[Novel] With Everything I Am

[books4u]

[TẶNG BẠN] TRỌN BỘ Bí kíp học tốt 08 môn
Chắc suất Đại học top - Giữ chỗ ngay!!

ĐĂNG BÀI NGAY để cùng trao đổi với các thành viên siêu nhiệt tình & dễ thương trên diễn đàn.

With Everything I Am

Author : Kristen Ashley
Category : Vampire Wolf, Romance

The trail of blood was leading the hunters straight to him.
Normally, he would have outrun them long before now, but with his right flank wounded by the shotgun blast and with him unable to rest or transform in order to heal quickly, he was simply losing more blood, more energy and slowing.
He tried to sense his brethren but they weren’t near. They weren’t due for hours.
He’d arrived early, too early.
Something had drawn him to this forest, so much as called out to him.
And, as usual, he followed his instincts.
He’d gone early and transformed so his senses would be sharper in order to seek out whatever it was.
Therefore, he’d been distracted and, if he was honest with himself, cocky. He’d smelled the hunters but he’d never expected they’d be a threat. Humans rarely were.
As he ran, he sensed it again, out there. It was close, whatever it was and the pull of it was so strong, it made him momentarily lose focus.
This cost him. He wasn’t watching where he was going. He wasn’t scanning the landscape.
He skidded to a painful halt, the snow blossoming out in white wings at his sides. A sheer rock face in front of him. A dense forest of pine trees, difficult to maneuver especially injured, to his right. Hunters at his back and to his left…
He stared.
A child.
Wearing a pink hat, scarf, boots and mittens and a navy coat, her long blonde hair falling down her shoulders.
Her green eyes were on him.
She couldn’t be more than five, maybe six, alone in the snow, in the forest,...

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 1​

Prologue

Connection

The trail of blood was leading the hunters straight to him.

Normally, he would have outrun them long before now, but with his right flank wounded by the shotgun blast and with him unable to rest or transform in order to heal quickly, he was simply losing more blood, more energy and slowing.

He tried to sense his brethren but they werenrsquo;t near. They werenrsquo;t due for hours.

Hersquo;d arrived early, too early.

Something had drawn him to this forest, so much as called out to him.

And, as usual, he followed his instincts.

Hersquo;d gone early and transformed so his senses would be sharper in order to seek out whatever it was.

Therefore, hersquo;d been distracted and, if he was honest with himself, cocky. Hersquo;d smelled the hunters but hersquo;d never expected theyrsquo;d be a threat. Humans rarely were.

As he ran, he sensed it again, out there. It was close, whatever it was and the pull of it was so strong, it made him momentarily lose focus.

This cost him. He wasnrsquo;t watching where he was going. He wasnrsquo;t scanning the landscape.

He skidded to a painful halt, the snow blossoming out in white wings at his sides. A sheer rock face in front of him. A dense forest of pine trees, difficult to maneuver especially injured, to his right. Hunters at his back and to his lefthellip;

He stared.

A child.

Wearing a pink hat, scarf, boots and mittens and a navy coat, her long blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

Her green eyes were on him.

She couldnrsquo;t be more than five, maybe six, alone in the snow, in the forest, in the dead of night.

What the f**k? He thought

She had to be lost. Her need for rescue was what he must have sensed.

But he could feel no fear from her, not even of him and in this form everyone and everything feared him.

But obviously not her.

She was gazing at him calmly as if she took moonlit strolls regularly and further, as if she could see him plainly in the dark.

As if she was one of his own.

Impossible, he thought.

First, she was blonde. There were no blondes of his kind. None. Not in history.

Second, hersquo;d smell it and she smelled starkly human.

He considered transforming. However, even if the cold couldnrsquo;t kill him, he didnrsquo;t relish the idea of transforming into a six foot six inch na**d man with a gunshot wound to his thigh in front of a child. Not to mention, the hunters, who were gaining and who he could far more easily attack as a wolf (which was not forbidden, but frowned upon even if there was no alternative as it seemed would soon be the case).

But it was forbidden to change in front of a human who didnrsquo;t know about their secret culture.

Completely forbidden.

Even for him.

He heard the hunters crashing through the snow and branches, getting ever closer and he turned swiftly and growled low.

It was his vast experience there were two different kinds of human hunters.

There were those who took what they called their "sport" seriously and behaved, in their way, honorably.

These, he knew, were not those kind of hunters. Therefore, if they werenrsquo;t careful (which they would not be) they could hurt her.

He couldnrsquo;t allow that.

In fact, hersquo;d die to stop it.

The force of this knowledge startled him but he knew it instantly and instinctively straight down to his immortal soul.

The hunters crashed through the trees into the clearing where he stood and leveled their shotguns at him.

He growled again and advanced, giving them their target.

Surprisingly, so did the child and she did so rapidly.

"No!" she shrieked, taking the huntersrsquo; attention and before he could move a muscle, she slid to a halt in front of him. She threw her arms wide as if to shield him with her body.

He tore his gaze from the hunters and stared at her in stunned surprise.

"My puppy!" she cried. "You hurt my puppy!"

"Get away from that animal!" one hunter bellowed, the barrel of his gun moving subtly, aiming away from the child.

"Jesus," another muttered. "Whatrsquo;s a kid doinrsquo; out here?"

"My puppy!" she shouted again, turned and lifted up on her toes so she could wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her face into the thick fur there. "You hurt my puppy!" she repeated on a wail as if her heart was torn apart. Then, not detaching her arms from his neck, her head rounded on the hunters again and she yelled, "Papa is going to be so mad."

"Kid, I said, get away from that animal," the first hunter ordered.

She ignored him. "Papa went all the way to Alaska to get my puppy for me and he got out tonight. He wouldnrsquo;t come when Papa called and called and whistled and called and we were so worried, so, so worried, we couldnrsquo;t get to sleep. We were looking for him, looking all over. Papa is just out therehellip;" She took an arm away to point vaguely in the direction from where she came. "We were looking for him and Papa is going to be sooo mad that you shot my puppy!" She ended on a shriek, throwing her arm around his neck again, holding on tight and pressing her face into his fur, her body beginning to shake with false sobs.

Bloody hell but she was a cunning little human and, as a wolf, if he could laugh, he would.

Unfortunately, he could not.

Instead, he shifted his furry bulk into her and without delay she pressed closer.

"Fuckinrsquo; A," the third hunter mumbled, his eyes narrowed on the girl as he lowered his gun. "Is that Senator Arlingtonrsquo;s daughter?"

"Fuck!" the second hunter hissed, lowering his own firearm. "It is."

"Kid ndash;" the first hunter started in a soothing tone.

She pulled her face away from his neck and glared at the hunters. "Go! Go now! If you go now, I wonrsquo;t tell Papa it was you."

They hesitated, all their guns lowered now, their feet shuffling.

"Go!" she screamed, her childrsquo;s voice piercing the brittle air.

"Maybe we could talk to Senator Arlington," the third one whispered his suggestion. "Explain things."

"Yeah?" the first hunter asked sarcastically, turning angry eyes at his friend. "Do you want to tell Senator Arlington how we were out at night and you shot his precious daughterrsquo;s dog? Do you, Gary? Hunh?"

"That ainrsquo;t no dog," the second hunter said, his eyes never leaving the beast. "Thatrsquo;s a wolf."

"Donrsquo;t look like no wolf Irsquo;ve ever seen," the third hunter noted and his voice turned greedy. "Hersquo;s huge. A beauty. Got to be a hundred pounds heavier than any wolf ndash;"

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 2​

"He's a wolf, ain't no dog," the second hunter pressed.

"Jesus, Lloyd, you ever see a wild wolf stand calm next to a kid with her arms wrapped around his ruff?" the first hunter, clearly the brains of the crew, threw out.

"He's a rare breed!" the child snapped, sounding adorably impatient, making it clear their squabbling was highly annoying and she had far better things to do. Her arms tightened as she continued, "That's why Papa had to go all the way to ndash;"

"All right, kid," the first hunter cut her off, taking a step back while throwing his arm out to indicate his friends should follow suit. "Promise you won't tell your Pa you saw us?"

"Promise you'll stop hunting wolves in this region?" she shot back shrewdly, not sounding five or six but much older.

"Kid ndash;" the first hunter started.

She interrupted him angrily, "Since you know you're not allowed."

The hunters stared at her in shock.

"They said she was weird," the third hunter, having moved back several paces, whispered in a voice that he thought only he could hear.

"I'm not weird!" the child snapped and he swung his canine eyes to her in further surprise because he, of course, could hear. Even in the form of a man he had heightened hearing but he'd never known a human to have that kind of range.

The third hunter started then mumbled again, "Weird."

The child's body grew stiff with hurt affront.

The wolf growled.

All the hunters stared at the beast.

"Promise!" she demanded.

They were silent.

"I'll tell my Papahellip;" she threatened.

"Okay, kid, we promise," the first hunter assured her, moving back again.

The wolf and child stood still and silent, watching the hunters retreat. A pace, two, three, four, then they turned and made their way swiftly through the wood.

"Silly men," she whispered irritably as she let him go and looked at him, her astute green eyes moving the length of him to his flank then she murmured, "Poor puppy." She patted him on the neck. "Papa will fix you, he's good at that. Let's go home."

She started walking away and he stood still, watching her, uncertain, even with his experience of all things human, inhuman and beast, what to make of the child.

She turned back.

"It's okay, puppy," she told him. "You can trust me. I'm not weird. Promise. It's justhellip;" she paused and quirked her head to the side. "Animals understand me. Papa says it's a special gift." She patted her thigh with her pink mitten. "Come on, we'll take good care of you." She lifted her hand to her heart, made a cross and grinned an immensely adorable grin the sight of which he felt in his gut. "Cross my heart."

She turned again and marched away.

He followed.

Not because of her promise she'd take care of him.

Instead, because he needed to protect her.

It wasn't far, maybe a five minute trek (but annoyingly painful and lumbering for him), when they came upon a log cabin in the trees. Warm, welcoming lights flooded from its windows, a sparkling Christmas tree shown in one.

"That's home," she told him, her voice reverent. "We have another home, in the city, but Momma and Papa and I like this one way better. We come here every Christmas." She turned to him and smiled a bright smile. "Come on!"

She ran the rest of the way, throwing open the door and turning again in its frame to pat her leg.

Limping less but still limping, he followed.

He entered the cabin and could see exactly why she'd prefer this place to any other.

It was small but it was homey, rustic, warm and friendly.

He could live his life there.

She was busy rushing around the cabin and he stood in the door watching her.

"We'll get you all warm and you can rest. Momma and Papa will be home soon and he'll know what to do. Papa always knows what to do," she babbled as she bunched clean sheets on a rug before the fire with her still mittened hands and then she turned to him and patted her leg again. "Come on, puppy. It's okay."

He cautiously limped to the sheets.

She pulled off her mitten and ran her fingers down his head. "Good puppy," she murmured.

He collapsed with a canine groan to the sheets.

"There you go," she whispered, crouching beside him to give him a rub.

Then she ran to the door, closed it and pulled off her hat, mittens, scarf and coat, throwing them efficiently on the couch.

She took a fluffy throw from a chair and brought it to him, tossing it on his body and arranging it carefully as he felt the healing in his flank sharpen.

No longer running, the wound would be mended within half an hour.

She sat down behind him and whispered, "I'll just lay here with you until Papa gets home." He felt her settle and press her little body down his back. "Keep you warm and safe," she mumbled, her voice turning sleepy. "Then Papa will take care of you."

Regardless of the fact that she was clearly a gifted child, like any child she was dead asleep within minutes.

And he lay beside her, letting the healing work and thinking, even though she clearly adored her father, he would be having words with a man who'd let his child, gifted or not, stay alone in a remote cabin and wander the forest in the dead of night. He didn't give a f**k that she was obviously quite capable or if she did, indeed, have a way with animals.

No good human parent did that.

He was whole again and he sensed them well before they arrived.

He carefully moved away so as not to waken her, had transformed and was standing beside her wrapped in the throw she'd placed over him when the door opened.

His brethren glanced at him then the child then his brother Calder threw him his pants.

He pulled them on as his father walked close.

Too close to the child.

Unconsciously he straightened, pants still half unbuttoned, and moved to stand in front of her.

His father, Mac's eyes slid away from the girl and caught his.

Then he watched Mac's face gentle.

"Callum," Mac murmured softly.

