Page 46 of The Wolf in My Tavern

“No apology needed on my part,” Tim says. “But you’d do well to mind the guardsman’s words. Bleakness is a troubled place, but there is much turmoil at present and beyond your own matters, which I know are important to you. With hindsight, I wish I’d closed the tavern for the night. Hate to think of Ada, nor any other lass, getting hurt.”

“You weren’t to know, Tim,” Gareth says, joining us. “Not the first time we’ve seen a bit of bloodshed. Thankfully, it is not often.”

The tavern is set to order, and the staff take their leave. Each one receives an extra coin from the bag I gave to Tim.

Alone now with Drake, we sit at our preferred table, where we sat not so long ago before the unraveling began.

“I fucked up,” I say.

“Aye,” Drake says. “You did. This is what happens when a man denies his wolf.”

“I cannot fucking have her. As the guardsman was quick to point out, she is betrothed, and to that fucking whelp, no less.”

“We both know he is not a whelp,” Drake says. “And we both know her life is not free of complexity, for I’m now certain she is no more a beta than Callum is.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” I demand, rubbing gritty eyes with the heel of my hand and wishing my wits would stretch beyond Ada’s scent.

“The wench has addled your mind,” he says—he is closer to the truth than he realizes. “One lass with two wolves sniffing around her… one of which has royal blood.”

“Don’t.” My denial is stringent.

His low chuckle is devoid of humor.

“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” he says. “But I sense destiny calling... Take some time to get your head straight. Try not to get into any strife while you do. The ship arrives tomorrow. Regardless of whatever decision you make regarding Ada, remember that your brother, and the shifter lass you are promised to, will be counting on us.”

His footsteps fade as he leaves for our room.

I sit there as the last candle flickers and goes out, and then I sit some more.

Shadows fill the room; the fire has long burned down, with only a few embers glowing in the hearth.

And still, I sit there.

I wish I could say I was considering what to do, but for the most part, my mind is blank.

My wolf paces under my skin, sniffing.

I touched her. I had my arm around her—she threw herself at me, seeking my protection and comfort when she was frightened. Even after the danger had passed, she fucking clung to me. I had to pry her off to put her down.

Gods, why did I set her down?

My thoughts swirl and collide anew. Hope and agitation. I’ve made a fucking mess of this and cost myself a lot of coin—I might have cost myself my life. Not that I would have made it easy or gone down without a fight, but such routes carry risks for others beyond me, others who are not deserving of losing their chance at freedom due to my actions.

Drake speaks true. We have a mission. People are depending on us—on me—not to fuck up.

A faint creak rouses me, and my head whips around. Yet more creaks signify someone coming down the stairs.

Her scent reaches me first, alerting me to who it is.

I am lost in the shadows, and she does not notice me.

I notice her, though, everything from her caution to the fact that she is dressed.

Why is she dressed? Is she planning on sneaking out to meet with Callum?

My nostrils flare. No fucking way am I letting her wander the streets alone.

She stops as she reaches the bottom of the stairs and glances around. She is no shifter, and her eyes are not as good as mine in the gloom, but she stills and turns like she is trying to orient herself on me… almost like she knows I am here.

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