Page 11 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

I leave him to it. Raking a hand through my hair, I try to do as I just preached and gain control.

I don’t find it. Instead, I pace about, thoughts scattering and surging in a rush. I need to tell him. Only the changing room of an underground fight is not the place.

The shower is still going.

My brows pull together. Snatching up a towel, I head back to check on my son, finding him still under the spout, shivering uncontrollably.

“Here. I pull the lever to turn off the shower and pass him the cloth to dry with.

He doesn’t bother. His flesh is so hot that the water rises in the form of steam, and he shoves the cloth around his waist.

His eyes meet mine. “I’m alright, Pa,” he says.

Only I don’t think he is.

I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling him settle some. “We’ll have that talk later, lad.”

He swallows.

Does he know?

Hearing voices approach—feminine tones—I roll my eyes and turn toward the sound.

Lasses have been known to sneak down here seeking Callum… and even me sometimes. “Sounds like some lasses up to mischief,” I say, smiling. “I’ll send them on their way.”

“They’re expecting us,” a familiar voice says, wiping the smile right off my face.Betsy?

“Fuck!” I make a beeline for the door, Callum hot on my heels, for where Betsy is, so will be Ada.

And there they are. Ada looks on, pink-cheeked as Betsy bats her lashes at the big alpha guard who keeps the peace between the fighters down here.

I see red. Betsy’s fingers are playing absently with Glen’s collar. It is a small consolation that he is blushing crimson and trying to peel her off without great effect. He is a gentle giant for all he deals with trouble among the contestants efficiently, he is borderline useless with lasses up to mischief.

“We’ll handle them, Glen,” I say. Taking Betsy by the arm, I yank her to my side, which calms me some. I have never known Glen to rut a lass, but I’m breaking out in a sweat that his hands were on her. “The lass has not been disciplined enough in her short life.”

Betsy coos and smirks up at me.

Damn woman. I have played right into her game.

Callum poorly disguises a cough as he retrieves his blushing lass.

“What are you two doing down here?” I say gruffly… like I don’t already know.

“Ada wanted to check as no hussies were here trying to get their hands on Callum,” Betsy says boldly.

Ada gasps.

Not that I need any help figuring out that this mischief is all on Betsy. This lass slays me with her nonsense. “There is only one hussy down here, and her name is not Ada.”

Betsy pouts up at me.

I sigh heavily, trying to temper the possessiveness coursing through me to have her pressed up against me like this. Thankfully no other nosey fuckers are around eyeballing my woman.

My woman?

I cannot lie to myself. There are a thousand and one reasons I should steer well away from the saucy tavern wench. My mind is currently blank for every one.

Have you ever wanted someone so much that it hurts? A tight pain in the center of your chest? A hunger, a craving that never seems to end.

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