"She's Senator Arlington's daughter," Callum announced, his voice low in deference to her sleep but rumbling because he was pissed way the hell off.

"I know," his father replied.

"I'm uncertain of an allegiance with a man who'd leave his daughter unprotected," Callum went on.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 3​

Callum watched something flash across Mac's face and what he saw made him brace.

"It matters not," his father said softly and when Callum opened his mouth to speak again Mac lifted a hand. "Senator Arlington was assassinated tonight. His wife with him."

Callum's head jerked toward the innocently sleeping child and he felt his gut clench painfully at the thought that she, especially she, would lose her mother and clearly beloved father on Christmas Eve.

"She was here for her safety," Mac continued and Callum's eyes cut back to him as he carried on, "You were here for it as well."

"I ndash;" Callum started, surprised at this announcement and getting pretty f**king tired of surprises.

Mac got closer. "It was a test."

Callum's jaw grew tight.

He had endured a fair few of his father's tests in his very long life.

He watched Mac look back down at the girl with an infinitely gentle expression and he knew his father wasn't finished.

He wasn't wrong.

When Mac's eyes came back to Callum, he went on, "As ever, you passed," Callum watched his father smile and something oddly joyous shone in his eyes before he murmured, "And so did she."

"Would you like to tell me what you're on about?" Callum suggested.

Mac didn't hesitate. "Tonight, my son, the connection has begun."

Callum felt his body go solid before his eyes sliced down to the girl.

He looked again to his father, his voice coated in angry disbelief. "She's human."

Mac took in a breath through his nose, hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it then opened it again to say, "She is."

"I can't be connected to a human," Callum clipped.

"The oracle has spoken," his father declared.

Callum heard his brethren pull in shocked breaths.

Mac moved even closer and his voice grew lower when he asked, "You felt it?"

Bloody hell.

He felt it.

It was bigger than him, bigger than his brethren, bigger and more important than anything.

He'd die for her.

She was in a very important sense, his reason for being.

Hell, he'd even moved to protect her against his own father, a wolf he knew wouldn't harm a living soul unless forced to do it.

"Fuck!" he bit out.

"She'll be protected until the time is right," Mac assured.

Callum narrowed his gaze on him and growled, "She bloody better be."

Mac glanced to the side. "Ryon, see to it, our best men."

"But, Mac, we can't ndash;" Ryon began and Callum watched his father's eyes narrow.

"See to it," Mac ordered.

"We're at war!" Ryon hissed. "We need every brother we have. We can't afford ndash;"

Mac cut Ryon off by repeating, "See to it."

Callum watched his brethren shift and glance at each other.

Then their gazes moved back to him with dawning realization.

Callum had the same thought they did and he felt his body grow tight.

He looked back to Mac and asked with extreme unease, "She's my queen?"

He watched his father nod and anguish tore through him but he didn't allow it to show, instead, he lifted his chin.

"When?" he demanded to know.

"It matters not," Mac replied.

"You're my father and you're my king, it f**king matters that you're soon to die," Callum ground out.

Mac didn't answer.

Callum leaned forward. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I have my reasons," Mac responded.

Jesus but Mac could be mysterious and in the three hundred fifty years of his life it never failed to piss Callum off.

"Mac ndash;" Callum began but his father lifted his hand and placed it on Callum's shoulder.

"We're at war and this war will not end under my reign. You and she," he glanced down at the girl before his eyes moved back to his son. "Will lead our people to peace."

Callum didn't know what he was feeling because there was too much to feel.

What he did know was that he didn't like any of it.

His eyes leveled on his father's and he promised, "If they bring you down, it'll be a f**king bloody peace and only on my f**king terms."

Mac leaned close as his fingers tightened on Callum's arm.

Then he whispered in his son's ear, "I'm counting on that."

Chapter One

Clear

Sonia Arlington walked through her store and switched off the many Christmas lights decorating the space.

She loved Christmas.

She couldn't help it. Her mother and father had both loved Christmas. They made it so special that the ones she remembered made the season one she always looked forward to even though her parents died during it.

She adjusted her fluffy, white scarf around her neck, pulled the white knit cap down over her ears and transferred her dove gray suede gloves to one hand, pulling the strap of her matching stylish suede handbag more securely over her shoulder.

She took one last look at her shop, called Clear because everything she sold in it was either clear, silver, gray or white. Everything. Furniture, clothing (though the clothes were never clear, of course), candles, jewelry, knickknacks, everything.

She loved her shop almost as much as Christmas.

Yuri wondered (aloud and often) why she bothered to work. He thought she was crazy, considering she had her father and mother's millions of dollars "festering" (his word) in different accounts.

Sonia couldn't imagine not working. What on earth would she do if she didn't work?

She knew what Yuri wanted her to do.

She loved Yuri but she still wrinkled her nose at the thought, pressed the code into the alarm panel and quickly exited, locking the three locks to the front door.

Then she turned toward home.

It was four blocks away. She was wearing dove gray suede, stiletto-heeled boots and it had snowed that day. She walked the oft-not-shoveled sidewalks with a grace akin to a model on a catwalk.

This, her father would have said (if he'd lived to see her wearing heels and, of course, walking through the snow in them), was one of her special abilities.

She had many. All of which, her father told her, time and time (and time) again, were exceptional.

She was, her father told her, gifted.

Extremely gifted.

And for this, he explained, time and time (and time) again, she should be proud.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 4​

Very proud.

But, even so, she could never tell anyone about them.

Never.

Anyone.

So she hadn't.

As she crossed the street from the first block to the second, she felt it.

And smelled it.

These, too, were part of her gifts.

She sensed things. Strange things. Eyes on her. A presence. Mostly benign but recently (and upsettingly) there were some that seemed menacing. And she smelled things. Lots of things. Things others didn't smell.

It was out there. She sensed its presence, smelled its smell. It was benign. It was even pleasant (immensely so), attractive (that was immensely so too) and it was familiar.

Very familiar.

She sifted through her memory banks but she couldn't find it.

Whatever it was, she knew it wouldn't hurt her.

In fact, she had the strange, strong desire to seek it out, to turn to it ndash; even to run to it.

Even though this urge was powerful (and surprising, she'd never felt anything like that before), she didn't let on she sensed it. To do so would let it know she could feel it, which she could not do.

Her father had told her, repeatedly, she was special, exceptional and gifted. But without him telling her that for the last thirty-one years and knowing no one around her shared her "special" talents, she'd settled into the knowledge that she wasn't special, exceptional and gifted. Instead, she was just strange.

Even bizarre.

Definitely weird.

And that was not a nice thing to know about yourself.

The presence was moving with her, tracking her and she ignored it as she did the many others she'd felt throughout her life (or, more precisely, since her parents' deaths) as she carried on home. Then she saw her little farmhouse on its corner and smiled to herself. The sight of her home and the peace she always felt when she saw it allowed her to be able to set the alarmingly alluring sensation firmly aside.

Gregor (and Yuri), had both gone nuts when she bought her farmhouse. Well, not nuts, they were too polished to go nuts, but they definitely disapproved. Firstly, because, even though a rather nice (if colorful) residential area of the city had sprung up around it, it was a simple farmhouse. Sonia Arlington (as they told her repeatedly), did not reside in something as common as a farmhouse.

Secondly, because when she bought it, it was a wreck.

Luckily, Sonia was loaded. Therefore, she'd had it fixed up.

She walked up the steps and unlocked her door. The alarm beeped when she entered and she punched in the code. She dropped her purse on the chest in the entryway and, through the dark, she went directly to the plugs that would turn on her Christmas lights. Then she plugged them in, all of them and there were many, on both floors.

As she did so, the inside and outside of her farmhouse lit up and she didn't have to look at it to know it was perfect. Just as if it had been decorated for a magazine (which, it had, her house was always photographed for the city's monthly magazine, every year at Christmas, twice it had even made the cover).

Sonia would have preferred to decorate herself but, even though in her early years at her house she'd tried, she'd never had a flair for it and it always turned out wonky.

Her mother had had a flair for it. Cherise Arlington was the Master Christmas Decorator. Therefore, Sonia could not abide her own wonky efforts.

So she hired designers every year to come and decorate her house.

And it was always beautiful.

She walked straight back out the front door and down to her white picket fence to get her mail from the box that was fitted to the gatepost.

"Hey Miz Arlington!" she heard called from her side.

She turned to see the Lanigans getting into their mini-van, their two young boys, Jed and Jake, both standing outside and waving at her.

She'd known they were there, of course. She'd heard their feet in the snow Jay Lanigan had not (and would not, because it was football season and Jay Lanigan didn't do much of anything during football season) shoveled from their drive. She'd also smelled the scent of their skin and hair. But as they were several doors down, she didn't turn to them. To do so might expose her secret and Sonia guarded against that every second of her life.

"Hey there!" she called back, feigning surprise and waving then she saw Joanne Lanigan round the hood of the van. "Ready for Christmas, Jo?" she called.

"If you're ready for Christmas, I'll shoot you!" Jo yelled back with a smile in her shout. "It's weeks away."

Sonia was ready in September. That was how much she loved Christmas. She planned for it all year.

"A few more things to do," Sonia lied.

"Right," Jo shouted. "We got your card today. The first one every year."

Sonia shrugged even though they couldn't see her however she could see them, clear as day. Her night vision, another gift, was perfect. "I'm organized and don't have a full-time job, two boys and a husband who disappears when it's football season!" Sonia replied loudly.

"Hey! I heard that!" Jay shouted from the other side of the van.

"Good!" Jo replied. "Then maybe you'll notice the neighbors see me taking out the stinking trash from September to January. Yeesh!"

Sonia chuckled to herself as she pulled her mail out of the box, turned to her neighbors and called, "Be safe, Jay, it's supposed to snow again."

"Always!" Jay called back, not affronted by Sonia's comment.

He wouldn't be. Sonia was a great neighbor. She watched their house when they were away including walking their completely out-of-control dogs, which was why no one but Sonia would watch their house (or dogs). She regularly babysat the boys. She threw fantastic barbeques during the summer. And she had a catered Christmas party that was so spectacular, the entire neighborhood waited with bated breath to receive their invitation and turned out for it. They did this even if they were invalid. She knew this because another of Sonia's neighbors had broken one leg and the other ankle falling off the ladder while fixing Christmas lights to his house and he'd still rented a wheelchair and wheeled himself to her place for her party.

Sonia waved the Lanigans away and then turned to her house.

The picket fence surrounding her property and the porch that ran two sides of the house and had a white railing were dripping with greenery, clear lights sparkling in their bows, white poinsettias affixed to the points of the drapes. Two little white sleighs filled with white poinsettias and lined with twinkling lights sat at angles pointing in at the top of the stairs. Single candles shown in every window on all sides. More greenery, lights and poinsettias were draped around the faux widow's walk on the roof. A tall, wide, fabulous real fir tree, dressed to perfection and lit with an abundance of glimmering lights, stood in the window.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 5​

She sighed at the sight, as she did every day from the minute it was decorated. Always returning home, turning the lights on then walking back out to get her mail so she could witness it and let the season shine down on her.

With regret, she reentered her house, took off her hat and gloves and carefully placed them tidily in the chest by the door. She hung her scarf on the hooks at the other side of her entryway with her coat.

She walked into her house, shuffling the post (mainly catalogues) in her fingers.

The inside of her house was decorated in a way that Gregor and Yuri approved but she'd done it only so they'd be quiet about it.

It wasn't comfortable, countrified, farmhouse splendor.

Once you stepped through the wide entryway, the whole of the downstairs was one room, the walls torn down to make it open plan. Left and right were seating areas, fireplaces on each side, their mantels festooned with Christmas cheer. The back left was a dining room with another fireplace, ditto the Christmas festooning. The kitchen was behind the right area. No festooning in the kitchen but she did have Christmas kitchen towels and pot holders and red and green plastic ended pancake turners (which she never used as she didn't eat pancakes) sticking out of her utensil crock. The red one had a turner the shape of a bell and the green one had a turner the shape of a snowman.

The walls all around were painted in coordinating tranquil light colors of seafoam (left seating area), green (right seating area) and blue (dining room and kitchen). The kitchen was state-of-the-art. The furniture was sleek, modern and, most especially, expensive and elegant. The minimal décor was carefully chosen to augment the furniture and paint.

It looked almost like her store Clear but with subtle hints of color.

Sonia loved Clear.

