Page 93 of The Wolf in My Tavern

“You are upsetting him,” I say. “Do not rile him up. I have only just calmed him down!”

Callum swings his head to face me. He makes a strange chuffing noise that almost seems to say, “Be quiet, lass,” before he turns back to Gray.

“I am not going to interfere,” Gray says, his voice a deep rumble, for he is likewise in beast form. He holds his arms wide and open.

Callum makes another chuffing noise, this one directed at Gray. There is a warning aspect to it.

Gray lowers himself to a low, restful, watching sort of crouch. “I am not leaving,” he says determinedly. “I understand that she is yours. She has always been yours. She is now also mine, too. But you are also new to this form, so although I cannot beat you, I will fucking try if you are not careful with the lass.”

Callum’s chuff is distinctly indignant.

“Fine,” Gray rumbles. The air shimmers as he shifts to his wolf. He is a giant, easily the size of a horse, yet even knowing he is deadly, he seems less so as he plants his ass against the floor and slides out his front legs to lie down.

Callum’s body pulses as he slowly shrinks back to regular beast size. Seemingly satisfied that Gray issues no threat, he swings back to me.

I nibble on my lower lip, suddenly feeling shy before this new aspect of him. “This has been a very difficult week without your touch.”

He chuffs again. Gray can speak in this form, but I get the impression that Callum cannot.

“He will not try to stop you,” I say. “There was never any intention to hurt either of us nor to deny the bond we already shared.” I shift a glare to Gray. His wolf remains alert, so I continue, “Although he went about it in a very poor way…” I return my focus to Callum. “Come back to me, Callum. I also need to see the man.”

His body pulses again, shrinking, shrinking before the air crackles, and in the place of a beast is a naked man.

His chest heaves. I am tiny before him. It would appear that the human side of him has likewise grown.

“Callum!” I throw myself into his arms, and he hefts me up so I can pepper kisses across his cheeks and down his throat, clinging to him possessively. “Callum! Callum, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ada,” he says gruffly. “I love you with all my heart.”

It takes only moments for the feelings of love to explode into passion. I was not lying when I said I missed him—all aspects of him.

His naturally gentle ways.

His protectiveness.

That he is the kind of man who followed me onto a ship to save me, even as hopeless as that was.

There is yet another aspect to Callum—the rough, possessive male who rutted me and knotted me on a cold wooden floor after a competition fight.

My fingers spear his hair, then tighten. My lips are at the juncture of his shoulder and throat. I bite with all the savagery I possess.

“God’s, Ada,” he growls, his hand cupping the back of my neck.

I feel him trembling against me. His body. His hands. I know he feels all that I do, that he mirrors my needs.

He takes me down onto the floor, cradling my body in his hands as he lowers me with gentle reverence to the scrap of material that was once his pants. The floor is hard and rough. I do not even care.

His mouth seeks my throat, and he sucks rough, urgent kisses against my flesh.

I know he will leave a mark. I want him to.

His lips trail downward until they find the plump swell of my upper breast. He sucks hard again, marking me, then moving lower until his lips latch onto my nipple, where he greedily sucks.

A sharp thread of arousal shoots straight to my core. My body ignites, and I tug his hair, holding him closer. I arch up, my mouth open on a wanton cry as he trails hot devastation on a path to the other breast. Then, suckling this side with the same hunger as he cruelly twists the neglected nipple.

I am aflame for him and burning brightly with need. Heat pools in my belly and lower, the sweet, achy sensation that demands I be filled.

“Callum, please, I need you.”

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