Lucien and Leah left several days after the My Mate, The Werewolf Incident which Sonia found distressing as she’d grown fond of Leah very quickly and she liked being around them. There was something beautiful about the two of them. The way they looked at each other, acted toward each other. The quiet but obvious way they were just in love.
Normally, considering Sonia’s circumstances, this would be added torture but Sonia cared about Leah and she also started to like Lucien. He seemed the sort of man who deserved to be happy and he acted like the kind of man who’d waited a very long time to be so and appreciated it deeply now that he had it. Considering Leah told her that Lucien was older than Callum by four entire centuries, a long time for him was, literally, a long time.
Regan, Mara and Callista shared with both Sonia and Leah a good deal about werewolf nature, history, lore and just about anything else they could share because Mara, as ever, liked to talk. It was a fascinating culture with a rich history and they were proud of it (as they should be).
There was only one hiccup in the first week and that was close to the end of it.
Sonia was in bed reading and hadn’t switched out the light and settled in long before Callum came up. This was what she’d made a habit of doing, saying she was going to bed early because of pain and needing to rest, and, considering Callum didn’t know an awful lot about humans, he didn’t know any better. But Gregor gave her knowing looks and Regan gave her increasingly penetrating ones.
By the time she sensed him walking up, she couldn’t feign sleep as he’d know since the door was open and he’d see the light go out not to mention, he probably would hear her moving.
Luckily, he smiled at her when he walked in but went directly to the bathroom. She had time to turn out her light, turn on his, put her book aside and get in a sleeping position before he walked out, naked and heading to bed.
She told herself he didn’t hear her sucking in her breath at the beauty of his naked body (but she didn’t believe herself) and this was proved false anyway when he grinned at her knowingly.
Once in bed, he immediately, and adeptly (totally ignoring her painstakingly crafted sleeping position), slid her closer to him, rolled her to her belly then to her side, avoiding her back and pulled her to him, face-to-face.
Then his hands started roaming.
She tucked her face in his throat and bit her lip because his hands on her felt way too nice and she missed them.
Way too much.
“Sonia, baby doll, do you want to play?” he asked softly.
She shook her head.
“I’ll be gentle, little one.”
She loved it when he was gentle almost as much as she loved it when he was rough.
“I’m in a little pain. The pills aren’t working as well as they used to,” she lied for she felt okay. The pain was mostly a twinge by then and the wounds had started itching, indicating they were healing.
“All right, honey,” he murmured but his hands still roamed, though they’d slowed and the caresses felt soothing rather than exciting.
Then he asked, “Do you want to talk?”
“About what?” she asked back and her voice sounded higher than normal.
His hand slid up her arm, his fingers curled in at her neck then her jaw and they tipped up her chin so she was forced to look at him.
“About anything,” he replied.
“Not really,” she told him.
His brows drew together and he commented, “A good deal has happened to you. With me, my family, my people, moving, finding out about Gregor and Yuri, meeting Lucien and Leah. Are you okay with all of that?”
God, he’d be sweet if he wasn’t such a jerk.
“I’m coping,” she told him and when he looked like he didn’t believe her, she went on. “I mean, it’s so much, you get used to your world rocking under your feet every few days. If Frankenstein walked through that door right now and asked if we wanted to go to a barbeque at his house tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t even blink.”
He burst out laughing and wrapped his arms around her, low at her waist to avoid her injury, falling to his back and taking her with him so she was on top.
She planted her forearms in his massive chest and lifted up to watch him laugh.
She told herself it was clinically (when it was not) that she noted he was unbelievably handsome when he laughed and therefore, since she was like a scientist observing nature, she could watch him do it.
When he got control of himself, he informed her, “There is no such thing as Frankenstein.”
“I trust you.” And that wasn’t a total lie.
She didn’t trust him, trust him but she trusted, with his statement, he was telling the truth and he, of all people, would know.
“Would you go?” he asked.
“What?” she asked back.
He grinned. “To a barbeque at Frankenstein’s house.”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “What do Frankensteins serve at barbeques?”
He roared with laughter again and, with a hand cupping the back of her head, he forced her down so her arms had to slide out and around him and he pressed her face into his neck.
Then he took her hair in his big fist and wrapped it into a rope again, coiling it around his palm.
“I fucking love your hair,” he murmured and she forced her body to stay relaxed.
Because that was a lie. He hated blondes.
That was, supposedly, until recently.
“I was thinking of cutting it,” she lied yet again just to be mean.
His fist tightened in her hair and he decreed, “I’ll not allow that.”
She bit back a, “Yes, your grace,” and stayed silent.
He used her own hair to rub against her jaw when he whispered, “Are you happy, little one?”
It was an odd, endearing and unbelievably poignant question and, furthermore, he sounded like he cared about her answer.
She felt the sting of tears in her sinuses again but with effort, she controlled them.