She detested her décor.

But she detested Gregor and Yuri complaining even more so she'd given in, which was once in enumerable times in her life that she'd done so since Gregor had become her guardian after her mother and father died.

She went to the kitchen and threw the mail on the counter. Without taking off her high-heeled boots, she poached a piece of fish, boiled some brown rice and steamed some vegetables.

She ate it standing up at her counter, thinking it tasted of nothing.

Bland and well, just bland.

Sonia loved food. Too much. In her teens, she'd started to put on weight, Gregor had noticed and commented, often.

This was a problem. Considering, even as active as she was as a child, she'd always been slightly plump. And even as careful as she was now, and she was obsessively careful with diet and exercise, she was curvy and nothing she did shifted a centimeter off her bottom or her br**sts, no matter what it was. And Sonia had tried everything.

Therefore, for Gregor and her own peace of mind (because Gregor could shatter it, something he did with great regularity) she was careful with her food and, once she became an adult, her drink.

She stood at her counter eating and flipping through catalogues, carefully folding down corners if she saw something she wanted to buy for Christmas for a friend, a neighbor or one of her shop girls. Next year, of course, as her Christmas shopping was well since done and wrapped for this year.

Once she was done eating, she tidied everything away and went to her office upstairs to check her e-mail and her Facebook page. She didn't change her status. She never did. She had few friends on Facebook because she had few friends at all. This was because she knew was weird, not because people didn't like her.

Then, as it was Friday and the cleaning lady came on Fridays and the house seemed fresh and lovely (and because she always did it on Fridays), she drew herself a bath.

Fridays meant facial, manicure and pedicure.

Every Friday.

Without fail.

Unless, of course, she had an appointment at a spa to have this done on a Saturday, which she also did, once a month.

This was because Sonia didn't have friends who she went out to drinks with (very often) and Sonia didn't date (anymore).

To get close to anyone, spend more than a small amount of time with them, meant they'd notice her gifts.

No matter how careful she could be, she'd always slip up. Friends or boyfriends had noticed in the past and it had been uncomfortable (to say the least).

So, Sonia Arlington spent most of her time alone.

Considering she was social, very social, this meant that Sonia Arlington spent most of her time lonesome.

As the bath was filling, she took off her clothes and put them away. She rubbed an exfoliating mask on her face and shaved her legs.

As her mostly-white, very clean bathroom filled with the fragrance of lavender coming from the salts in the bath, Sonia carefully body brushed every inch of her skin, even her back, with a handled brush. She settled in the bath and went through her extensive regime of different face masks, shampooing and deep conditioning her hair as she relaxed.

After, she alighted from the bath, toweled off briskly and donned her robe. Then she gave herself a manicure and pedicure.

All of this was done with practiced ease and precision.

When finished, she went to her medicine cabinet and pulled out the injection.

She had an extremely rare blood disorder inherited from her father. Every night of her life (and Gregor had done it until she was eleven when he patiently taught her how to do it herself), she took the injection.

She hated them but as her father told her, again, many a time, she could die without them.

She'd once, as a rebellion during her early teens, stopped taking them. This she hid from Gregor. He would have been livid if he'd known. He was very careful with her injections and was just as adamant as her father that she take them every day without fail.

When she didn't, it was a mistake.

Two days after she stopped, while she was in bed asleep, she woke having the strange, terrifying sensation she was coming out of her skin.

Seriously.

As if, at any second, her tingling skin would split and she'd boil straight out of it, her blood felt that hot. She could feel it, every last cell of blood, boiling through her veins.

She'd crawled to the bathroom, so immense was the pain, to give herself the injection and, like now, as the needle pierced the flesh of her right buttock, she felt the injection invade.

There was no other way to put it. Just like the boiling of blood cells she'd felt that awful night, the injection invaded. Searing through her system, down to the ends of her toes, up, around and down to her fingertips, up through her scalp and out, even to the ends of her hair.

But this sensation only lasted minutes. Unlike that night where she'd fought it for hours before giving in.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 6​

As usual, when the burn ended, she clutched the basin, took deep breaths and gave her system several long moments to settle. The she disposed of the needle in a small sharps container and walked to her bedroom.

Gregor nor Yuri, although he'd very, very (very) much like to, had ever seen her bedroom.

This was because it was not sleek, modern and elegant.

It was comfortable, countrified, farmhouse splendor.

Mismatched, homey furniture. A colorful wedding ring quilt on the bed. Scalloped shams on the pillows. Vibrantly colored braided rugs. A poofy dust ruffle and even poofier shades in the dormer windows which had even poofier pads on the seats.

Her bedroom was beautiful and she adored it, more than Clear, more even than Christmas.

Because it reminded her of home.

Not the elegant townhome she shared with her socialite mother and United States Senator father in DC when her father was at work. Or their gracious, rambling home in that very city.

Their real home.

The cabin in the mountains.

She glanced around her room and saw, amongst her plethora of toss pillows in the middle of the bed, her wolf. Like her Christmas lights did, every night, all year long, the sight of her wolf made her smile.

Her father had it made for her and given it to her the first Christmas she could remember.

She was two.

And she slept with it every night since she was two.

It was a stuffed animal the exact replica of her wolf, the one who had, very unfortunately, died the same night as her parents.

She'd known it was her wolf the minute she'd seen him (she did have a stuffed animal to prove this fact).

And she'd loved him with an inexplicable and unfathomable depth from the moment her eyes fell upon him.

Even though he'd died, he'd never left her, not once, not in all these years.

She knew this because he came to her in her dreams.

She turned her head and saw in the corner her Christmas tree. It was smaller and not perfectly decorated. The multi-colored lights were wonky because she put them on. The decorations didn't match because they came from her mother and father's belongings of which she had practically nothing. This was because Gregor had sold them, given them away or tossed them out with a thoroughness that was astonishing. Therefore, she truly had nothing but those decorations. They were the decorations her parents bought during their marriage, were given by friends or had taken from their childhood homes. They were the decorations that hung on the tree in their beloved cabin, long since destroyed in a forest fire (yet another precious thing Sonia had lost).

Over the years, because she figured her parents would want her to do so, Sonia had added sweet but mismatched decorations that she'd found and fallen in love with. All of which were far from perfect but definitely perfect on her tree.

It was this tree she sat beside alone every Christmas morning and opened the presents friends and neighbors had given her.

This was her real tree.

She turned on the lights of the tree and the one by her bed. She carefully moisturized her face (so as not to destroy her manicure) and lay on the covers (so as not to destroy her pedicure) and read until her nails were dry and she was sleepy.

She then, as she did every night without fail, rubbed lotion into her feet then a different lotion on her hands and finally almond oil into her cuticles.

She turned out the bedside light. Her gaze went to her little Christmas tree and again, this time with a deep contentment, Sonia sighed.

This was her absolute, most favorite time of year.

Because every night, from the day after Thanksgiving until the day after New Years, she'd sleep in a room bathed in Christmas lights.

And she'd remember a time, long ago, when she was loved.

* * * * *

She opened her eyes and saw her "puppy" standing by her bed.

In her dreams since the night her parents died, she'd see him standing beside her bed, staring at her with his intelligent tawny eyes. But she knew in her heart he was there to look after her, to keep her company, to keep her safe, to protect her.

Not every night (regrettably) but most nights after her parents died.

Over the years these nights came fewer then fewer, until now he only came a few times a year.

But always, one of those times was around Christmas.

"Hello puppy," she whispered in her dream.

He sat, so huge was her puppy and he appeared somehow regal.

She grinned at him.

He watched her.

"Is my handsome wolf coming tonight?" she asked.

Her "handsome wolf" had started coming later, years later, when she was in her late teens.

He was an entirely different kind of dream.

She hated to admit it because she loved her puppy, but she liked those dreams even better.

Her puppy growled.

Sonia blinked, slowly, dreamily.

When her eyes opened, her handsome wolf was there, she felt him.

The covers slid down her body, she turned, looked up and saw him.

God, he was handsome.

And he was huge.

His na**d body slid in bed beside her, mostly on her, and she took his warmth and his immense weight gladly.

She looked in his clear, blue eyes.

"Hi," she breathed.

He smiled.

God, he had a great smile.

Her arm wrapped around him as her other hand went up, as it always did, to touch his beautiful face. Her fingertips in his thick hair, her thumb glided along his dark eyebrow then down, over this sharp cheekbone then down, along his full bottom lip.

She watched, fascinated (no matter how many times she saw it) as the tawny spikes shot out of his pupils and the normal sky blue color of his irises was forced out and the warm, glittering, deliciously hungry tiger's eye took over.

She lifted her head from the pillow and placed her mouth against his. "Where have you been, my handsome wolf?"

His tongue glided along her lower lip.

Sonia shivered and opened her legs so his h*ps could fall through.

This was, mostly, an invitation.

It was also so she could wrap him lovingly, protectively in her limbs.

She heard him growl as she felt it against her mouth.

She shivered again.

Then, his deep voice rough with approval, he said, "Always in heat, my little one."

"Only for you," she whispered, her breath catching, her heart racing, her skin warming.

She didn't need him to touch her, kiss her, anything.

He just needed to be near and she was ready for him.

"What do you want?" his voice rumbled, his h*ps pressing. She could feel the promise of him and she couldhellip; nothellip; wait.

"You, inside me," she answered.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 7​

"Just like that?" he teased.

"You've been gone a while," she told him and arched her back. "I missed you."

She watched close up as his face gentled before he murmured, "Baby doll."

She loved it when he referred to her as "little one" because, at five foot nine (and three quarters) she was far from little.

But she loved it even better when he called her "baby doll".

She pressed her lips against his, tightened her limbs around his body, lifted her h*ps into his, dug her nails into the muscles of his back and begged, "Please, my handsome wolf, f**k ndash;"

She didn't finish, his h*ps reared back, her breath caught in thrilling anticipation and she waited for his invasion.

* * * * *

Sonia's eyes opened.

"Damn!" she snapped softly into the night.

Always, right before the good stuff happened, she'd wake up.

And always, when she woke up, she was hot and bothered.

Immensely so.

Frustratingly so.

Unless she did something about it, which she always did.

She turned to her nightstand, took out her toy, touched the button and slid it between her legs.

Her neck arched, her body tightened and not long later, her mind filled with visions of her handsome wolf, she made herself come.

It was nowhere near as good as her dream even as frustratingly short as her dream always was.

But it was all she was going to get.

Her "puppy" was dead and her "handsome wolf" didn't exist in the real world (alas) so her toy was all she had.

For some reason that night this upset her more than it usually did.

She put her toy away, got out of bed and padded to her window seat to look out into the dark.

"I need a dog," she told the window.

And she did. She'd always wanted one, even as a child. Her father had actually bought her one that last Christmas and he and her mother were on their way to pick it up when they got into the accident. But after they'd been killed, Gregor, not wanting the animal in his home, had given the dog away.

A dog wouldn't think she was weird because she could see better, hear better, smell better and sense things. A dog wouldn't care just as long as she fed it, pet it and threw a Frisbee for it.

"That's it," she told the window, "I'm getting a ndash;"

She stopped, her body froze but her head jerked around to look toward the door.

Someone was in her house.

She jumped up and ran to the bedside table, yanking her phone from its cradle.

She'd pressed the nine and the one before they were on her.

This stunned her.

When she'd sensed them, they'd only just breached the door and her alarm didn't go off. She knew no one who could move that fast and that silently while at the same time disabling an alarm.

One hand at her mouth and one arm around her waist, she was swung around, her legs flying wide and she dropped the phone.

Instinctively, her fingers formed a claw and she scratched the arm holding her waist. She felt her long, strong nails (she religiously took a cocktail of vitamins every morning and this gave her shining hair and fast-growing, strong nails, that, in that particular moment, she was deliriously happy for) digging in deep.

She heard his inhuman howl and she was tossed away with such force she flew across the room, literally right through the air, and slammed into the wall.

She fell to the floor and didn't hesitate. She surged up already on the run.

She was tagged within seconds. Her wrist caught, she was whirled sharply, the tug at her arm causing her to feel an acute, intense pain up her arm and along her shoulder. She had no time to cry out, her arm was wrapped around her front, her other wrist caught and pulled forward as well. Her attacker, she noted distractedly, was huge and had enormous hands, holding both wrists tight at her front with little effort while his other hand went to cover her mouth.

His lips came to her ear.

"Play nice, queenie," he ordered.

