Page 12 of The Wolf in My Tavern

Not so long ago, I convinced myself I was unworthy of Ada; that she needed someone older, better.

Well, fuck that. There’s a wolf in my tavern: he’s got his eyes on my woman, and I’m not going down without a fight.

Chapter Five

Ada

My father’s strength always terrified me. The understanding of my vulnerability before him and the damage he could wreak upon my smaller form was a constant and present danger. He is not a good example of all a man can be, yet I lived under his tyranny for so long it is hard to let that part of my life go.

I worry, knowing he lives here in this city and might find me again. I never leave the tavern, for I don’t feel safe. Betsy has encouraged me to go with her to the market, and I know she has her scars, too, for she was snatched on the way back from the market.

She is brave in confronting her fears while I hide from mine.

Only, Callum makes me realize why it is worth fighting my fears. When he held me, my vulnerability before him made me feel soft and cherished rather than scared.

I would let him hold me again in a heartbeat.

I can’t stop thinking about the kiss, Callum’s lips against mine, his soft beard tickling me, and the press of his body, so much larger than mine, yet so gentle as he held me. If I have blushed once since, I have blushed a dozen times, and Betsy has noticed every one of them and returned a knowing smile.

As if my mind is not already in a quandary now a stranger has turned up… well, there are two of them, although I only have eyes for one.

Callum is a tall man, but this other one is all hardness and purpose. He is older, with little lines at the corner of his serious blue eyes. A sense of danger surrounds him: not my father’s kind of thuggery, but more a brooding menace toward any who dare cross him.

He is handsome, with tousled brown hair that reaches his shoulders. His nose is a sharp line and his jaw bears a layer of dark scruff.

He appears… untamed… primal.

Looking at him makes my belly flutter and my mind very confused.

I like Callum. Callum rescued me… and there were those kisses at the water pump. Callum, with his forest green eyes and untamed ginger hair, is already the hero of my heart. Surely I should not be able to even notice another man?

Maybe it is the lingering effect of my first kiss. I feel like I have been asleep all my life, and that, today, I am waking up to the male species and the pleasure their mere touch can bring.

I’m a breathless mess as I deliver the drinks and food to the stranger that Tim referred to as Master Gray, and his friend Drake, who are visiting from far away.

It is all very mysterious, and I’m baffled as to why anyone would come to Bleakness by choice.

“Never kissed a man before tonight, and now you have two handsome men vying for your favor,” Betsy says with a wink.

I flush crimson. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s Callum, for a start, and now the mysterious Master Gray who can’t keep his eyes off your ass.”

I make a scoffing sound and busy myself loading another tray of drinks.

She chuckles and is thankfully distracted when the cook calls a ready order through.

I float through the rest of the evening in a happy daze. As Tim calls closing time and the many patrons begin to disperse, I’m sad to see Callum and the blue-eyed stranger go.

Tim locks up, and I help the other servers collect the empties and wipe down the tables so everything is set for the morning. Then I head up to my tiny room in the attic.

I remember Betsy showing me in when I first arrived, apologizing profusely about how it wasn’t much. The small attic room had not been used in some time except as a storage place. Gareth had cleared everything out, dragged an old mattress in, and dropped it onto a low bedframe against one wall. Betsy had bustled in with fresh bed linen, blankets, and even a duck-down pillow. I felt like a princess sleeping on the bed.

Two months later, a few extra blankets have found their way in. The woodworker who lives a few doors down gifted me an old dresser. Then Gareth fitted a row of hooks to the wall so I could hang up my clothes. There is even an old, chipped vase on the windowsill that Betsy was going to throw away. I can’t even see the chip if I turn it just so.

I’m sad I don’t have my old book and wonder what my father did with it. Has he already cleared out my little bedding nook and thrown it away, or does it still linger, hiding under the straw?

For the first time, I have a private space that is all mine.

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