Page 68 of The Wolf in My Tavern

After I am done, I make use of the pitcher of water, fill the basin, and, with trembling hands, I wash myself up.

The cleaning is cathartic as I swipe the grime away before patting myself dry on the soft cloth.

My stomach turns over with unease that I cannot blame on the gentle swaying of the boat. My body is fevered as if I am coming down with a cold.

How did I even sleep?

My fingertips trace the side of my throat where Gray’s teeth latched onto my flesh.

A shiver ripples through me from my light touch—it almost feels like he is biting me there again. And although he did not break the skin, it feels strangely sensitive.

I feel sensitive everywhere, truth be told. Frowning, I hasten back into the main room, determined to find something to pound on the door with until someone is forced to come. They will not keep me locked in here all day, not when Callum’s life is in danger.

My eyes land on the lamp on the table. I lift off the glass fitting and wrap my fingers around the thick base. It is cool to the touch and looks like brass. I will use it to smash the door down or at least make enough noise that someone will come to check.

“Gods!” It is ridiculously weighty, maybe to prevent it from being tossed from the table when traveling through a storm. It nearly pulls my arms from my sockets. If I drop it, I will surely break the floor… or my foot.

I lug it over to the door. Here I stand, limbering up to deliver a mighty blow, when the door suddenly rattles and swings open.

“What the fuck are you doing, wench?!” Gray snatches the swinging lamp base from my fingers.

“Uff!” I grunt as the momentum slams me into the wall of his body, which is about as soft as the hard wooden door.

He grasps the scruff of my neck with his other hand, peels me off him, and gives me a little shake. “Gods, woman. You could have broken your small toes had you dropped it!” He shoves the offending lamp base at a deckhand I only now notice lingering beyond him.

The deckhand takes it with a grunt, seeming similarly confused by the hefty weight.

“Unhand me, brute!” I flail around.

He shakes me again, stepping aside. “Bring the bastard whelp back in here and chain him up afore he causes more trouble.”

Only now do I take in the scuffle on the deck: the three deckhands straining to return Callum, still gagged, to the room.

His eyes turn wild when they latch onto me, nostrils flaring as he takes in my naked form before he glares at Gray, who still holds me by the scruff of the neck like I am a wayward pup.

“Callum!” My feverish eyes inspect him even as I try to wrest free. I see no fresh damage and that calms me some. “What have you done to him?” I demand.

“Nothing yet,” Gray says ominously. “Although a beating might do wonders for settling his temper. The mouthy bastard has been nothing but trouble, and all we have done is untie him so he can fucking relieve himself. I have a good mind to drown the bastard a bit in the hopes of making him see some sense.”

Callum is red of face and livid as they chain him against the wall.

“Anythin’ else, Master Gray?” a deckhand asks as his companions finish chaining Callum to the wall.

“No,” Gray says. “See that I’m not disturbed.”

They bow their heads in deference.

“And lock the door,” Gray adds as they reach it. … “From the other side.”

The deckhand raises a brow at that.

I also raise a brow at that.

The door shuts, and I hear the rattle of a key in the lock.

“Umm guuung urhh uofff urr oooh!”

A muffled grunt comes from the other side of the room, followed by a banging sound and the violent creaking of wood. I try to peer around Gray, but he moves to block my view.

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