"Jesus, f**king, God, she's a goddamn wildcat," the other swore from behind them.

Their smell hit Sonia then.

She'd smelled them before.

They'd tracked her before. They were the menacing ones.

But they'd always kept a distance. Now, obviously, there was nothing distant about them and this made terror slice through her.

He held her easily. His strength was hard to miss. She was kicking out with her heels, connecting with his shins and he didn't even so much as grunt.

He could snap her neck in an instant, she knew it. How she knew it, she couldn't say, she just did.

Still, she fought his hold and only stopped when she noticed what he was doing.

Her body went solid.

He was sniffing her.

Sniffing her.

She held her breath.

"Fuck, do you f**king smell her?" he asked against her neck, his arms tightening painfully.

She felt his comrade get close but she heard him pull in breath through his nose.

Then his friend muttered, "Jesus."

"You touch yourself tonight, queenie?" her captor asked, his voice a leer.

Her body jerked with surprise.

Oh my God, she thought hysterically, they're like me.

"Sure she did." The other got close, bending from his enormous height to peer in her face. "She doesn't smell like that normally. I would have noticed."

For some strange reason, her captor was rubbing his temple against her neck, her jaw, her cheek. "Christ, I'm getting hard."

"What do you think?" his friend asked, getting closer, his voice dropping, becoming ugly with greed. "Will we get medals, promotions, or both, we do her before the king can claim her?"

Sonia's body locked tight as fear froze every muscle.

"Both," her captor muttered, his hand moving from her mouth, down her neck, her chest, his aim unmistakable as he continued, "Me first."

She opened her mouth to scream. Her captor's friend's hand shot toward her face and she gave an almighty heave to get loose when they heard the thundering, unbelievably terrifying howl.

Everyone froze but Sonia's eyes shot to the door.

The man from her dream stood there.

She gasped.

Then he moved, dropped down and crouched low on both legs and not even a second passed before he surged uphellip;

And the man was gone but, suddenly ndash; she could not believe her eyes ndash; her wolf, alive and snarling, was flying across the room.

He landed on her captor's colleague who went down with a wounded yelp.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 8​

Sonia, thinking vaguely that her fear was making her hallucinate, got one chance to look and saw a spray of blood spurting across the room before she was tossed again.

She flew through the air and fell down, the back of her head slamming against the corner of her bedside table. She felt a brief moment of pain and she heard a vicious snarl at the same time she could have sworn she heard the tearing of flesh.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Two

The Throne

Ryon walked into the throne room of the Territorial Mansion and he felt his jaw grow tight.

Desdemona sat on the throne on the dais, her dark, gleaming hair around her shoulders, her face fully made up, an honor guard of twelve flanking the back of the throne and down the steps of the dais.

She, at least, was smart enough to know if she wanted to try something it would take at least thirteen of them to bring him low.

However, she wasn't smart enough not to appear unaware of their surprise visit.

Or there was the distinct possibility she was still panting for the opportunity to see Callum and she'd hastily thrown this circus together for his benefit.

Fuck, Ryon had called her only a half an hour before and she'd managed to pull together this show.

Stupid bitch.

He barely got two steps in the room before the entire guard dropped to a knee, fell forward on a hand and gazed at him, heads up.

Much more slowly, Desdemona gracefully alighted from the chair and she took her time moving a step to her left before she fell into the same ceremonial bow.

Ryon hadn't seen her in years and she hadn't changed. Haughty because of her high birth, conceited because of her extreme beauty and stupid because she just plain was.

She was lucky it was Ryon moving toward her. If Callum had seen that demonstration, he'd have her head and deserve it.

He might have it anyway and deserve it more.

Desdemona, daughter of Titium and Governor of the Western Territories of the Americas was about to learn that King Callum was not, at all, like the patient, generous, benevolent King McDonagh was.

Without a word, he walked up the steps of the dais, sat in the throne and muttered, "Rise."

The guard and Desdemona took their feet.

She stepped down two steps and turned to him.

"Ryon," she greeted familiarly and with anyone else but her, because he didn't like her and with what was happening in her territory, Ryon might have allowed it.

Instead, he sensed the eyes of the guard, he'd never liked Mona and he knew the state of her territory therefore he clipped, "You forget yourself, Governor."

He watched as her face grew pale, her mouth set hard and her eyes flashed.

Jesus, she was stupid.

He should strike her.

He didn't. He wanted her brain functioning properly when he had a go at her.

He watched as she bowed her head and murmured, "Your grace."

He let go her silent rebellion, threw his hand out and commented, "This is impressive. Half an hour ago, you didn't know of the king's imminent arrival."

"We're ever ready in the Western Territory, your grace," Desdemona replied.

Bullshit, she knew they were coming.

That was why they'd moved on the queen.

Could the bitch be more stupid?

"Where is he, I mean," she hesitated before finishing, "the king?"

Ryon surveyed her.

Yes, she could be more stupid. Because there was a chance she didn't even know about the queen and even as those in her territory conspired to break the treaty, she couldn't hide her eagerness to see Cal.

She was, quite plainly, gagging for it.

In fact, there was a more than mild possibility she'd orchestrated this fiasco in order to get it.

If she wasn't involved in the conspiracy, this grand show was entirely for Cal.

Jesus, Cal must be a master of his own dick to inspire this kind of devotion. He'd finished the messy business with Desdemona over a hundred years ago and she still wasn't over him.

"He's collecting his queen," Ryon answered bluntly, exposing knowledge that had been, for thirty-one years, treated as the most crucially held state secret.

Every last guard pulled in breath and even Desdemona gasped.

All right then, perhaps she didn't know.

"The queen is in my territory?" she asked, her voice breathy and irate, not even attempting to hide her displeasure. Anyone else would find that knowledge an unreserved honor even if they knew the queen was human.

"Yes," Ryon replied.

"I don't believe it," she whispered.

"Believe it, Mona," Ryon returned sharply. "And while you're wrapping your mind around that you better pray he gets to her before the men who were dispatched to kidnap her do."

Her body jolted and the air in the room got thick.

Finally, the bitch was smart enough to know fear and she definitely knew Cal enough to know that fear was warranted.

She leaned forward and her face was even paler, her eyes betraying her fear but her voice was angry. "No one in my territory would dream of moving on the queen."

"They would and they did. We received word eleven hours ago they were taking her tonight. That's why we're here," Ryon informed her.

"That's impossible," she snapped.

Ryon's head suddenly tilted to the side and he took in a breath through his nose.

Cal was there.

As were his warriors.

He also had his queen with him.

He wouldn't have her if she hadn't been under threat.

The mating ceremony wasn't to commence until a year in the future. Cal was supposed to begin their regular, human courtship in a few weeks at her annual Christmas party. He was to pose as the guest of a neighbor, a wolf who'd been planted in a house across from hers years ago.

This was something Ryon had talked him into doing. Cal wanted just to grab her, as was his due. Ryon, on the other hand, had been reading reports on her as well as watching her himself for thirty-one years.

Sonia Arlington needed to be courted. As a human, she'd expect it.

But being all she was, she deserved it.

It took Ryon a while to talk Cal around most especially since his father's death Cal had been reading the reports on her as well as getting the pictures. And, because of this, not to mention the simple fact that she was his mate, Cal was growing impatient.

Very impatient.

But, apparently, Cal's hand had been forced and the treaty broken.

This meant war.

Desdemona's head jerked toward the door. She sensed it too.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 9​

"Impossible, Mona?" Ryon asked quietly and he watched as she slowly turned to face him, her throat moving convulsively.

Yes, Mona, youhellip; arehellip; fucked, Ryon thought as he rose from the throne and stepped to its right side.

The next second, Cal came through the door.

Ryon felt his jaw get tight again upon seeing Sonia, wrapped in a blanket, held unconscious in Cal's arms.

The guard and Desdemona, without delay, dropped to their knee, forward on their hand but, in the presence of their king, they bowed their heads toward the floor.

Ryon didn't drop to his knee.

He was not only a duke. He was not only Cal's cousin. He was not only born precisely one year after Cal (to the very hour, a significant happenstance in the brotherhood). But his blood had mingled with Cal's on too many battlefields for Ryon to take a knee.

He'd done it once, after the king had fallen.

Cal had forbidden him ever to do it again.

Without looking at anyone but Ryon, Cal made his way to the throne.

Ryon felt a muscle jump in his jaw at the look of fury on his cousin's face.

Cal sat on the throne, gently arranging Sonia in his lap so she was close, her forehead tucked into his neck, her hand resting on his chest, her knees cocked and tucked into his side. His arms, finally, settled protectively around her.

Ryon had seen her many times since that night her mother and father were murdered. She was a pretty child.

She was a f**king amazing woman. If she wasn't destined queen, Ryon would have taken her to his bed.

And kept her there.

Until the day she died.

Cal was a lucky bastard.

"Rise," Cal ordered, his voice an angry rumble.

Desdemona rose slowly, her eyes carefully not looking at Sonia but also not looking at Cal.

Ryon didn't have time for Mona.

"Is she okay?" he asked his cousin, his eyes on Sonia.

"Ellington threw her across the room. She cracked her head, went unconscious. She was coming to but I sedated her for the drive to the cabin," Cal replied, his eyes never leaving Mona.

Ryon's eyes never left Sonia but his hands clenched into fists.

At this news that their soon-to-be queen had been manhandled, the air in the room again went thick. Or, Ryon could say, thicker.

Mona drew in breath.

Then she said something immensely stupid.

"She's human."

"She's your queen," Cal ground out and Mona took a step back, bowing her head while Cal went on. "Jesus, I will never f**king understand my father's decision about you," Cal gritted out and Mona's head bowed further as her shoulders drooped. "Tell me, Mona, how in the f**k could you let the treaty get broken in your territory?"

Mona lifted her head. "I had no ndash;"

Cal cut her off, "It happened."

Mona leaned forward. "But, your grace, I had no ndash;"

Cal interrupted her again, biting off every word. "In these tense times, it's your f**king job to monitor every goddamned wolf."

"But, Cal ndash;" she started plaintively and, without hesitation at her familiarity with her sovereign, Ryon started forward.

"Leave it, Ry," Cal clipped and Ryon stopped and looked back.

"I'm interrogating her personally," Ryon demanded and without looking at him Cal nodded.

"Interrogating me?" Desdemona asked, a tremor of fear shifting through her voice.

"Warriors are coming, Mona. Can't you hear them? For f**k's sake, do you ever pay attention?" Cal told her. Mona's head tilted and Ryon listened to the sounds of the takeover of the mansion. "The plot was hatched in these walls, Governor," Cal clipped. "By tomorrow night, we'll know who was involved."

The guard was shifting uncomfortably and Mona's mouth was opening and closing like a fish but Cal just rose from his throne, cradling Sonia. He started to stride from the room seconds before the doors opened and twenty warrior wolves, all of whom were chosen specifically by Cal as Cal's royal guard, advanced through.

They parted for Cal and Sonia as if they'd practiced it hundreds of times. Cal walked through the stream of warriors and exited the room.

Ryon looked at Magnum, the leader, and jerked his head to a visibly trembling Mona.

"She's mine," he ordered.

Then he left the room much like Cal in search of his lieutenant.

Chapter Three

The Cabin

Even though Sonia felt awake, she knew she couldn't be.

She was ultra warm and it felt like she was lying on one of those down mattress top thingies and Sonia didn't have one of those down mattress top thingies. But she was going to get one, it felt lush.

She also felt like she had a soft, fluffy but snugly, down comforter covering her as well as the softest sheets in the history of mankind shrouding her. Sonia owned a quilt, not a comforter and her sheets were soft but not this soft.

And lastly, she wasn't holding her stuffed wolf close to her chest and Sonia never slept without her stuffed wolf much to the chagrin of the very few lovers she'd had in her life.

She opened her eyes to assess her dream state and found she was definitely dreaming.

This she knew because she saw from her vantage point of head on a fluffy, down pillow (also not hers) that she was in her family's cabin and, as that cabin had been burnt to a cinder years and years ago, she had to be dreaming.

This was proved irrevocably when she heard a door open.

She tensed as she heard booted footsteps hit the floor. And she stared, not moving, as she watched an unbelievably tall man walk into the room.

