The Wolf King | A Fantasy Romance

Chapter Two

The castle is quiet, most of its inhabitants sleeping or at the dog fight, so I reach the staircase leading down to the kennels undetected.

As I walk onward, the air gets colder and damper. It's as if I am heading into the jaws of a great beast—the darkness below a hungry mouth waiting to swallow me.

When I'm faced with the two guards flanking the heavy iron door at the bottom, I adjust my hood to make sure my hair is hidden. I pray to the Sun Goddess that they do not recognize me. Beneath my cloak, the weight of my satchel is heavy against my thigh. It's full of the items I stole from the apothecary—fabric for bandages, alcohol, willow bark, and water. Items that reveal my intent to help the enemy.

"Alright, love?" says one of the guards. "What are you doing down here?"

I still my nerves. I remember what Sebastian said about how the Wolves are rewarded for their wins.

"I've been sent from the brothel," I say, making my voice sound as husky as I can.

The guard who spoke snickers and opens the door. He passes me a key.

"It's silver," he says as I take it. "Burns if it comes in contact with their skin. But if they try anything, give us a knock and we'll come put them down."

The other guard looks at me with disgust when I slip inside. I am disgusted too. Disgusted at the thought of a woman coming down here and providing such a. . . service to these creatures. Disgusted that he believed I am one of those women.

When they lock me in, I am faced with a long corridor—a damp stone wall adorned with flickering torches on one side, and tall iron bars on the other.

The air is musky with mildew and sweat and blood, and my breath mists in front of my face. There is no one within the cell on my right, but ahead, I can hear a man snarling something under his breath, followed by whimpers.

Pulling my cloak close to me, I make my way down the corridor.

Someone growls from the shadows on my right and I hurry on to the next cell, where the wolf who won the fight that took place before the alpha's is leaning against the bars, a grin on his bloody face. As I pass the next cell, a male with dark tangled hair walks alongside me.

"Hello, sweetheart. I've got something in here for you." He grabs his crotch through his green kilt. "Do you want to come see?"

I look away, quickening my pace. I reach the final two cells.

The alpha is sitting against the wall with his arms resting on his raised knees. He's snarling something through the bars at the shuddering form huddled on the floor in the middle of the final cell. My jaw sets. Hasn't he tormented the boy enough?

He shuts up as I approach and I feel his full attention on me as, hands shaking, I slip the key into the lock.

"You shouldn't be here, Princess," says the alpha as the lock clicks and I slip into the cell. His voice is as gruff as gravel and it's thick with the accent of those north of the border.

My face is concealed by my hood, so I don't know if he has recognized me by some other means. Perhaps that is what he calls all women.

I kneel on the straw by the young wolf, then shrug off my cloak so I can access my supplies.

The male in the green kilt whistles as my nightgown is revealed. A low growl reverberates in the alpha's throat, and he quietens.

I ignore them both as I slip off the satchel.

I am no stranger to healing—my mother was ill for a lot of my childhood, and she often had bruises and scrapes. But this young male looks particularly bad. His face is bloody, and he's writhing in pain.