A King's Weakness (Book 1)

Chapter 6

THE DREAM IS THE SAME AS ALWAYS: a young woman running through the woods, branches scraping her skin roughly. Her fear is palpable, but she doesn't slow down to defend herself.

Why isn't she fighting back? If she is as strong as Kage says, why doesn't she do something?

I don't want to see the end now that I know it isn't just a nightmare, but what my mother actually experienced in her last few moments on this earth. I struggle to rip myself away from the dream, to wake up. I know what's coming; soon an arrow will pierce her heart and kill her, leaving me as an orphan. I don't need to relive it a thousand times in my sleep to know her pain, her fear.

I wake with a gasp, my heart racing painfully in my chest. My clothes are still slightly damp from last night's detour in the rain, and I look like a train wreck. My head pounds in time with my heart, making me regret drinking the bourbon last night—among other things.

I know I will have to face Kage again, and soon, but I desperately need a shower first. With a sigh, I push out of my bed and shuffle into the bathroom, wincing at the light that manages to crack through the blinds.

* * *

When I finally work up the courage to poke my freshly washed head out of my room, Kage is nowhere to be found. Small mercies.

I search my bed for my phone, thinking he must have texted me, until I remember that it's on the side of a road somewhere, soaking wet.

I tiptoe silently into the living room, peeking my head around the corner to see if my uncle has fallen asleep on the couch there. He hasn't, but he has left a note beneath the box of a new cell phone.

C—

Be back in a bit. Try not to lose this one.

—K

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Even after the disastrous argument and literally life-altering revelations of last night, he is still looking out for me.

I tuck the new phone in my pocket before heading to the back door. The idea of sitting in the sun makes my head throb, but maybe it will help me sweat out any residual alcohol still in my system. A girl can dream.

I collapse into one of the flimsy lawn chairs on the porch and close my eyes, breathing deeply. The smell of trees fills my nose: pungent pine. Another scent is nearly hidden beneath the powerful pine, but I can still pick up on it—rich sandalwood with an earthy undertone. My heart picks up its pace in response.

I lazily half-open my eyes, peeking from beneath my lashes to scan the yard for the source of the smell. And I freeze, my entire body tensing when I see a young man staring back at me from the cover of the trees.

My spine straightens, and I clench my hands on the arms of the chair. The man makes no move to come closer, just continues to appraise me from a distance, a lion stalking its prey.

My mouth dries up instantly. He is beautiful, with sandy blonde hair, a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and lips set in a firm line. He is tall and lanky, but muscles ripple beneath his tan skin in a show of barely concealed strength. And his eyes...

I am staring into the same icy blue eyes from last night, the ones that I looked into and felt sure I was going to die—the ones that belonged to the grey wolf.

He stares at me, not bothering to hide his intrigue. Neither of us move, both assessing the possible threat of the other.

I work my jaw, determined to speak first. "You're the wolf," I say, intending it to come out strong, but instead the words come out breathy, betraying the awe and unease whirling around inside me.