Page 58 of The Wolf in My Tavern

I also know I do not have hope against two shifters with nothing but my fists. So I slip the belt around my waist, tighten the buckle, and return to the kitchen.

Here, I snatch a piece of paper and scribble down a note, leaving it on the mantle where, Goddess willing, my father will find it.

I leave for the docks, to find the ship called The Minstrel, and the shifter bastard who has taken my woman.

Chapter Twenty-One

Heath

Ileave with Anders for a quick meeting with a mutual acquaintance at The Jolly Sailor. A ship is due in, full of fresh slaves, but it is acting oddly, anchoring offshore south of the city. Anders’ acquaintance thinks there might have been a mutiny on board as boats were spotted rowing to shore outside of the city.

Those in the rebellion are tasked to keep a lookout for any escaped prisoners seeking shelter. It is fucking freezing at this time of year, and the former prisoners are likely to sneak into barns and outhouses for warmth. Better if our people spot them, than the poor souls end up back in the Blighten’s hands.

Then there is another ship, The Minstrel, anchored offshore to the north and with ties to the Imperium kingdom across the Lumen Sea. No one knows what the fuck this ship is about, but they are apparently taking on supplies and are said to be preparing to leave swiftly.

Pondering this news, I return. Noticing the workshop is still locked up, I head over to The Green Man to check if there is anything I can help with after last night. I expect Callum must be taking a bit of time with his lass. His possessive instincts will doubtless be roused after Gray stepped in to save her last night.

Only, I do not find Callum or Ada at the tavern. In fact, no one is fucking there. No Betsy, no Tim: even Gareth and a couple of the barmen are also missing.

“Ada and Betsy left for the markets this morning,” the cook tells me. From what I can see, she and her assistant are the only people here. “Then Tim called through to us in the kitchen saying as he needed to go out urgently. He left with Gareth and the other barmen in a rush.”

“We heard as a ship was sighted offshore,” her young kitchen helper adds. “And that prisoners might have escaped. Do you think it has aught to do with that?”

“More likely it is,” I say. It is a wonder how quickly gossip spreads in this city.

I return to my workshop, but I find myself frowning as I take my key from my pocket to undo the lock.

Even before I step inside, I feel the prickling of unease and a premonition that something is wrong.

Absent. It is quiet. Too quiet.

I tell myself that Callum has probably followed Ada and Betsy and gone looking for them in the market. Ada is a sweet lass, and, though my son is still young, I know he has found his one and is subject to an undeniable pull, just like the one I experienced with his mother.

It has been seven years since she was taken from me by illness, and I still think of her often. Time has a way of softening the pain without ever taking it away. I tell myself I’m not ready for someone else and never will be, and yet Betsy is surely a Goddess-sent test to my resolve.

The lass is too young for me, too bold, too stubborn, and, further, clearly needs a firm hand applied to her ass just to keep her in line.

A man has a type that is not necessarily measured by how a woman looks.

I like women with spirit who rise above life’s hardships and tests, who are indomitable, even as they make me want to try to master them for nothing more than the hell of it.

In this quiet moment, as I stand in the middle of my workshop, I am honest with myself; I admit that the blonde tavern lass with her freckles and her saucy smile has taken a starring role in my recent filthy dreams. Worse, I know Callum’s mother would have liked her and encouraged her mischief.

Shifters are a different breed in every way.

As I walk out the other side of the workshop, through into our house that lies behind, I find the kitchen neat and tidy. My eyes skim over it, searching for the elusive sign that proves or negates the prickling at the back of my neck.

His cloak has gone from the hook by the door, but that is to be expected. It is cold and miserable outside as Bleakness lumbers into the depths of winter.

My eyes alight on a note sitting on the mantle over the fire. A cold sensation settles in the pit of my stomach as I stride over and take the note.

The bastard has taken her. I don’t know what the fuck he intends to do. But I am getting my woman back.

Callum

P.S. I took your sword.

My slow smile is followed by a low chuckle that soon turns into a deeper guffaw.

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