All she saw was his back but she also saw that his hair was dark, thick and overlong. He was wearing one of those quilted, flannel shirts, his was a brown, gray and yellow plaid on a cream background. He also had on jeans and boots. She could see the tight, bulky muscle of his thigh through his jeans when he crouched by the fireplace and quietly arranged some logs with gloved hands on top of an already big pile there.

"I know you're awake," his deep voice sounded and she blinked.

She knew that voice and its strange accent. Not American, not Scottish, not English, not French, a beautiful mixture of all of them.

Her handsome wolf.

Yes, definitely dreaming.

But this one was new.

She'd never had it in her cabin before. It was always either in her bedroom or some dream room lit by firelight, a room she'd never been in but sensed, strangely, was home.

And it had never been this vivid.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 10​

She dreamed vivid dreams her whole life. It was another gift she had that she knew others didn't. Her dreams weren't weird or disjointed. They were clear, they told stories and she always remembered every second.

She liked this new dream.

"No, I'm not," she told his back as he laid down the last log. "I'm dreaming."

He rose, turned and she sucked in dream breath.

God, he was handsome.

She loved every plane and angle on his face and there were lots of them and there was lots to love. He was, put simply, beautiful.

Dark eyebrows, sky blue eyes, strong jaw, interesting nose, full bottom lip.

He could, she noted with surprise, use a shave. He'd never been stubbly in any of her other dreams. With the thick, dark growth on his face, he looked like he hadn't shaved in days.

She'd never been one for facial hair but on him she liked it.

She tore her eyes from his face and noticed he had on a dark gray, thermal henley under the flannel.

And he had on a great, black belt with a heavy buckle.

His outdoorsy outfit, not usually Sonia's thing, was delicious, especially on that big, muscular, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged body.

Hell, if he was real and lived in a real cabin in the mountains and one woman caught sight of him, it would be all over. Word would get out and women would be crawling all over this place like ants on the remains of a melted, fallen snow cone.

He was watching her enquiringly, so she got up on an elbow and called softly, "Why are you all the way over there, my handsome wolf?"

At her words, his brows drew together and it was a decidedly ominous look.

Sonia stared at him.

He'd never looked even close to ominous in any of her other dreams.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice strangely low and not-so-strangely (given the look) ominous.

She decided to go with it. He was always somewhat teasing and often even playful in her dreams.

"You heard me, wolf."

He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a chair as he strode toward her.

Sonia watched him.

His grace was astonishing. He'd always been close to her bed when she dreamed of him. She'd only ever felt him join her there. She'd never seen him move.

He looked good when he moved.

Boy, she loved this new dream.

He stopped to tower over the bed and she dropped to her back to look up at him.

"I'm liking this dream," she informed him on a grin.

He sat beside her on the bed, his brows still drawn.

"Sonia, you aren't dreaming," he told her.

She put her hand to his forearm and tugged it toward her while saying through her grin, "Right."

He leaned forward so both of his hands were in the bed at her sides and he replied gently, "Right, little one. You're awake, this isn't a dream." His blue eyes moved over her face before he asked, "Do you feel okay?"

"I feel great," she answered. Though she had to admit, even though it was weird in a dream, that her head hurt a little and she felt kind of groggy, like she'd slept a bit too long.

His hand came up and he placed it at the side of her head. It was so big it nearly covered the entire area.

His thumb smoothed over her eyebrow but his eyes never left hers.

"You called me lsquo;wolf'," he stated softly.

She didn't reply. She sat up, dislodging his hand, her body getting closer to his, her face getting closer to his. His body, she felt, went solid but she ignored that too and placed her hand on the side of his face.

"I get to do the touching," she told him, as if he didn't know.

She touched his face in her dream.

Always.

She did it again, fingertips in his thick hair, thumb gliding along his brow, down across his sharp cheekbone then over his full lower lip.

"Sonia." His mouth moved against her thumb. She lifted her gaze from his lips to his eyes, which were searching but had not gone tawny (alas). "Does this mean you feel it?"

She nodded.

Oh, she felt it all right. She always felt it in her dream.

And she hoped this dream, which was not only sharper, clearer and more vivid than any of her other dreams but was also lasting a lot longer, would not end in her reaching toward the nightstand.

He smiled.

She sucked in breath.

God, she loved, loved, loved his smile.

"You feel it," he murmured, his deep voice deeper, so much so it was almost a physical thing and he looked really, really, really pleased about something.

It was a good look.

And the depth of his voice was an excellent depth.

She got closer and placed her hands on his broad shoulders, put her mouth to his and, her eyes never leaving his own, demanded, "Are you going to kiss me, wolf, or what?"

She watched with great anticipation as the tiger's eye shot from his pupils and erased the blue of the iris.

She'd never seen the gold obliterate the blue so fast.

But she knew what that meant.

Then his arm sliced around her, his h*ps and legs shifted and his heat and colossal weight were pinning her to the bed.

Finally!

Then something weird happened.

He didn't tease her.

He didn't let her wrap her limbs around him.

He didn't wait for her invitation.

He slanted his head and he kissed her.

Ho.

Lee.

Cow!

Sonia absolutely loved this dream!

Her mouth opened under his and that was it.

Explosion.

Not gentle.

Huge.

And consuming.

She was wrong. He didn't need just to be there for her to be ready for him.

His kiss, his unbelievably amazing kiss, sent her from aroused at his presence to burning for his invasion.

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, hoping to all that was holy that he felt the same beautiful explosion.

He had to, for the minute her tongue sparred with his, his growl filled her mouth and was so intense it traveled down her throat.

That felt even better.

She arched against him and moaned right back.

His arms circled her and he rolled, taking her with him, her on top, his hands going into her hair at the sides of her head, holding it away from their faces but there was so much of it, it tumbled down all around them.

And he kept kissing her and Sonia hoped this dream and his kiss never ended.

Ever.

His knee came up, her legs parted, one thigh falling between his and his cocked leg landed tight against the heat of her.

Sonia's head jerked back, her mouth slowly opening in a silent moan as she felt it. The tight, hard muscle pressing powerfully against her most sensitive part.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 11​

Good goodness, she nearly came.

Just with that.

She heard another growl, it seemed far away (but was very close) and he rolled again, this time into her. She took that opportunity to kiss him again and slide herself against his hard, jeans clad thigh.

Shivers of fire shafted through her and she clutched onto his shirt like she was never letting go.

His arms tightened around her but his mouth tore from hers and he growled, "Fucking hell, baby doll."

"Don't stop," she begged, her voice sounding desperate because she was desperate, the dream could end at any minute. Her hand went into his hair to force his lips back to hers. "Please, don't stop or the dream will end."

She felt his body still and her insistent hand in his hair was getting her nowhere.

She opened her eyes and saw he was watching her.

"Don't stop," she pleaded.

"Sonia ndash;"

The hand not at his head roamed, down, down, to drift over his behind. "I don't want the dream to ndash;"

She didn't finish speaking because she heard a cell phone ringing just as she felt it vibrate against her hand.

Dreams didn't have phones ringing.

Or, they did, but only to wake you up.

She waited.

It kept ringing.

It kept vibrating.

Sunlight, his warm hard body, his tight, strong arms, his heavy weight and that damn phone vibrating against her hand all intruded.

She wasn't dreaming.

Sonia's eyes, still locked with his, widened.

Memories flooded.

The intruders the night before.

Then he was there.

Then, her puppy.

No, that couldn't be right, she was hallucinating.

But something had happened because he was right there.

How could she forget last night?

With a fearful noise escaping her throat, violently she tore from his arms and jumped from the bed.

Stopping several feet away, she whirled to stare at him.

Her dream man.

Now up on a forearm watching her closely from a bed in her parents' cabin.

"This isn't a dream," she whispered.

Buthellip;

It had to be. This wasn't possible.

"Come here, baby doll," he murmured gently.

He called her "baby doll".

She closed her eyes. Then she opened them.

"This isn't a dream," she repeated wanting him to tell her it was.

But he didn't. He moved and her arm darted up, palm out but the rest of her body grew paralyzed with fear.

At this reaction, he stopped but her head jerked around.

This was her parents' cabin. She knew it.

But it was different.

The kitchen was newer, grander. It had a huge KitchenAid refrigerator and range. The countertops were nicer. The cabinets were better.

Her head jerked the other way.

There was still a big, inviting, deep-seated couch in front of a coffee table which sat in front of a roaring fire. The couch was still flanked by comfortable club chairs. There was a large sheepskin hide tossed casually over the corner of the couch. The rug all the furniture sat on was vast, thick, inviting you to bed down on it with a pillow, a book and a nice, comfy blanket.

But the furniture was different, newer, fluffier, sturdier, more rustic. They veritably screamed, "Take a load off and stay awhile."

Her head swung forward and she saw the enormous, sleigh bed. Bigger, wider, longer, covered in a downy comforter, at the foot was a mohair throw.

Regardless of the changes, it was her parents' cabin.

How could this be?

Her handsome wolf.

Her cabin?

She looked back at him.

"This can't be," she whispered. "Gregor told me the cabin burned down years ago."

His face changed the second she uttered Gregor's name but Sonia was too busy registering the fact that she'd clearly gone insane to let the frightening look that crossed his face penetrate.

"It didn't burn down, little one," he said softly, recapturing her complete attention as he moved from the bed. The instant he did she backed up two steps.

He stopped, standing at its side.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

He replied immediately, "Callum."

Callum.

Vaguely, she thought that was an interesting name. Equally distractedly, she thought it suited him.

She looked down and saw she had on the same cotton nightdress she'd donned the night before.

The memories hit her again, ugly memories, terrifying ones and she took another step back as her head snapped up.

"They were going to hurt me," she told him.

He started walking toward her as he assured, "They won't hurt you."

She continued to retreat but he didn't stop this time.

Her hand, with its palm still facing him, had started trembling.

"They were going to hurt me," she repeated.

"They won't hurt you," he also repeated, but his voice was less gentle. In fact, it was not gentle at all. It was reassuringly firm.

His legs were longer (far longer) and he got close quickly.

She felt the logs of the cabin wall against her shoulders and stopped because she had nowhere else to go.

Then she felt his hard chest hit her hand and her hand slid up as he got even closer until he stopped, not an inch away.

She tilted her head far back and looked up at him. She felt her lips tremble and it mortified her.

She tried to stop their movement and couldn't so through them she whispered, "Did you rescue me?"

His hands came up and she tensed but he placed them on the logs on either side of her head. He leaned down so they were face-to-face, so close, she could feel his breath on her skin.

"Sonia, no one will ever hurt you. Not when you're with me."

She felt a different kind of tremble slide through her body.

Because his voice wasn't firm when he said that.

His deep, rich voice was rock-solid. Like those words weren't just words, they were a sacred vow.

"I don't understand what's going on," she whispered and her tense body grew tight as his head got closer then veered to the side.

Then he did something bizarre.

And, she had to admit, it was strikingly beautiful in its tenderness.

With his temple, he nuzzled her own then down her cheek, to her jaw, up again and into her hair.

He stopped nuzzling her with his temple but, lips to her ear, he said gently, "Get showered and dressed, baby doll. I'll finish with the wood. We'll have breakfast. Then I'll explain everything."

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 12​

Sonia stood, shoulder blades against the logs of her family's long thought lost but always beloved cabin, her used-to-be most favorite place in the world, with the heat of her dream man's body hitting her own, her fingers curled on the solid, very real, muscle of his shoulder, his stubbled cheek against hers, his lips at her ear, his glorious voice calling her his "baby doll" and she could do nothing but nod.

* * * * *

Sonia's senses returned somewhat to normal when Callum stepped away from her but took her hand and led her to a plethora of shopping bags that were lined against the opposite wall.

He did a sweep and nabbed the handles all in one huge fist even though there were ten of them, some of them large. This proved her theory correct that he had every centimeter of his body under control and was stronger than an ox because she knew no man or woman (even expert shoppers) who could do that the way he did, effortlessly.

He carried the bags to the bathroom while never letting go of her hand.

He stopped her inside and dropped the bags by the wall.

Sonia stared at the bags idiotically, noting they nearly took up the remainder of space that Sonia and Callum weren't occupying.

"Everything you need will be in these bags," he announced, regaining her attention and she watched him c**k his head to the bathroom counter, "or those."

She looked to the counter to see three more bags there but those were smaller.

Then she looked back at Callum and nodded.

"When you're finished, if I'm not in the house, I'll be out back," he went on.

She nodded again.

