“Thank you,” I nodded, remaining in my seat, not bothering to get up. There was no point if he was prepared to leave. Although I was surprised, clearly the vampire attacks on the werewolves must have been worse than I thought.
“You were once an old friend, I would hope if all this ends the way it should, I will be able to call you that again,” Magnus called over his shoulder lingering at the edge of the doorway. A ghost of something like old camaraderie flickered between us for a brief moment before it died.
“Perhaps,” I said, keeping my tone flat. In reality, sitting there with him, remembering how things used to be, I wondered if perhaps burning all my bridges had been a step too far.
Chapter Twelve
I knew coming to Lycanthyr would mean spending some time with the wolves. I had not expected it to include a formal feast in front of the whole pack.
The dress that had been picked for me was nothing like the flowing silks of the Fae kingdom. Gone were the fabrics and stiff lines that Penny preferred to dress me in.
The replacement was a garment made of stiff leather, softened by wear. It was cut close to my body, fitted to my waist and hips as if it was a second skin. The skirt split high along one thigh exposing more than I would have liked.
When I looked into the mirror I held my breath. Unlike the dresses’ Penny preferred, this did nothing to hide the scar on my neck. In fact, it emphasised it.
My fingers raised and I took my time running them along the puckered skin. The ridges felt rough against my skin. The scar itself was numb, all of the nerve endings damaged beyond repair. I had often hated how Penny tried to cover it, but now seeing it so open and on display it made me nervous. Exposed.
Pulling my hand, and eyes, away from my neck I looked at the rest of me. My hair had been braided back with dark leather ties. Although I was certain the wolf who had been sent to do my hair had not enjoyed the experience.
Rhael had gone on ahead, Magnus had demanded we enter separately. Rhael first, I would follow once they were done dressing me. Rhael had assumed it was another test. Magnus wanted to see if we reacted how he expected when we reunited.
Shaking my head trying to ignore the sense of dread that lingered inside my chest, I turned from the mirror and left the room. The black heels they had placed onto my feet echoing down the hallway. Another uncomfortable contraption that I never wanted to wear again.
When I finally entered the dining hall the sound hit me first. Laughter, deep voices lost in conversation and the scrape of benches against the floor.
The room was one of the biggest I had ever seen. It was long and vaulted, with heavy timber beams and a fire pit sunk into the centre of the floor. Long tables stretched outwards from the hearth like spokes.
They were crowded with wolves, all in various states of shift. Meat roasted on iron spits, bones littered empty trays and the air was thick with the smell of fur, blood and smoke.
Slowly the sound changed. Not silence, voices still filled the air, but it became more purposeful. Attention.
Every head turned, eyes lingering on me taking in the tightness of my dress. Some even narrowed their gaze at the sight of my scar, turning their heads to discuss with their packmates. All wondering how a human would have survived such a wound.
Rhael sat at the far end of the hall, beside King Magnus on a raised table. Shadows wrapped around him, dripping him in authority that almost made my knees weak.
There he was, the Fae King, in all his power and glory. Now it was time to play the game. He stood as soon as he noticed me. Revealing his very unusual outfit. Clearly the wolves had decided that to earn their alliance, the Fae King must also look like one of them.
It was almost as if he belonged in Lycanthyr. Gone were his polished Fae layers. A dark leather tunic clung to his torso, fitted to his broad shoulders and powerful chest, highlighting them as if he was a god. It was reinforced with subtle metal studs down each seam. Not decorative, but functional.
The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the tanned skin of his collar bones. Muscles showing evidence of battles fought long before the wolves closed their gates to him.
Over it he wore a heavy fur lined mantle, clasped at one shoulder with an iron broach etched with a singular rune. The fur was dark, thick and wild, draped across him like a second shadow. Rhael’s arms were left bare from elbow to wrist, veins standing out beneath his flesh.
His trousers were made out of a dark wool clinging to his thighs barely containing them through the thick fabric. For a moment my mind raced backwards towards the intimate piercing I had felt the day before and I wondered if they had made him change that too.
As always, my eyes were drawn to his lip ring. It was there, black metal digging into his lip, as always. He stood looking more warrior than King. A dangerous edge that always lingered, made more prominent by the way he was dressed, surrounded by wolves.
His eyes found mine instantly, possession lingering through them as I watched him take on his own role. He held out a hand to me, beckoning me towards him. For once I did as I was told without question.
Crossing the hall alone, each step felt like walking into a beast’s mouth. Letting it welcome me into its teeth.
When I reached him, a small smile played on his lips, his hands instantly wrapped around my waist. A familiarity settling between us that I was not used to. The warmth from his body slithered beneath my dress.
I leant into him, welcoming his touch. These were the rules. Rhael had lied and told the wolf King he loved me, now we had to make it seem to be true. Even if I was already looking for escape routes.
“Ah, your lovely companion has finally joined us. I must say, the wolf attire suits you.” Magnus smiled, his eyes roamingmy body as I stood pressed into Rhael’s chest. The word companion rippled through the hall, settling beneath my skin. Like a brand, deeper than my scar ever did.
“She looks breathtaking as always.” Rhael complimented and I fought every instinct in me not to stiffen or look up at him like he had lost his mind.
