Werewolf



 

I want to deny him, but Tristan’s warnings echo in my mind. The only rule of this place is total obedience. Denying the king could easily lead to my death.

With shaking hands, I slowly reach up and pull down the scraps of my shirt from my torso. They fall to the floor in a blood splattered pool.

Caleb watches, his heated gaze tracing over every each of newly revealed skin.

“Your skirts,” he commands. “That’s where I will need to inspect.”

Keeping my chin high in an attempt to maintain dignity, I undo the band holding my skirt in place and push it down my hips. 

Caleb’s watchful eye catches a scar on my belly. Lifting a hand, he traces his fingers across it. “What is this, then?”

“It’s an old injury from an accident when I was young.” What does he think it is? A C-section scar? It’s not.

“Let me see for myself,” Caleb says and trails his hand down farther, farther. He slips hi



 

When I wake up again, Tristan is standing over me.

I gasp, reaching for blankets to cover my naked body, only to find that a sheet has already been draped over me. I don’t hope to think King Caleb has done something like this. Perhaps Tristan has.

Although, with the way he’s staring at me with a bored, annoyed expression, that seems equally unlikely. 

“Get dressed. You have five minutes,” he says.

“I need a shower.”

“Five minutes.” He turns toward the door.

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“In the wardrobe,” he says and steps out into the hallway.

Not wasting time, I hop out of the bed and run to the bathroom. There, I take the quickest, coldest shower of my life. I grab the first dress I see in the wardrobe – a plain white sundress with small pink flower print – and pull it on. In the drawers are a collection of bras and panties.