"You'll need to make breakfast, little one. I'll be a while. The kitchen's stocked. Eggs, toast, bacon," he carried on and this last sounded like a gentle order.

She was still too deep in all the weirdness that was surrounding her to do anything but nod to that too. Then he left the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

Incidentally, her parents' rustic bathroom had been significantly updated. It still appeared rustic but it had a claw-footed tub that could easily seat two. The tub had an elaborate spout and spray system and a shower. The basin was finished with a fabulous concrete countertop that worked really well with the log walls and wood floor. Not to mention thick-pile rugs, fluffy, soft towels, and a big mirror over the basin with a great light fixture above it.

It wasn't until after she'd discovered the three bags on the countertop had her favorite shampoo, conditioner, bath wash, lotion, and perfume as well her brand of razor and a variety of her cosmetics with the exact right shades and included brushes.

It wasn't until after she'd perused what was in the ten shopping bags and found a variety of girlie outdoor gear. Corduroys, jeans, belts, long-sleeved thermals, long-sleeved tees, henleys, sweaters, fleeces, poofy vests and thick socks that were all in her exact sizes. But not her colors. She usually wore white, black, gray or silver. There was none of that and, of course, she never wore outdoor gear and hadn't in thirty-one years.

It wasn't until after she'd found sexy, lacy, satiny, silky lingerie for sleeping in and even sexier lacy, satiny, silky underwear for wearing (and not a piece of it her usual classic, but utilitarian, undergarments) were also in the bags.

It wasn't until after she'd lotioned, spritzed perfume, gunked smoothing elixir into her hair and put on a light coat of makeup.

It was when was blow-drying her hair with a blow dryer she found in the cabinet. She was doing it while standing in front of the mirror in a demi bra made of pale green-yellow silk topped with beige lace and matching Brazilian cut panties. Neither of which she'd even glance at in a store, but, she had to admit, they were beautiful and made her feel a little bit saucy. It was then that her mind shuffled logically through last night and this morning and everything that had happened.

Last night, while she was innocently sleeping (for all they knew), men invaded her house.

They grabbed her, scared her nearly to death and discussed raping her.

Then Callum came in and, obviously, saved the day.

However, afterward, he did not phone the police.

She did not wake up in a hospital bed or shaken by a uniformed officer.

Most importantly, she was not introduced by a proper authority to Callum as the man who just happened to be walking past her house and heard her scream (which, she also noted, she never screamed so how on earth had he known to come in at all!). Therefore, upon hearing her scream, he gallantly burst forth to wrest her from the clutches of evil.

This morning, when she'd woken thinking she was in a dream, he had not informed her firmly that she was not, indeed, dreaming. And Callum, she also noted, could be very firm.

Instead, he'd not acted like a gentleman and he'd taken advantage of her obvious confusion and vulnerability and kissed her and other things as well.

Now she found out that he knew her preferences for toiletries and her size.

He'd been prepared for this.

Very prepared.

She knew why and she thought it was a cruel, cosmic joke that the man outside splitting logs (she could hear the axe and the logs dropping into the snow), looked like her dream man.

It was a sadistic maneuver for that jerk to bring her here.

She'd figured that out too.

Because Gregor, for some demented reason, had systematically removed every hint of her mother and father and the life she had with them. Except her stuffed wolf and the Christmas decorations, but only because she'd thrown an almighty, six-year-old fit.

He'd obviously gotten rid of the cabin too and didn't have the courage to tell her he'd sold it.

After she got away from Callum, she was finally going to demand some answers from Gregor. Then she was going to tell his son Yuri once and for all that she was not going to sleep with him and definitely not going to marry him. Last, she was never speaking to another man again until the dayhellip; shehellip; died!

Except, of course, Gregor, after she forgave him because, even though he was remote, she still loved him. And Yuri, after she forgave him too, because, even though she knew he thought differently, she'd always thought of him kind of like a brother and she loved him too.

She put on a pair of fawn colored low rider cords which she was not going to think were cute (even though they were). She added a brown leather belt with daisies stamped into the leather which was something else that she determined was not cute (even though it was). Then she donned a bright pink, long sleeved henley that had a ribbon with flowers sewn down the buttoned slit at the collar which didn't fit her like it was made for her, wasn't surprisingly the perfect color for her and didn't make her look really good even though she'd never have guessed it (even though it did all that).

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 13​

She also tugged on a pair of thick socks that were not warm and snugly (even though they were).

She found there were no shoes but she didn't need shoes.

Yet.

She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed the bags (taking three trips) and carted them back into the big room.

She made the bed (angrily) as she heard Callum chop, chop, chopping outside. Sometimes, she'd hear him stop and approach the house and she'd get tense but he did it only to stack the logs on the back porch because he never came inside.

She found coffee, poured herself a cup and yanked open the refrigerator to find Callum had stocked it only with full-fat milk.

Of course.

He knew her clothing size but he didn't know she religiously had to drink skim in order to fit in it.

Jerk!

She made breakfast for the both of them and surprisingly she heard the backdoor open the minute she was done.

She heard his boots on the floor as she was busily taking the plates from warming in the oven.

He stopped at the mouth of the u-shaped kitchen.

She didn't turn. If she did, she might throw something at him.

Or cry.

Or both.

"Sonia?" he called.

"Yep," she said, flipping the oven closed with her foot and still not looking at him.

"You okay?" he asked, sounding concerned.

Jerk!

"Much better," she replied, busily loading food on their plates. "Breakfast is ready."

"I know."

That got a reaction. She turned to look at him and was reminded of the gargantuan joke the cosmos was playing on her because he was way, way, way too darned handsome.

She buried that thought and asked, "How did you know?"

"Smelled it. Heard it," he replied and turned while finishing, "I'll be there after I wash up."

Since he was turning, he didn't see her mouth had dropped open.

Okay, she was cooking bacon. You could smell bacon from a mile away.

But he heard it?

How?

She, of course, could hear the final preparations of breakfast.

She watched him disappear into the bathroom as she felt a shiver run up her spine and decided to bury that too.

He couldn't know of her gifts so he could pretend to have ones as well. Even Gregor and Yuri didn't know. Sure, she'd often messed up around them. Still, they'd never cottoned on.

She'd found placemats and napkins and, by the time he was done in the bathroom, she was putting his plate on a mat on the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.

He slid onto the stool and looked down at his plate.

As usual, Sonia stood at the kitchen counter across from him (the last part not as usual, obviously) and ate while contemplating how she was going to get out of this mess.

Would it take a million dollars?

Two?

Three?

What would he accept to give up his game?

"What's this?" Callum asked, his voice tight in a way that sounded like he was restraining some impulse and, when she looked at him, his face was carefully blank.

"Eggs, bacon and toast," she answered.

He looked back down at his plate.

Sonia continued eating.

"I recognize the toast," he commented with forced politeness and she looked up again to see he was holding a piece of toast between a very attractive thumb and forefinger. "Is there butter?"

"Butter is fat," Sonia replied and took a bite of her dry toast.

Callum watched her chew like it was fascinating in a watching the devastation of an earthquake in slow motion on TV kind of way.

"What'd you do to the bacon?" Callum enquired after she swallowed.

"I cut off the fat," she informed him. "The meat is good. Protein. The fat is bad."

His brows went up and he went on, his voice no longer polite but coated in disbelief, "You cut the fat off bacon?"

"Yep."

He looked down at his plate. "The eggs are white."

"That's because I threw away the yolks. They're filled with cholesterol."

She trained her eyes on her plate and kept eating but she lifted her head when she heard him move.

Then she watched with surprise and not a small amount of annoyance as he rounded the counter, went straight to the trash bin and dumped everything on his plate inside it.

Then she watched with even sharper surprise and an ungodly amount of annoyance when he walked to her, grabbed her plate out from under her, pulled the remnants of toast right out of her fingers and dumped that in the bin too.

Sonia stood staring at him wordlessly as he opened the fridge, nabbed the bacon, dumped a huge lump of it into the skillet and turned on the burner. Then he gently moved her away from the range and grabbed the box of eggs she'd left on the counter.

Then, as he started cracking eggs into a bowl, she spluttered, "You justhellip; you justhellip; just, threw away my food."

"That wasn't food," he replied.

"It was breakfast," she shot back.

"It wasn't that either."

"Callum ndash;"

He turned to her as the bacon started sizzling. He advanced, quickly. She retreated, not quickly enough. Her h*ps hit the counter and he closed in.

His hands on the counter on either side of her, he leaned down so they were face-to-face. "You're too skinny. You need to eat. Not egg whites, not dry toast and not fatless bacon."

He thought she was too skinny?

Was he blind?

Sonia couldn't move but, even so, her mouth dropped open.

He ignored her astonished look and kept talking. "No more of that shit, Sonia. Not for me and not for you either."

"Are youhellip;" she paused, not thinking she could say it then she said it, "Telling me what to eat?"

"Damn right," he replied, not having any problem saying what he had to say.

He pushed away from the counter and turned back to the range.

She watched in growing horror as he cooked breakfast all in one skillet.

He didn't not only not cut the fat off the bacon and separate the yolks, he didn't drain the bacon grease before he dumped the eight (yes, eight!) scrambled eggs into the skillet with it. Not done, he also chucked a handful (and his hand, as Sonia had noted on several occasions, was large) of pre-grated cheddar cheese on the lot and sprinkled it all with garlic salt.

Further, he slathered the toast in so much butter it was the added stroke on top of the heart attack that was the egg-bacon-cheese mess.

He served this all up on the plates, got himself a fresh cup of coffee, poured a warm up in hers, dashed it with not a splash of milk but a glug and handed both plate and mug to her.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 14​

Then he picked up his own plate, rested a hip against the counter, leveled his blue eyes on her and ordered, "Eat."

She looked at her plate.

She had to admit, it looked really good.

And it smelled fantastic.

Then she looked at him.

"I can't eat this."

"Eat," he repeated.

"This ishellip; I can't ndash;"

"Sonia," he said her name slowly in a way that denoted strained patience. "You can eat it or I'll feed it to you."

She felt her eyes grow wide before she asked, "You're joking, right?"

He shook his head.

She looked at the plate.

He was, essentially, a kidnapper.

He was, she guessed, going to hold her for ransom if he didn't charm her (in other words, con her) out of millions of dollars.

He had been, thus far, pretty nice even though he was a jerk.

But, she shouldn't push it.

Sonia picked up her fork and she ate.

And, while doing so, she told herself it didn't taste unbelievably great (even though it did).

Chapter Four

Explanation

After they ate their breakfast (Sonia couldn't finish hers, which Callum allowed, but he cleaned her plate, an act she thought was borderline intimacy which caused her to feel warm and cold and scared and excited all at the same time), Callum demonstrated that he was not quite finished racking up his sins.

Firstly, he took Sonia's hand and led her to the living room.

When she said, "I'll do the dishes." He replied, "Later."

Sin number one.

Everyone knew you cleaned the kitchen right away. If you didn't, the gunk would solidify on the plates and skillets and it would take ages to soak it away. Further, Callum wasn't exactly a tidy cook, he'd made a right mess.

However, considering her varied uncertain circumstances, chief of which was the fact that she'd been kidnapped, she decided at that point not to argue about dishes.

He stopped her by one of the large club chairs, dropped her hand but went to the fire and stoked it, throwing another log on.

Then he walked across the room to the other hearth situated on the wall on the other side of the bed and stoked that fire, putting a log from the huge pile at its side on the burning embers.

Then he committed sin number two.

He walked back, sat in the club chair, leaned forward, took her hand and gave it a firm but gentle tug so she came off her feet with a small, surprised thus uncontrollable cry. He twisted her body as she fell and she landed in his lap.

She pulled up and away but his arms locked around her.

"Umhellip;" she muttered cautiously, "what are you doing?"

"As I said, after breakfast, I'd explain," he told her, his arms growing tighter, drawing her closer. "I'm explaining," he finished.

"Umhellip;" she muttered again, even more cautiously, trying not to get alarmed. "Can you explain sitting here while I sit on the couch?"

She thought, considering she just met him an hour or so ago, this was a reasonable request.

"No."

There it was. Callum being very firm.

Apparently he thought it wasn't reasonable.

Sonia begged to differ.

"I'd be more comfortable on the couch," she informed him.

"You'd be more comfortable in my lap if you'd relax," he replied.

Okay, maybe she wasn't insane.

Maybe he was.

Instead of relaxing, she tensed.

"I barely know you," she noted.