Then she sighed and stated, “Well, I guess a girl could do better than a fairytale castle in a beautiful wood with a handsome wolf as her husband who happens to be king, making her queen of a kind and loving people who think good things about her… but I don’t know how.”
Except, of course, having that king love his queen beyond anything in the whole world, like Lucien loved Leah and like Regan loved Mac and like Mara loved Drogan.
Or like Sonia’s father loved her mother.
Or even a little of what they had.
Not knowing her thoughts, at her words, he released her hair and his arms wound around her. For the first time since she was injured, they did this powerfully, crushing her to him and making that twinge of pain in her back magnify.
“I’m glad,” he said and his voice sounded strangely hoarse.
“Callum, my back,” she whispered.
His hold loosened and he slid her off his side but kept her close with an arm about her waist. He reached and turned out the light, settled her with her cheek on his shoulder and he pulled her arm around his stomach.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
“Okay,” she murmured back.
He gave her a squeeze.
Her sinuses started stinging again because it hurt so much, more than she thought she could endure, wanting him to be real and knowing he was not.
But, somehow, she fell asleep.
Much later, she woke sensing him gone. She laid awake until he returned and he slid into bed at her side, his skin cold when he tucked her into him but he, again, smelled of sex.
And her broken heart broke just that little bit more.
* * * * *
The next two weeks Callum’s patience waned considerably, more and more each day.
First, he wasn’t Gregor’s biggest fan and Gregor had made it a habit to monopolize any time not taken by Regan, Ryon, Caleb, Mara, Callista and wolves from town who had, at Regan, Mara and Callista’s invitat
ions, begun to drop by to meet and get to know Sonia.
Therefore, Sonia didn’t spend hardly any time in Callum’s lap in his study or with Callum anywhere. Practically the minute she sat there, Gregor was at the door asking if she wanted to go into town, if she wanted to go for a walk, telling her Yuri was on the phone and wanted to speak to her and the like.
Second, Callum wasn’t buying the “I’m in pain” excuse anymore considering she was going into town and taking walks but also he was seeing firsthand that her wounds were healing well. Even if he hadn’t seen it, Orphenon popping by to have a look deep into week three and announcing they were healing surprisingly rapidly gave it away. Sonia had always been a quick healer and she had the freakish capacity never to scar and she wondered if this was part of her gifts but she never mentioned it to anyone and didn’t, for obvious reasons, then either. In fact, Orphenon had clipped away the stitches which kind of hurt and left her feeling a bit raw which Callum, upon examining her face closely, believed because she was for once telling the truth.
Third, because Callum was beginning to get frustrated that Sonia was finding the willpower to fight back the urge.
Deep into the second week he made it obvious he wanted “to play”. But why he wanted to play when two or three times a week he disappeared from their bed in the middle of the night and came back obviously having been outside and smelling of that intense and beautiful musk he always smelled like after they’d finished, she would never know.
Sonia had put him off both morning and night and some afternoons besides with a variety of excuses which were wearing thin.
He started to get suspicious then he started to get dubious and this melted straight into extremely annoyed.
Luckily Calder turned up the third week and Callum lost interest in her as he holed himself up with the boys in his study. But this still left the nights for Sonia to find ways to fend off his hands, his mouth and his quiet, gentle, sweet bedtime interrogations (but getting less gentle and less quiet and definitely less sweet).
Just last night, quiet, gentle and sweet went out the window.
Sonia was in bed reading (again) when Callum hit the room.
He didn’t smile at her when he walked in.
Considering it was 8:30, he stopped two feet in, crossed his arms on his chest, frowned ominously and stared at her in bed.
“It’s 8:30,” he informed her.
Sonia tensed and decided not to look at him anymore because he was freaking her out. Therefore, she looked back at her book.
“This is a really good book,” she told him (though it wasn’t). “I’ve been waiting all day for an excuse to get back to it.” (Though she hadn’t).
Suddenly her book was pulled from her hands and her eyes automatically and irritably shot back to him.
“There’s the small matter of your injection,” he clipped and she closed her eyes and looked away.
She hated those injections always but told herself they were a necessary evil.
Now, they were pure torture with Callum giving them to her and Sonia emerging from the burn always wrapped lovingly (but insincerely) in his arms.
She opened her eyes when she felt the bed depress with his weight, his fingers sliding into the side of her hair and she saw him sitting beside her on the bed.
His anger was gone, the gentle look was back and he murmured, “Two minutes, baby doll, then it’s done.”
“I hate those injections,” she whispered and his fingers flexed in her hair.
“I do too,” he agreed.
He gave her the injection, led her back to bed and threw the hides back. She started climbing in but he stopped her, turned her to face him and then his hands bunched the material of her nightgown at her hips and, whoosh, it was gone.
“Hey!” she cried, shocked at his actions.
“Now your pants,” he ordered.
Sonia was covering her breasts with her arms and she looked in confusion, as she was not keeping up, down at her underwear.
Then she looked up at him. “You mean my undies?”
