With Everything I Am (58 page)

She closed her eyes and twisted her neck on a half wince. She heard him curse and her eyes opened again.

His mouth was hard when she looked at him.

“Does it hurt?”

Did it hurt?

Her head and back, sure. She’d banged her head on a stone step and had a freaking
werewolf
claw through her jacket.

But she hurt other places worse and for reasons that she knew down to the depths of her mortal soul,
those
wounds would
never
heal.

She decided to answer his question.
“Just a little bit.”

His handsome face softened and she wanted to scratch it with her nails. She wanted to lean into it and scream. And she wanted to tilt her head and kiss him. She couldn’t do any of those things and she hated
him
for it.

“I’m sorry but I need you to come with me, honey, just for a little bit. Then we’ll get you back into bed and you can sleep,” he told her and then before she could blink he was gone.

She stared at the place where he’d been, suddenly uncertain that he’d even been there.

Then he was back, the hides were pulled away and he put his large hands under her arms and tenderly lifted her from the bed.

When she was on her feet, she tipped her head back to look up at him and started, “Callum –”

“Lift your arms for me, little one,” he
murmured,
his hands up, holding a stretchy, pink cotton nightgown.

Since she was naked (mostly) and a nightgown would be good, she did as she was told.

She winced when, at her movement, the dull pain became piercing.

“Fuck,” he hissed low at her wince, making fast work of pulling the nightgown over her head and then he commanded, “Arms down.”

Gratefully she lowered her arms as he carefully pulled the nightgown down her body, rounding to her side to yank it out before he tugged it down her back and it fell over her hips to her knees. She registered this vaguely as a novel experience, considering Callum was putting a nightgown
on
her rather than taking it
off
as, he’d stated repeatedly, he preferred her naked in their bed and usually did something about it.

He sat her down the edge of the bed and she stared, this time in out and out shock, as he knelt in front of her and put thick, woolen gray socks on her feet.

King Callum kneeling at her feet.

He’d only knelt for her once but that was to put his mouth between her legs.

Now he was putting socks on her feet to ward away a chill.

Before she could cope with this, he took her hand and cautiously tugged her up from the bed and then leaned into her, reaching to the side as she reared back (trying not to look as if she did) and he brought up her cashmere robe.

“Now this,” he stated. “Turn around.”

She did as she was told, mainly so she wouldn’t glare at the robe which, if she had been thinking, should also have gone in the fire with her rings and her wolf. She was doubly glad she threw the wolf in the fire
now
that she knew
he
was her puppy and
he
hadn’t told her that, not for weeks. Not, apparently, for
years
(though, she wasn’t actually doubly glad, she’d miss her stuffed wolf like crazy).

He pulled her robe up her arms and, hands at her shoulders, turned her around and gently tied it closed.

When he was done, his hands came to her neck and with thumbs at the undersides of her jaw he tilted her head back to look at him.

“You can walk okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, his eyes soft. He took her hand in his and guided her out the door.

They were down two flights when she tugged on his hand. “Callum, really, where are we going?”

She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to eat, drink or, possibly, breathe.

Since not breathing would be bad, she decided she’d breathe but she wanted to do it somewhere alone so she could get her thoughts in order and sort out her crazy, unbelievable life. A life which was already pretty unbelievable, say, because it included kings of secret sects of society and enchanted castles in tiny, unknown, independent countries in the depths of Scotland. But now she was forced to come to terms with the fact that she had to share that life with an arrogant, self-absorbed, philandering
werewolf
.

“It’ll only take a minute, baby doll, and then back to bed,” he told her, not pausing in leading her down the steps.

If whatever it was would only take a minute, which seeing someone, talking to them or eating and drinking the way Callum’s people did would take longer than that, she followed without protest.

At the front door, he stopped her and turned her to him.

“One last thing,” he muttered and his hand went into the pocket of his jeans.

She watched, her breath catching, as he pulled out her wedding rings.
 

How?

What?

Again, how?

What, did he have backups or something?

He lifted her limp hand and slid them on her finger.

Then he lifted her hand further and bent his head to it where his lips touched her rings and brushed her finger.

Her stomach clenched, her heart leaped and her sinuses tingled with unshed tears.

That
was how you put wedding rings on a woman’s finger.

Then just his eyes came to her, his lips remained at her hand and he said quietly, but very,
very
firmly, “Never take these off again, little one. Hear me?”

She was too stunned. She could do nothing but silently nod.

He lifted his head, squeezed her hand and then pulled her a bit back from the door. He opened it and, hand still in hers, he guided her numb body outside.

She almost stumbled at what she saw.

Across the clearing at the foot of the steps, around the fountain, even up the hill, not to mention tall warriors flanking the sides of the steps, stood Callum’s people.

Even Regan, Ryon, Caleb, Lucien and Leah were standing along the top of the landing.

All of them silent, some of them carrying candles, others holding bunches of flowers or tins.

All of them looking at the castle, looking at
her
.

In her
robe!

Callum led her to the edge of the top landing where he stopped and pulled her into his side with his arm carefully wound around her shoulders.

Nearly the minute they stopped and nearly at once, every last wolf dropped to their knee, hand to the snow or stone, head bowed (though Lucien and Leah didn’t, of course, not being wolves and all).

Sonia quit breathing and learned that, even not breathing, you could still cry.

When she started breathing again, she whispered, “Oh my God.”

“They need to see you’re all right,” Callum murmured.

“Make them rise,” Sonia was still whispering.

Callum ignored her and carried on, “They heard you moved to protect me.”

