I hurry past Isla on my way, trying not to react as she mutters something derogatory about me to her friend.

Mrs. McDonald told me I didn’t have to help in the kitchens today, so I spend my time poring over the medical books in my chambers.

Blake’s words about my mother have taken root in my mind. I cannot get rid of them.

I read until darkness creeps through my window, and I have to strain to read the blurred ink on parchment.

When Callum still hasn’t come, I wonder whether he’s ridden out to some Northlands village to find the king. It angers me that he would go without telling me.

Yet after the events of last night, I am finding it hard to keep my eyes open.

I shut them.

I’m in the forest, lying on my back.

The moonlight seeps through the branches overhead.

Callum’s face hovers above mine. His body pins me to the fresh earth and his body heat sears into me. He is naked, and I feel the hardness of him against my hip.

A growl reverberates through my chest, though I am not sure if it is coming from him or me as his lips move to my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. My legs wrap around his waist.

And I am on fire.

Flames rage inside me, longing for release.

It is suffocating. The heat. The furnace. The weight of him. The pressure building at my core.

I sink my fingernails into his back and he groans as his mouth moves lower, and one of his hands moves higher.

There is an ache between my legs where heat pools. An unbearable ache.

“Callum,” I gasp. “Callum.”

The air is still, crushing, unrelenting.

The leaves rustle.

We are not alone in the forest.

He nips my ear with his teeth and a spark of heat rushes through me. I moan as my back arches.

My gaze locks onto the wolf, standing in the shadows.

It crashes through the undergrowth toward me.

My eyes jolt open.

My pulse is racing and my body is on fire. The ache from my dream is still there. I’m breathing fast and the covers stick to my skin. Liquid heat pools between my legs.

It takes me a moment to get my bearings—the single bed, the books and pots on the shelves, and the night casting my chambers in shadow.

There’s a crash outside my door.

I bolt out of bed.

“Stay away from her.” Callum’s rough voice reverberates through the door. I fling it open.

Callum has shoved Blake into the wall, like he did this morning. Yet there is something more threatening about the position in the darkness. Callum seems bigger and more unruly. Blake is tense, his eyes narrowed. He is fighting back this time, with his hand curled around Callum’s neck.

Both males look as if they are struggling for breath.

They turn to look at me, and I inhale sharply.

Callum looks feral. There is no other word to describe him. His eyes are as bright, and as wolf-like, as they were when he was in wolf form. His breathing is ragged and hard.

“Go back inside,” says Blake. “Now.”

“Callum?” I say softly.

He releases Blake and turns to face me. He looks different. Wild. The wolf-like desire to hunt gleams in his eyes.

He stands there, perfectly still.

It should scare me. He should scare me. Yet my pulse is quickening for a different reason entirely.

“Callum? What’s wrong?”

He stalks toward me.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

Callum is no longer the male I have come to know. He is no longer gentle and protective and kind. He is the wolf that chased Blake in the forest—wild and feral and hungry.

His muscles are tensed, and his biceps look like they’re about to rip free from his rolled-up sleeves. His forearms are corded and they’re like steel.

And the scent of him—Goddess, the scent of him—is somehow dark and primal and powerful.

His eyes glow in the darkness, and they are locked on mine.

My whole body is hot. Aching. Restless.

What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me?

I cannot decide whether to run away from him, or run toward him.

I am ensnared. I can’t move, even though the Northlands winds seem to rage inside me.

The air pulses as he gets closer and heat radiates from him.

“Callum!” A sharp female voice slices through the darkness.

He spins around and growls. His power rumbles across the small landing as Fiona comes into view, panting. She halts at the top of the winding staircase and her stance widens—as if she’s getting ready to fight. Even if she’s only wearing a thin nightgown, and her brown hair is loose.

“Callum!” Command laces her tone, despite the wariness on her face. “Go cool down.”

He snarls and the sound is deep with menace. He prowls toward her.

She tilts her head back and grits her teeth. The wolf flashes behind her eyes. Callum’s hands are in fists at his sides.

“Cool. The fuck. Down.” Fiona prods him in the chest with each word. “Now.”

He growls, and I cannot help but marvel at Fiona’s courage. She doesn’t even flinch.

I fear for her, though. Callum is not himself.

I try to reach out to him with my thoughts, as if my will alone could stop him from harming her.

Calm down. Calm down!

Callum’s broad shoulders soften. Something in the air shifts.

He pushes past her and stalks down the stairs.

Fiona’s body deflates, and the wolf disappears from her eyes. I exhale and crumple against the doorframe, even though tension coils within me.

“Well, that was. . . interesting,” says Blake.

I’d almost forgotten he was there.

He leans against the stone wall, the torchlight flickering across his face. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone where Callum grabbed him. He cocks an eyebrow at Fiona.

“Breathe a word of this to anyone, and I’ll end you.” She points her finger at him. “Now, piss off.”

He dips his head deferentially. He almost looks like he’s bowing. Fiona flinches, and I’m not sure why.

He pushes off from the wall and saunters past her down the stairs.

“I mean it, Blake,” she hisses. “Not a word.”

The darkness does not reply.

She looks troubled. When she notices me looking, she composes herself and offers me a smile.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She laughs, and whatever darkness that was plaguing her lifts. “You’re asking about me? Aye. I’m fine. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I bite my bottom lip. “What. . . what was wrong with him? Is he okay?”

“Callum? Oh, aye. That big oaf is just fine. He’ll be mortified, later, though. It’s. . . it’s a wolf thing.”

When I fold my arms, she grins.

“We might want to have this conversation somewhere private.” She gestures over my shoulder.

I step aside, and she enters my room.

She settles on my bed, leaning against the wall and stretching her bare feet over the side of the mattress as I shut the door.

“Why was he acting like that?” I ask.

I sit down beside her, though keep a little distance between us. I’m not used to anyone being this comfortable around me.

“He’s become. . . a wee bit attached to you since he brought you here. And it’s the night after the full moon. The wolf hasn’t quite settled yet.” She chews her bottom lip. “This is potentially a bit. . . awkward. . . but were you, perhaps, relieving some tension earlier?”

There’s an aura of wicked amusement rippling off her.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“You know, scratching an itch? Easing some frustrations?” When I just look at her blankly, she whispers, “You know. . . touching yourself?”