Page 66 of The Wolf in My Tavern

At last.

My mind briefly stretches toward considering how Drake is getting on with my former betrothed and younger brother. Potent emotions of relief rise within me again—Gods, it is good to see them. I don’t even care that the damn mutt was rutting Lizbeth. How can I, when I only have eyes for Ada?

It is strange how things work out.

“W-what are you going to do with us?” Ada demands of me.

My eyes lower to the woman I want… no, it is more than that, who I crave. She is wilting as exhaustion and stress win the battle against her will. “Nothing… yet.” I direct her toward the bed.

“What? Oh! Unhand me, beast!”

Her small, weak protest accompanies me divesting her of her dress. My claws facilitate the matter and the air is rent by the sounds of shredding cloth. My wolf approves.

“You will not wear these human clothes again,” I growl. Better to speak plainly to the lass. “Further, you will be naked until I deem you worthy of clothing of any kind. How long that might take is to be determined.”

“Savage,” she hisses, slapping me with all her tiny might.

My wolf pricks his ears right up at this and yips with excitement, enjoying her show of spirit.

My grin is all teeth. “I will take that as a compliment, lass.”

“Compliment?” she blusters, beating her fist against my chest. “Only a monster would consider it such!”

I cradle her small fist in my hand lest she hurt herself beating on me and direct her into the bedding nook. “Settle, wench. I am not rutting you tonight, even though your cunt is juicing with need. Rest assured; my wolf can scent your arousal. Let there be no pretense between us.”

My words prove inflammatory. She is not ready to accept reason, yet. No matter. I am determined. Seeing the handy cuffs chained to the head of the bed, I make use of them, securing her wrists as she screeches and rails at me.

Her vocal expression of dissatisfaction rouses her shifter whelp, who comes to with a muffled roar, rattling the chains with enough vigor that I hear the wood creak in protest.

I rise slowly and turn to face him, glad I had the foresight to have him gagged.

“Callum!”

The lass’s cry rouses him further. I wait to see if he can break free, wincing when the sturdy beam he is chained to creaks even more ominously.

We will need to establish our hierarchy at some point, but I would rather it was somewhere with more space… and fewer things of worth that might be damaged in the fray.

Further, I do not want to best him in this form. When we fight and establish our places, it will be as wolves. Drake is right, in this much. I will need to teach him how to shift and whether he wants it or not.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I want nothing more than to feel his woman in my arms—no matter how challenging that might prove.

Tomorrow, I will claim her and force him to watch.

His eyes promise my death as he strains against the binding. “Hummm! Huf… umgarhhh, yuuur ahushhhh!”

I believe the whelp is making threats upon my life. Good. Let him hate me. He has had her fucking first, and I shall have her next.

“Callum!”

Ada was right when she called me a savage. It is what I am—my nature. I feel no shame for my ways, nor the actions I’m about to take. There is no place for weakness in a shifter pack. Our ways are often considered cruel to outsiders. Only the strong survive.

I don’t want to share a mate, but if I must, then I don’t want to share her with a weak male.

And so, I will push him until he breaks, and then I will push him some more. I have dealt with the occasional latent wolf before. Some can be coaxed, but some need to fight their way out.

Callum is a fighter.

---