"We've got a week to rectify that," he returned.

She stared.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

He completely ignored her question and asked his own, "Why'd you call me lsquo;wolf'?"

She blinked.

Then she asked, "What?"

"This morning, when you woke up, you called me lsquo;wolf'."

Oh good goodness.

She couldn't tell him about her dream.

Ever.

In a million years.

No one knew about her dream and she wasn't about to share it with some guy she just met who, it was important to note, was her kidnapper!

And anyway, even she didn't know why she called him that in her dream.

"I didn't," she lied. "Did I?" she added for good measure.

"You did. You know you did. You remember every second of this morning."

Holy cow.

She had a great memory, not photographic but close. It was another one of her gifts.

Did he know that? And if he did, how did he know that?

She didn't want the answer to that either.

"I thought I was dreaming," she reminded him.

"Yes, I got that. You still called me lsquo;wolf' and I want to know why."

"I thought this cabin had burned down," Sonia switched subjects and explained. "My parents used to own this cabin a long time ago." Not that he, for whatever ungodly reason, didn't know that. "I'd been told it burned down when I was seven years old. Since it's still standing, and not burned down, and I'm in it, which I thought was kind of impossible, though obviously not, considering it isn't burnt down, I thought I was in a dream. I didn't know what I was doing."

His hand which was resting at her hip curled around her waist. His arm, already around her waist, tightened.

Thus, he brought her closer.

Her hand at his chest pressed back.

He was stronger than her but he allowed her some space, not nearly enough, but some.

"Little one, you're holding out on me," he said quietly, his eyes serious and not happy. "I'll tell you only once. Don't do that."

She was unsure how to respond.

The fact that he knew she was holding out on him was bizarre and alarming. The fact that his eyes had grown serious and not happy was just plain alarming.

She decided to respond to the serious, not happy look in his eyes and tread very, very carefully.

But how on earth was she going to get out of this?

Oh hell, she was going to have to give him something. She hated it but she was going to have to do it.

She swallowed.

Then she blurted, "You're very good-looking."

His head tilted to the side with a surprised jerk.

She ignored that and carried on.

"I thought," her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, "I was in a dream. I've always beenhellip;" She paused, pulled in breath then hurried on in a rush, "Once, when I was a little girl, I met this wolf." His head jerked upright and she watched with concern as his eyes grew intense. "It's okay," she assured him, misreading his look. "I was going to mention, I've always been really good with animals. He was injured but he wasn't dangerous. He let me help him."

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 15​

"Sonia ndash;" Callum started but she talked over him.

"When I met him, I brought him here, the wolf that is. Andhellip; and, I liked this wolf. He was a beautiful wolf. I'd seen wolves before out in the woods with my father, but never one like him. He was huge and he had this dignityhellip;" She paused again, realizing she was veering off track and then continued, "Anyway, he made an impression on me. I've never forgotten him and I think, being in what I thought was a dream, seeing you here in this cabin and the last time I was here I met that wolf, for some reason, because of him, I used that as an endearment." She sucked in breath through her nose then said, "So there, that's why I called you lsquo;wolf'."

And that didn't sound like a lie. In fact, she was pretty pleased with herself and, maybe, that was why she called her dream Callum "wolf" too, who knew?

When she'd stopped congratulating herself, she focused on his face. Then she sucked in another breath.

His face was warm and gentle and, she was shocked to see, his eyes weren't blue, they were tawny.

Oh wow.

She told herself, firmly, she didn't like it when his eyes went golden (but she did).

Anyway, how did he do that?

"What?" she whispered, forgetting her travails when his eyes were like that but his hand slid up her back to her neck, his fingers cupped her there and he forced her head to his shoulder.

"Nothing, little one," he murmured but his voice was warm and gentle too.

She took another deep breath and told herself his big, warm body didn't feel great cradling hers (which it did) and his deep, warm, gentle voice rumbling in her ear didn't sound wonderful (which it also did). Then she reminded herself that she was in a frightening situation, sitting in the lap of a large, strong albeit handsome man who was likely dangerous and not her dream man (even though he was, in a way).

She screwed up the courage to start talking about what she wanted to talk about.

"I want to go home," she told his collarbone.

"You can't, honey, not for a while," was his scary response.

"I want to go home," she repeated.

"You need to stay with me. When this is over, I don't know where we'll settle. We'll talk about it when that happens."

When what was over?

Andhellip;

He didn't know where they'd settle?

What was he on about?

She didn't care and she wasn't going to ask.

Instead, softly she enquired, "Callum, how much for you to take me home?"

"Honey, you can't go home," he reiterated.

"I'll give you a million dollars."

She held her breath and waited.

He was silent.

Oh no. Had she gone too high too fast? Or would he get angry knowing she'd low-balled him. She was, he had to know since she was his mark, seriously loaded.

While these thoughts flitted through her brain she felt his body shaking under hers.

She lifted her head and saw he was smiling. The shaking of the body was him silently laughing.

"I wasn't being funny," she told him, losing patience.

"You think I've kidnapped you," he told her.

Her mouth dropped open (again).

"Sorry?" she asked after she'd closed it.

His head tipped down and he nuzzled his temple against hers in that tender way she told herself she hated (when she absolutely didn't) before saying, "Baby doll, I haven't kidnapped you."

All of a sudden she was angry because he called her "baby doll" and the fact that this man, in real life, did that was the worst cosmic joke of all.

Maybe this made her stupid, but she didn't care.

She yanked her head back.

"Okay, Callum, this is what I know," she stated. "Two guys break into my house, they grab me, discuss raping me and, suddenly, even though it's the middle of the night and I haven't made a noise, you're there to save the day. Instead of calling the police or an ambulance as I'd lost consciousness, you take me out of the city to a remote cabin in the woods. A cabin which conveniently has brand new clothes and toiletries, all that perfectly suit me. You're all sweet, but bossy at the same time, and I know your game. You're not my rescuer. You know I'm wealthy. Name your price, give me your phone, I'll arrange the money for you, no problem. Then you take me home so I can get on with Christmas and you can go to the beach or find someone else to con."

He studied her a moment seemingly unperturbed by her understanding of the situation and the blunt way with which she informed him of that fact and replied, "All right, Sonia, now you'll listen to what's actually going on."

"This should be good," Sonia muttered sarcastically.

"No, it won't be good," he returned severely. "It'll probably freak you out, it's likely you won't believe a word I say but it's also the truth."

She glared at him.

He sighed.

Then he spoke and committed sin number three.

Furthermore, he was right. What he said freaked her out. But the way he said it made her know he believed it, which made it all the worse.

"Last night, two men broke into your house. I knew they were going to do it because I had intelligence delivered to me eleven hours earlier informing me of the plot. I am, for the sake of you understanding this, the leader of a gang that has hundreds of thousands of members across the world. They were soldiers from another, rival, gang. You, little one, are important to me. They know this and wanted to take you from me. What they did broke a treaty that was fragile at best. Now we're at war."

Sonia was no longer glaring at him.

She was gawking.

She wanted to stop the questions from coming. She just couldn't.

"You're the leader of a gang?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"That has hundreds of thousands of members?"

"Yes."

She stared at his handsome face.

He was good-looking. No doubt about it.

But he was crazy as a loon.

For some reason, she carried on, "I'm important to you?"

"Very."

"Why?" Her voice was getting shrill. "You barely know me."

"We'll get to that later."

She blinked, shocked out of her skull then idiotically continued, "What do you mean they lsquo;were' soldiers? What happened to them?"

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 16​

"Last night, I executed them."

Sonia gasped at this news and then tensed, ready to flee.

His arms closed tight around her, negating any attempt to flee.

He was too strong, she knew it and in an instinctive effort at self-preservation, she gave up.

"You killed them," she whispered, horrified that he'd do such a thing and equally horrified that he'd tell her he did it sohellip; veryhellip; calmly.

They were not good men. They were menaces. Not menaces in a getting drunk and getting in fights, being too loud at baseball games, catcalling and doing kissy faces at women when they walked by kind of way. No, they were a much, much worse kind. She knew this. She'd sensed it about them more than once. And they were new, the menacing presence had only been around for a short while but she knew they'd been tracking her for weeks. And they'd invaded her home and discussed raping her.

But executing them?

"They touched you," Callum replied.

"I know."

"They intended to violate you."

"I know!" she shouted and regardless of his strength, the fact that he could subdue her easily and even harm her, she started to struggle in his arms.

His hand slid into her hair and twisted.

She stilled at the onset of pain which was gentle but if she moved, it would get worse.

His eyes were still tawny when he brought her face to his.

And his expression was fierce and ominous and very, very frightening.

"You're my mate, Sonia, my queen," he announced, his voice the exact same as his face, his words, quite simply, were mad. "You were destined for me before you were even conceived. I've been waiting for you for longer than you can imagine. And they touched you before I touched you. They committed high treason and for that alone their execution was just. But they f**king touched you before I touched you and for that their deaths were not quick."

Sonia found she was holding her breath.

Callum didn't seem to notice.

"I'll explain more as the days pass but this you know now. You're mine, Sonia Arlington. You've been mine for centuries. You have a weekhellip; one weekhellip; to get to know me and understand the ways of my culture. I wish it could be longer but because of what happened last night, my people are at war. I'm their king, they need me. I have no time to give but, regardless of that fact, I'm giving you one week. I'll use it wisely and I suggest, strongly, little one, that you do as well. This will go much better for you if you do."

"What?" she breathed in spite of herself, not understanding even half of what he said and not knowing which part of "what" she was asking because there was so damned much!

"What?" he repeated.

Her mind focused on one point in many. "What will go much better?"

He brought her face closer. "At the end of this week, baby doll, we're flying to Scotland. We're having the mating ceremony and, from that point on, you're bound to me in the eyes of my people's laws as well as yours until you die."

She'd obviously asked the wrong question.

"You'rehellip; what?" she shrieked. Yes, right in his face.

"I'm binding you to me."

"You'rehellip; bindinghellip; mehellip; tohellip; you," she repeated, enunciating each word with clear, open, horror.

He ignored her horror.

"Until you die."

She tried to rear back.

His hand in her hair, his arm around her body and his strength that would make Hercules jealous made this effort moot.

So instead she whispered, "Oh my God."

He ignored that too and stated, "You may have noticed you have no shoes."

Sonia blinked yet again.

Then she nodded.

Callum continued immediately but on a different subject, "I'm going to finish outside, the storm is already here. They're forecasting snow, maybe several feet. The electricity can go out here easily and the insulation isn't the best. We need the fires. We could be snowed in by nightfall. I need to get us sorted."

With that announcement, he stood, picking her up with him. Somewhere in her fogged, distracted, ravaged, oh-my-god-what's-happening-to-me mind, she noted that no man had ever picked her up easily like that (or, at all) and held her to his chest like she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

He turned and tucked her sideways back in the chair, her knees to her chest, the soles of her feet in the seat.

He leaned in and put a hand on either arm of the chair.

"You take some time, come to terms with what I've just said. If you have questions, we'll talk more after lunch."

She stared at his back as he walked through the cabin and out the backdoor.

Then she twisted her head to look out the front windows and saw that snow had started to fall.

Heavily.

Then she realized she'd not make it very far in a snowstorm without shoes even if she managed to escape.

And she had to escape.

Because she was stuck in a cabin with a murdering madman who thought she was his queen and intended to bind her to him until she died.

Then, to her shame, Sonia felt a single tear drop from her eye and trail down her cheek as her extreme fear overcame any courage she might have been able to muster.

That tear was joined by another.

Then another.

And then more.

Chapter Five

Mismatch

Callum finished splitting the logs and stacking them on the back porch in which he'd fitted the storm windows that morning while Sonia slept.

He was concerned about the storm. The snowfall was forecast as heavy and this could knock out the broadband and interfere with his cellular reception. Further, if anything should happen and he was needed, he didn't want to be snowed into the cabin. He could transform and get out but Sonia couldn't.

At any other time, he'd be thrilled to be snowed in at their cabin. Since buying it decades ago, he'd spent a goodly amount of time there. Regardless of the fact that his title came with castles in Scotland, England and France, a mansion on the East Coast of the US and his entitlement to take over any Territorial Mansion while traveling, he'd toyed with the idea of talking Sonia into settling in their cabin for a long spell after he'd won the war. At least until they started having pups. It reminded him of the years he spent in the Canadian Rockies and he liked its intimacy, the dense forest that surrounded it, sensing and smelling the plethora of wildlife all around.

