Page 135 of Wolf Caged
“I do.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking no one was listening in, but as he continued, I realised he was looking in the direction of something. “Listen… if you really want to risk your neck by seeking him out when he’s like this… I won’t stop you. I’ll just warn you to be careful. Be really careful.”
“Where is he?” I gazed beyond him, in the direction he had been looking, towards the bend in the main avenue before it swept downwards towards the docks, sure Kaeleron was somewhere in that direction and wanting to know why.
Riordan’s expression shifted back and forth as he debated telling me.
“Either you tell me where I can find him, or I wander off in that direction without a clue and try to find him myself. Who knows what might happen to me in those dark alleyways?” I smiled up at him as he scowled at me.
“Manipulative little creature, aren’t we?” He huffed. “Head over to Fierel’s, the blacksmiths. It’s north-west of here. Takethe passage over there and follow the right branch that takes you towards the outer wall. You’ll find him there… and do not tell him I sent you. I like my head where it is.”
Was Kaeleron in such a bad mood that he would kill one of his own inner circle?
I shivered at the thought he might be, and what I might be getting myself into by seeking him out, but then steeled my nerves and straightened my spine, because my primal instincts demanded I find him and see that he was fine, that this seelie incursion hadn’t shaken him.
“Thank you,” I said as I hurried towards the alleyway, determined to find Kaeleron before I lost my nerve.
“Your funeral,” Riordan muttered as he walked away. “I’ll pick you out a nice casket.”
I flipped him off over my shoulder, earning a husky chuckle from the vampire, and then the passageway swallowed me and I focused on my hunt, my wolf instincts coming to the fore as I scented the air, seeking a trace of Kaeleron.
No doubt he was at the blacksmith to order weapons for his men, arming his legion with the finest swords available.
I caught the scent of ash, steel and wild storm, and tracked it through the narrow alleys between old buildings, heading deep into the outskirts of the city. When the scent grew fainter, I backtracked and took another path, banking right.
And came out into a small, cobbled square in front of a half-timber forge with a crooked tiled roof and a beautifully crafted metal sign above the open doors, and several barrels of water stood outside it.
I stepped forwards, looking for the blacksmith in the heart of the building, where a great stone forge blazed red-hot, casting warm light over the tools that hung on the walls and the stacks of raw materials, and several anvils.
Two bare chested males worked at the forge, bathed in fierce light as one stoked the coals while the other turned a long strip of metal, pushing it deep into their fiery hearts before withdrawing it to check the temperature.
One male I didn’t recognise.
The other I did.
Kaeleron wiped sweat from his brow with the back of one hand as he gripped the strip of metal with tongs in his other and carried it to an anvil. He picked up what looked like a hammer and began striking the metal, his movements precise and practiced, mesmerising to watch as firelight chased over his glistening chest and arms.
I stared, lost in the sight of him as he worked the metal, the rhythmic sound of his strikes echoing my heartbeat. My wolf side howled at the glorious sight of him, his honed muscles streaked with soot and ash from his work, slick with sweat from the heat of the forge and the exertion of working the metal.
By the gods.
A low growl rumbled in my chest, something primal within me rising to the fore as I studied him, as I drank my fill of him. I had never seen anything so masculine.
So utterly male.
Every muscle of his torso and arms moved in a delicious symphony as he worked the metal, his handsome face set in hard lines of concentration, gaze focused on his work with an intensity that would have robbed me of my breath if he had looked at me that way.
It dawned on me that Riordan had asked me not to reveal he had been the one to tell me where to find Kaeleron because this was meant to be a sort of secret—a place Kaeleron came whenever he needed to work off some steam or distract himself from something.
I suddenly felt as if I was imposing, interrupting something where I wasn’t welcome or wanted, something private.
But before I could turn to leave, Kaeleron inspected his work and rose to his full height, saying something to the other male as he went to turn towards the forge.
His silver gaze landed on me.
Rather than scurrying away like I wanted to, I planted my boots to the cobbles and remained where I was, facing him and holding his gaze.
Seeing him.
Really seeing him.