“Off,” he demanded, leaning in and hooking his thumbs in the waistband.
“Callum!” she shrieked but her panties were already at her ankles and he was lifting her up so she repeated, “Callum!”
Like she didn’t utter a word (or, in this case, shriek his name twice) he placed her in bed and pulled the hides over her.
Sonia got up on an elbow and Callum sat on the edge, leaning into the hand that he’d planted in the bed behind her.
“I thought I told you I wanted you naked when you don’t have to wear clothes,” he declared calmly.
She glared at him. “I’m not comfortable sleeping naked.”
His brows drew together. “It didn’t seem to bother you before you found out I was wolf.”
This was true but only because, by the time he let her sleep, she was already naked, exhausted and slept the sleep of abandoned contentment.
Now they weren’t having sex, were never going to have sex again, so she wanted to wear a nightgown.
As she didn’t feel like getting into that particular subject at that time, she just glared at him.
He absorbed her glare for a while then reached out, grabbed her book and handed it to her.
“I’ll be back soon,” he muttered, leaned down, kissed her temple and then walked from the room.
Without him to glare at, Sonia glared at the door instead.
Then she got up, put her undies and nightgown back on and got back into bed.
Callum could do a lot of things, considering he was king.
But he could not tell her what to wear to bed.
She was dead asleep when she felt her body move and she didn’t tell it to do so.
Then she felt her nightgown sliding up, up and, whoosh, it was gone.
Her eyes opened and she stared groggily at Callum who was in the process of pulling her panties down her legs. Then, whoosh, they were gone too.
“What…?” she whispered but wasn’t awake enough to get her brain functioning.
He lay on his back, pulling the hides over them and yanking her roughly in his arms.
“Did you… did you just do that?” she asked his chest, her mind still fuzzy with sleep.
“I did,” he answered calmly.
“I… I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispered.
“Believe it,” he replied.
“Why did you just do that?” she queried.
“Tomorrow,” was his strange response.
“Tomorrow?”
He rolled into her so they were face-to-face.
“I’m too fucking pissed right now to have this conversation, Sonia,” he informed her, sounding pissed. Sounding downright mad. “But tomorrow morning, after breakfast, we’re fucking talking,” he finished.
In the face of his anger, Sonia thought it was prudent not to say anything further.
So she didn’t.
He rolled to his back again, taking her with him so her head was on his shoulder. Then he hauled her arm around him so it was resting across his stomach and his arm, curled at her waist, tightened so she was pressed into him close.
When he settled, it occurred to her that he had nothing to be pissed about.
She wasn’t sneaking off at night for liaisons with whoever (or multiple whoevers).
She wasn’t pretending to be his devoted queen when she wasn’t attracted to him.
She was just doing the best she could in a really bad situation.
However, she didn’t feel like getting into these subjects at that particular juncture either.
Or, ever, really.
So she forced her body to relax and she listened to his deep breathing, smelled his heady scent and wished she could go back to a time when she could, at least, pretend this was real.
But she could not.
* * * * *
It was the morning after and Sonia was curled in the little oval alcove trying to concentrate on her bo
ok but she couldn’t because she knew that day was the day of reckoning.
She’d woken alone, showered, dressed, had a quick breakfast and ran back upstairs before anyone could catch her.
She had no idea why she woke up alone because Callum always woke her if he was leaving her even if just to give her a kiss and tell her he was going.
She didn’t take that as a good sign.
When she heard him approaching, she didn’t take hearing that he alighted the stairs at least two at a time as a good sign either.
When he hit the room and slammed the door so hard that the sound it made seemed to undulate through the room like a shockwave, she didn’t take that as a good sign either.
The instant she saw the look on his face she realized that today was not the day of reckoning.
Today was the day of the apocalypse.
Without hesitating, he walked right up to her, jerked the book out of her frozen-with-fear hands and tossed it across the room with such force, the sound it made when it hit the doors of the wardrobe all the way across the room was like a gunshot.
She stared at her book on the floor for a second, lips parted in shock then she looked back at him. What she saw terrified her to such an extreme, the only thing she could think to do was flee.
So she tried.
She shot out of the alcove and ran past him as fast as her feet would carry her, her heart beating a mile a minute and her mind totally blank.
She wasn’t fast enough.
He hooked an arm across her waist and lifted her up, her back to his chest, her legs kicking out and her hands pushing at his arm.
“Let me go!” she squealed but he just turned, took three long strides and tossed her on the bed.
She instantly rolled and kept rolling until she rolled over the other side, got to her feet and glared at him standing opposite the bed to her. His chest was heaving and he was visibly having difficulty controlling his anger.
Sonia was panting with fear but that fear was replaced by fury on the spot.
“What’s the matter with you?” she shrieked.
“You didn’t come to the study after breakfast,” he replied, his deep voice even but far from calm.
He was enraged. His voice said it. His face said it. Every line of his big, tall body said it.