They are all my size. I don’t know how that’s po

Glaring at me, Caleb waits. He seems expectant, as if he’s waiting for some kind of response.
For the sake of self-preservation, I need to answer my king. But genuinely, I do not know how to reply to the implication that we have a child together.
Tristan, Caleb’s Beta, walks into the closet behind him. Tristan takes Caleb’s sword and hands him a file in return. Flipping open the folder, Tristan lowers his gaze to read from the pages within.
“Harper Lovett,” Caleb reads. “Belonging to the Riverwood Pack. Daughter of the Beta Harold Lovett and his mate Claudette. One sister, younger. Leah.”
As he’s reading about me, that must be my file. I swallow hard.
“Not a virgin,” Caleb says. Snapping the folder shut, he lifts his gaze to me. “Tell me where the child is, Miss Lovett.”
“What child?” I say.
“If you value your life, you will not lie to me,” he says. His voice hasn’t changed, still the same steady baritone, but his eyes have taken on an even sharper intensity. If looks could kill, I would be dead ten times over.
“I mean no offense,” I say quickly. “But you must be mistaken. I’ve never been pregnant.”
Caleb stares at me for one long, terrible moment.
Just when I think he might take the sword back and use it on me, he turns to Tristan. “Get her into one of the rooms. I intend to interrogate her privately.”
Tristan nods at once.
Caleb turns and walks out.
Tristan straightens and looks at me. “The first and only rule of this household, Ms. Lovett, is total obedience. The King is not to be denied, nor is he to be questioned. I suggest you think that over as you follow me to your room.”
“But I –” I start to say.
“I do not care to hear you talk,” Tristan says, cutting me off. He turns and begins walking. Quickly, I move into his shadow and silently follow him.
He leads me to a chamber with a round staircase that circles up and up. I lose track of how many stairs we take, how many flights we’ve gone. The walls curl around the stairwell, making the space cramped and narrow. I keep my hand placed against the stones to keep from getting dizzy.
At one point, Tristan exits the stairs and steps into another hallway. I follow him down a winding corridor. Many wooden doors line the hall. When he reaches the one he wants, he unlocks the door with some kind of electronic remote, the size of a key chain.
When the door swings open, he steps to the side.
As I walk into the room, the door closes behind me. An invisible lock turns, trapping me inside.
The room itself isn’t horrible. It’s much more spacious than my attic space was. I have a small sitting space and a wardrobe in addition to an actual double bed. There is also a round table and a pair of chairs. A different doorway leads off to a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and sink. 
If it had a kitchen, I could live in this room solely in this room.
There are no windows, but an overhead light flickers with an electric bulb. At least I don’t have to depend on oil and flame up this high, like they do down below.
The only truly unnerving thing about the room is a separate elaborate, close and locked, that is in the wall near the bed. I can’t see any means of opening it, not even a handle. Yet as I near it, looking for a means of opening it, I hear the telltale sound of a lock clicking open.
The door swings inward and I jump backward, narrowly avoiding a hit to the face.
Caleb himself steps through the open doorway, as regal and handsome and threatening as ever. I scramble backwards and he stalks toward me. The door seems to move on its own, sliding closed and locking behind him.
I stop when my back is against the wall. There’s not really anywhere for me to run to. I’m locked in this room with him. 
“Now. You’ve had time to think it over,” Caleb says. “Stop pretending you don’t remember our encounter.”
I remember his face staring down at me, his blues intense, his brows pulled together. A bead of sweat dripped from down his chin, onto my face.
I remember his dick buried in my folds, thrusting… taking… over and over… The headboard pounding against the wall.
My cheeks burn suddenly hot. 
He comes closer, trapping me up against the wall. He’s only a foot away, peering at my reddened face.
“So you do remember. Three years ago. I’m at the junction of packs., attending an Alpha meeting. I went to a bar when a woman, soaked with wanton pheromones draped herself all over me and begged me to take her to bed.”
Swallowing thickly, I don’t remember that part. But the rest of it…
“I’m entirely sure that woman was you, Harper Lovett.” He lifts his chin so that he stares down the length of his nose at me. “Try to deny it.”
“We had a one night stand,” I admit. “But there was never any child.”
Caleb’s upper lip curls. “Lie.”
With lightning speed, his hands snap forward. Grabbing my wrists, he yanks them over my head and holds them there with one of his hands. The other hand flattens onto the wall right beside my head.
“Give me my child,” Caleb growls.
“I’m telling the truth!” I say, my voice trembling as fear rushes through me.
Caleb brings his face closer. As his lip curls higher in disgust, his canines begin to elongate ever so slightly. He’s so furious, he might shift.
“You knew who I was that night. You purposefully seduced me, knowing the heat would trigger my own rut and make me forgo condoms. Then you secretly gave birth, raising my child yourself.”
“You think I planned to go into heat?”
“There are ways of triggering it…”
“I would have never,” I say. “I was engaged… I never even meant for the one-night stand!”
I hate this. With my arms restrained, I have no way of holding my torn shirt closed. It hangs open, revealing my bra underneath. Fortunately, Caleb doesn’t look. He doesn’t seem interested at all.
“I didn’t reveal who I was,” Caleb continues. “But you could have discerned it on your own. There’s no way our night together was strictly coincidence.”
“It was,” I insist, anger rising along with the fear inside of me. “I lost everything because of that night! My fiancé broke the engagement. My family started treating me like I’m tainted. If I’d had a baby, I would have at least gained something, but I didn’t. I have nothing.”
At once, Caleb moves his hand from the wall beside my head. He roughly grabs my chin and lifts my face up toward his. Sneering down at me, he says, “You still want to marry someone else? You would dare let some inferior male raise my child?”
“There was never a child,” I say, defiant even in the face of his monstrous fury. I don’t have much, but I have the truth.
I’m guilty of much, but not this. I’ve never been pregnant, despite what he thinks.
“Take me to a doctor,” I say. “Let them check. That will prove my innocence.”
Caleb’s fiery glare drops from my face down the length of my body, to the exposed swells of my breasts and below.
He’s close enough to me for me to detect the sudden increase in heat of his body. With a low growl, he lifts his eyes back to mine.
“No one will examine my woman except for me.”
He releases my hands, but does not back up a single inch.
“Strip.”

I want to deny him, but Tristan’s warnings echo in my mind. The only rule of this place is total obedience. Denying the king could easily lead to my death.
With shaking hands, I slowly reach up and pull down the scraps of my shirt from my torso. They fall to the floor in a blood splattered pool.
Caleb watches, his heated gaze tracing over every each of newly revealed skin.
“Your skirts,” he commands. “That’s where I will need to inspect.”
Keeping my chin high in an attempt to maintain dignity, I undo the band holding my skirt in place and push it down my hips. 
Caleb’s watchful eye catches a scar on my belly. Lifting a hand, he traces his fingers across it. “What is this, then?”
“It’s an old injury from an accident when I was young.” What does he think it is? A C-section scar? It’s not.
“Let me see for myself,” Caleb says and trails his hand down farther, farther. He slips his fingers down the front of my panties.
I suck in a breath and hold it.
My treacherous body re

#Chapter 7: Your Body Tells The Truth