With Everything I Am (The Three #2)(151)

“Lift your arms for me, little one,” he murmured, his hands up, holding a stretchy, pink cotton nightgown.

Since she was na**d (mostly) and a nightgown would be good, she did as she was told.

She winced when, at her movement, the dull pain became piercing.

“Fuck,” he hissed low at her wince, making fast work of pulling the nightgown over her head and then he commanded, “Arms down.”

Gratefully she lowered her arms as he carefully pulled the nightgown down her body, rounding to her side to yank it out before he tugged it down her back and it fell over her h*ps to her knees. She registered this vaguely as a novel experience, considering Callum was putting a nightgown on her rather than taking it off as, he’d stated repeatedly, he preferred her na**d in their bed and usually did something about it.

He sat her down the edge of the bed and she stared, this time in out and out shock, as he knelt in front of her and put thick, woolen gray socks on her feet.

King Callum kneeling at her feet.

He’d only knelt for her once but that was to put his mouth between her legs.

Now he was putting socks on her feet to ward away a chill.

Before she could cope with this, he took her hand and cautiously tugged her up from the bed and then leaned into her, reaching to the side as she reared back (trying not to look as if she did) and he brought up her cashmere robe.

“Now this,” he stated. “Turn around.”

She did as she was told, mainly so she wouldn’t glare at the robe which, if she had been thinking, should also have gone in the fire with her rings and her wolf. She was doubly glad she threw the wolf in the fire now that she knew he was her puppy and he hadn’t told her that, not for weeks. Not, apparently, for years (though, she wasn’t actually doubly glad, she’d miss her stuffed wolf like crazy).

He pulled her robe up her arms and, hands at her shoulders, turned her around and gently tied it closed.

When he was done, his hands came to her neck and with thumbs at the undersides of her jaw he tilted her head back to look at him.

“You can walk okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, his eyes soft. He took her hand in his and guided her out the door.

They were down two flights when she tugged on his hand. “Callum, really, where are we going?”

She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to eat, drink or, possibly, breathe.

Since not breathing would be bad, she decided she’d breathe but she wanted to do it somewhere alone so she could get her thoughts in order and sort out her crazy, unbelievable life. A life which was already pretty unbelievable, say, because it included kings of secret sects of society and enchanted castles in tiny, unknown, independent countries in the depths of Scotland. But now she was forced to come to terms with the fact that she had to share that life with an arrogant, self-absorbed, philandering werewolf.

“It’ll only take a minute, baby doll, and then back to bed,” he told her, not pausing in leading her down the steps.

If whatever it was would only take a minute, which seeing someone, talking to them or eating and drinking the way Callum’s people did would take longer than that, she followed without protest.

At the front door, he stopped her and turned her to him.

“One last thing,” he muttered and his hand went into the pocket of his jeans.

She watched, her breath catching, as he pulled out her wedding rings.

How?

What?

Again, how?

What, did he have backups or something?

He lifted her limp hand and slid them on her finger.

Then he lifted her hand further and bent his head to it where his lips touched her rings and brushed her finger.

Her stomach clenched, her heart leaped and her sinuses tingled with unshed tears.

That was how you put wedding rings on a woman’s finger.

Then just his eyes came to her, his lips remained at her hand and he said quietly, but very, very firmly, “Never take these off again, little one. Hear me?”

She was too stunned. She could do nothing but silently nod.

He lifted his head, squeezed her hand and then pulled her a bit back from the door. He opened it and, hand still in hers, he guided her numb body outside.

She almost stumbled at what she saw.

Across the clearing at the foot of the steps, around the fountain, even up the hill, not to mention tall warriors flanking the sides of the steps, stood Callum’s people.

Even Regan, Ryon, Caleb, Lucien and Leah were standing along the top of the landing.

All of them silent, some of them carrying candles, others holding bunches of flowers or tins.

All of them looking at the castle, looking at her.

In her robe!

Callum led her to the edge of the top landing where he stopped and pulled her into his side with his arm carefully wound around her shoulders.

Nearly the minute they stopped and nearly at once, every last wolf dropped to their knee, hand to the snow or stone, head bowed (though Lucien and Leah didn’t, of course, not being wolves and all).

Sonia quit breathing and learned that, even not breathing, you could still cry.

When she started breathing again, she whispered, “Oh my God.”

“They need to see you’re all right,” Callum murmured.