“Callum,” she whispered, not able to tear her eyes from the bent multitudes, “let them rise.”

“Though,” he continued to ignore her, “they would have come all the same.”

“Please,” she breathed.

His arm came across his chest to her chin where his fingers grasped her and he tipped her face back to his.

Then he kissed her lightly, a brush on the lips.

His head lifting nary an inch, his sky blue eyes looked into hers and he said quietly, “These are
my
people. These are
your
people. These men and women bowing to you are
werewolves
.”

With that, he released her chin, turned to his people and in a clear, carrying, deep voice, he commanded, “Rise!”

His people stood. They also moved.

As the warriors at the steps stood sentry, flowers, tins and lit candles were placed on the steps as wolves came forward giving Callum a nod and Sonia a smile before giving their gifts.

This all happened silently before they turned to their cars or to make their way back up the hill to their tents.

It took longer than a minute and she was chilled through to the bone by the time the last wolf dipped his head to Sonia’s mate and sent a smile Sonia’s way.

But Sonia barely felt the cold or the biting pain that had begun to torment her back.

As any queen would, she stood for her people, injuries and all.

When it was done, without a word, Callum guided her back to their room, slid the robe from her shoulders and carefully pushed her into bed.

He kissed her injured temple at the bottom of the torn skin.

Then he slid his temple along her hair and in her ear, he whispered, “Sleep now, baby doll.”

He pulled the hides higher and he was gone.

Sonia didn’t think she could sleep. Not after
that
.

But it didn’t take long before she did.

Chapter Twenty

Reckoning

Today was the day of reckoning.

Sonia knew it.

She could feel it.

Callum was
angry
.

He’d been patient.

For a while.

That wore off and he’d been patiently
impatient
.

For another while.

Now he was mad.

And she didn’t care (or, that’s what she told herself).

It had been three weeks since the incident where she’d learned his true nature (
all
of it) and those three weeks were the longest of her life.

* * * * *

Sonia had forgiven Regan, Ryon and Caleb for their duplicity the very next day.

She’d done this because she knew they’d lied to her because King Callum ordered it, or, if she was being fair, just kept things from her. Things that would seriously freak her out but that was
almost
like lying even if those things were things that would seriously freak her out.

But she’d also done it because she cared about them.

* * * * *

Regan had come up with a late breakfast tray and the moment she looked at Sonia, Regan’s obvious hesitancy instantly tore at Sonia’s heart.

Sonia, who’d been awake for a while and had been lying in bed, feeling sorry for herself and lamenting her fate at the same time contradictorily feeling both honored by the remarkable and touching display the wolves made for her that morning, sat up carefully when she saw Regan’s shaky smile.

Then she reached her hand out to her mother-in-law.

Regan all but dropped the tray on the nightstand, sat on the bed and, taking care with Sonia’s wounds, gave her a gentle hug.

“It was a shock but I still was awful,” Sonia whispered in her ear, able to hug Regan back far more tightly.

“We shouldn’t have waited. Callum wanted –” Regan started but Sonia gave her a squeeze.

She didn’t want to hear about anything that Callum wanted.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she assured Regan.

Regan pulled back and framed Sonia’s face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry about all of this.”

“That’s the last time you apologize for being who you are,” Sonia said firmly curling her fingers around Regan’s, pulling them down and holding their hands between them. “It was a shock. It’s over. It’s all good now,” she finished on a lie and her own shaky smile.

Regan’s eyes searched Sonia’s and hers remained troubled. “So, you’re not angry with Callum?”

No, she wasn’t angry with him.

Not anymore.

She’d never be
anything
with him anymore.

Not because he was
a gosh
darn
werewolf
and didn’t tell her (or not
only
because of that).

Not because
all
of his people were werewolves and he didn’t tell her (or, also, not
only
because of that).

Not to mention the existence of
vampires
which, she realized, feeling immensely stupid (and she blamed Callum for that too), Gregor and Yuri were too by their smell which was like Lucien’s which, like wolves,
wasn’t
like humans (but, in her defense, how could Sonia know werewolves and vampires existed!).

And not because he was not only her handsome wolf but also her beloved puppy and he’d torn
both
of them away from her (or, again, not
only
because of those).

But because he’d disappeared for a day and most of a night, doing God knew what with God knew who and then returned to
their
bed, proving her fevered suspicions true by smelling how he smelled after they had sex and pretended to be caring and kind and thoughtful but doing it an arrogant bastard type of way.

Naturally, she knew he’d find someone else eventually.

She just didn’t know how much it’d hurt and when she’d thoroughly processed it, lying and crying in
their
bed, how dead she felt and how surprised she was that feeling dead hurt
worse
.

She also didn’t know the depths of that pain and her torture were not even close to being plumbed until he made her admit she loved him.

God, it was too humiliating to even contemplate.

She admitted she loved him!

Which, because evidently she was weak, weak,
weak
, was all she could contemplate while lying in bed that morning.

“I’m sure Callum and I will be fine,” she lied again to Regan who gave her a look like she knew Sonia was lying but she let it go.

She stayed while Sonia ate and then gave Sonia pain pills because the stitches at her back were, by then, killing her and the pills made Sonia drowsy.

Therefore, Sonia slept.

She woke in Callum’s arms.

Or, more precisely, with her head and hand resting on his stomach, his shoulders were against the headboard, his long legs stretched out straight in front of him and his arm was around her shoulders with his fingers drawing lazy circles on her skin.

“You awake, honey?” he asked.

She clenched her jaw at the empty endearment.

“Yes,” she answered.