesse when on a quest, and they are assuredly on one… Whatever brings them here, I just hope their actions are not detrimental to the good people of this city."

I let this sink in with a frown as I watch Ada return to their table with a tray of food. The darker-haired one my father marked as the leader leans toward her as though drawn. His nostrils flare, and his eyes spark with unnatural light.

What the fuck was that about?

He wants Ada.

Something unwholesome rises inside me. A sense of territory, of claiming, and of someone poaching what is mine.

Not so long ago, I convinced myself I was unworthy of Ada; that she needed someone older, better.

Well, fuck that. There's a wolf in my tavern: he's got his eyes on my woman, and I'm not going down without a fight.