She'd once told him she loved it there which was one of the reasons why he bought it. The other being that he loved it there and it was the only place that was theirs not to mention she thought she was in a dream when she was back.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 17​

He figured she wouldn't be hard to sway to his way of thinking.

This was the only thing that brightened Callum's morning.

On that thought, he walked into the house, removing his gloves and tossing them on the counter in the kitchen.

However, upon entry, his eyes went directly to Sonia.

She didn't look to him. In fact, she didn't move.

She was seated where he left her, curled up, her neck twisted to look over the back of the chair and out the window at the falling snow.

He had, for one shining moment that morning, thought she'd also felt their connection, just as all wolves do instantly, and he could gratefully dispense of this charade of courtship, claim her, mate with her and install her at his side.

He also had, for one shining moment that morning, gloried in the fact that she was not what he'd feared when he'd read the varied reports that had been unlocked to him after his father's death or when he'd watched her walk home last night. It was the first time he'd laid eyes on her in person since he met her that Christmas Eve years ago.

For one shining moment that morning, he'd gloried that she was instead like a wolf, lusty for life and all that it offered.

Her sultry, teasing, inviting demeanor this morning, her unbridled response to his kiss, his thigh, his touch, he thought proved that.

Her hideously healthy, unappealing breakfast and subsequent behavior had, however, eradicated it.

Callum couldn't imagine why fate had linked her to him.

She was beautiful, there was no doubting that. As he read her reports and saw the pictures of her, they stirred him. He was a man but he was especially a wolf. He'd have to be dead for her pictures not to affect him.

It was vaguely alarming, however, the colorless life she led. Hell, even her house was painted light gray. But when his brethren welcomed her with open arms, Callum hoped she'd blossom under their adulation.

Even so, he had to admit under normal circumstances, outside of noting her beauty, she'd not tempt him and when wolves met their mates, this was not only unusual, it was unprecedented.

He'd taken more than his fair share of humans, it wasn't that.

It was that he didn't fancy blondes.

He also didn't fancy skinny women.

She was not as thin as some humans starved and exercised themselves to be, this was true, but she was definitely not as curvy as a she-wolf or the humans he'd chosen.

And he detested talk of healthy food, fat, cholesterol and anything of the like. He wasn't attracted to women who counted every calorie, sauntered around on high heels and wore expensive, designer gear. He also wasn't attracted to women who over-groomed, making it their ridiculous mission to have perfect hair, makeup and nails. This did nothing for him. Callum held in contempt the very idea of wasting precious life engaged in dieting and primping. He held even more contempt for the women who engaged in these pursuits as Sonia, he knew from the reports, not to mention her perfect nails, hair and skin, did.

In the rare times he was not performing his duties or engaged in war, he preferred to be transformed to wolf, running outdoors. Or doing anything outdoors for that matter, preferably in a wood. Or getting drunk on real ale or whisky with his brethren. Or eating enormous, home-cooked meals. Or bedding a female human or wolf who not only knew how to play but f**king well enjoyed it and was willing to give herself over to him so he could meet her needs but also so he could assuage the hungry force of his own.

Not drinking martinis at elegant gathering places, shopping or partaking of miniscule servings of haute cuisine.

And Sonia Arlington looked, acted and it was reported that she was a woman who preferred to engage in the latter.

Nevertheless, they were connected. Even as he wondered at it, he felt it stir in his blood, in his gut and, this morning, she'd given him a very slim hope that perhaps there was something more to Sonia Arlington.

He approached her chair and crouched by the side.

She didn't move from her contemplation of the snowfall.

"Sonia," he called softly and her head turned.

She was no longer crying but he saw the tracks the tears left through her makeup. She hadn't even wiped them away.

He felt a strange clutch in his chest at the sight. He ignored this and straightened, took her hand and pulled her out of the chair. Holding her hand, he led her unresisting body across the room and turned her to face him.

He had little time to get her accustomed to him and teach her the ways of her new life but he knew in this moment she could use some space.

However, no one should be idle. She needed something to do.

He cocked his head to the shopping bags and his leather case.

He squeezed her hand before ordering quietly, "Unpack your things and mine. Tidy the kitchen. I'm going to take a shower."

He saw her eyes flash at his order but, accustomed to people following his commands without question, he thought nothing of it, dropped her hand and went to his bag. Grabbing clean clothes, he strode to the bathroom.

While he was in the shower, he heard her moving around, putting away their clothes, tidying the bags, cleaning the kitchen.

Something about this annoyed him.

It was irrational but he'd prefer she was rebellious. At least that would be interesting.

In their short time together, she had displayed mild bouts of courage and fire but she always gave in.

Too quickly.

He wiped down the mirror and stared at himself, deciding not to bother with a shave and also thinking that the week, and indeed his life with the health-conscious, pampered, obedient Sonia, yawned before him.

His father had been a patient, accepting man who taught his son many lessons and tested his son many a time.

Mac had not managed, however, to teach him patience or acceptance.

Callum dumped his clothes in the laundry hamper and walked from the bathroom.

The kitchen was clean and Sonia was tucked back in her chair, a mug wrapped in her fingers held up close to her face. Her eyes were on the fire.

A she-wolf could never be still like that.

If he was here with one of his own, she'd pounce on him the minute he exited the bathroom.

Fuck, she'd be put out that he wanted to shower alone.

If not, she'd be doing something. Baking, organizing the kitchen, finding some kind of busy work, no matter what it was. Hell, even reading, or, in these circumstances, plotting.

Not staring vacantly into a fire.

His cell rang in his back pocket and as he reached for it, he watched her turn her pretty head slowly to face him.

And, he had to admit when her green eyes hit him, she was pretty.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 18​

Very pretty.

Stunning.

He'd never tire of looking at her.

At least he had that.

He flipped the phone open and put it to his ear as her gaze moved back to the fire.

"Callum," he answered and walked to stand at the back of the couch in order to study her blank but elegant profile.

"Cal," Ryon said in his ear. "Thought you'd want to know, Mona had nothing to do with it."

This wasn't surprising. His ex-lover wasn't smart enough to plot against a kingdom. He'd never understand why he'd got involved with that she-wolf, she was unbelievable in bed but she was also a f**king nut.

"Two of the mansion's detail were involved. They're under guard and on their way to Scotland for trial," Ryon went on.

"Excellent," Callum muttered.

"We're still interrogating others," Ryon continued. "The two we broke swear they're working alone and didn't give us dick about how they found out about Sonia. We'll keep working them but my gut says this isn't a clean sweep and catching those two won't nip it in the bud. It's bigger."

Callum's gut was saying that too and he hoped it was true. The rebellion had brought down his father and, years ago, his youngest brother. The treaty was too easy for them.

He wanted their blood then he wanted their capitulation.

"Keep at it," Callum ordered.

There was silence then, "How's Sonia?"

Ryon, on the other hand, made it very clear Callum's queen did not bore him.

Ryon had a great deal more patience and acceptance than Callum had. He enjoyed the pursuit of coy female humans. He liked dating, another thing Callum detested. He preferred seizing. Dating, which he rarely engaged in, left him cold. Ryon took great pleasure in wearing them down, teasing them and enticing them, even tormenting them before he went in for the kill.

Callum never understood it.

"She's ndash;" Callum started but stopped speaking when he saw Sonia's entire body jerk.

Then her head twisted around to look at the bathroom and without delay she sprang from the chair, crashed her mug down on the coffee table and ran to the bathroom.

"She's what?" Ryon asked in his ear but Callum was listening to Sonia's panicked, even frenzied, search of the bathroom. "Cal?" Ryon called.

Callum didn't answer for Sonia ran out of the bathroom, stopped herself on a one-footed skid and stared at him.

"My injection," she whispered.

"What?" Callum asked, staring at her pale, stricken face.

She strode forward purposefully and stopped in front of him.

"You didn't bring my injection," she said.

"Cal, what's going on?" Ryon asked in his ear.

"A minute," Callum replied, took the phone from his ear and asked Sonia, "What injection?"

"My injection," she repeated. "My medication. I need it, every night." Her strange calm started evaporating and her voice rose when she demanded, "We have to go back to the city right now!"

All right, maybe she was staring into the fire plotting.

"We aren't going back to the city," he told her firmly.

She took the last step that separated them and grabbed his wrist, shaking it.

"You don't understand. I need it."

Callum studied her then put the phone which was, incidentally, in the hand which was attached to the wrist she'd latched onto and she didn't let go, to his ear.

"Did you hear that?" he asked Ryon.

"What's she on about?" Ryon asked back.

"You know nothing of an injection?" Callum enquired.

"Nothing," Ryon replied.

Ryon knew everything about Sonia Arlington. He'd been ordered to know and Ryon was an excellent soldier.

The best.

Callum took the phone from his ear and warned, "Sonia, it's not a good idea to play this game."

Her eyes grew wide and then she shook his wrist.

"I'm not playing a game!" she shouted, her voice trembling with fear.

When Callum didn't respond, her faced blanched further. She threw his wrist from her and took a step back, digging her nails into her hair at her temples, pulling its heavy weight back and holding it at the crown of her head.

Then she took a deep breath, dropped her hands, tipped her head back and stated in a strong voice, "Callum, I'm being very serious. I've got a rare, inherited blood disorder. If I don't have that injection every night, I'll get very ill. If I get very ill and die, you'll never get your kidnapping money."

Callum continued to study her without saying a word.

She was, he remembered from their brief meeting thirty-one years ago, very cunning.

She was, he knew now, no less cunning.

She took the step in his direction that she'd moved away and tipped her head back further. "If I don't get that injection, my blood will overheat. I'm not joking. It'll heat and heat and heat until it boils my organs inside my body." Her hands came up to grab his biceps. "They'll fail, I'll die, but before that, I'll be in agony." Her fingers tightened on his arms. "Callum, this is not a game. Take me home, you'll see when you take me home!"

God, she was good.

"We're not leaving this cabin," he decreed and she instantly made a noise of frustration mingled with fear in the back of her throat.

Then she stepped away again and threw her arm out to indicate the windows.

"Look at it out there!" she yelled. "We'll be snowed in within hours. We'll never get out of here. That medication isn't carried in pharmacies!"

How convenient, Callum thought.

"Of course it's not," Callum muttered.

She stepped forward and her eyes flashed before they narrowed. "It's not carried in pharmacies, Callum, because my condition is so rare, they don't have a demand for it. I get it directly from my personal physician where Gregor got it before me and my father got it before him. I need my supply from home. We can't nip out to the local drugstore and ask for a prescription to be filled!"

Callum heard Ryon calling his name from the phone still opened in his hand and he put it to his ear.

"Ry," he said.

"She thinks you kidnapped her?" Ryon's voice was filled with humor.

"Evidently," Callum replied with forced patience.

 

[books4u]

With Everything I Am
Page 19​

"That's hilarious," Ryon commented, sounding like he thought it was hilarious because he was laughing through his words.

"Ryon," Callum's single word showed his patience was waning quickly.

"Let me check it out," Ryon replied.

"She's bluffing," Callum returned.

"No harm in letting me check. If it's nothing, I'll phone you. If she's telling the truth, I'll send someone up the mountain," Ryon offered.

"Do it," Callum ordered.

"On it," Ryon answered and Callum heard the disconnect.

"I've a man checking," Callum told Sonia and he watched her eyebrows rise before she visibly relaxed.

"Thank you," she whispered with great feeling.

She was taking this too far.

"Sonia," he called, regaining her attention which had unfocused from him in her apparent extreme relief. "I'm telling you right now, this turns out to be a game, I won't like it."

Her jaw tensed and she jerked her head so her hair shook about her shoulders.

"Call your man back," she demanded. "Tell him it's in the green box in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. The needles in the blue box beside it. If we have to be here a week, I'll need it all," she started to turn but then jerked back and raised her angry gaze to his. "And the sharps container."

Then she stomped, yes, stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Callum stared at the door and, instead of feeling angry at her game, he felt aroused by her spirit.

"That's more like it," he muttered then turned to add a log to the fire.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, after Sonia had spent some time in the bathroom arranging her toiletries, his toiletries, rearranging the towels, maniacally cleaning the mirror and basin, if his hearing was correct (and it always was), she left the bathroom.

Then she paced.

Callum, at his laptop at the kitchen bar, ignored her.

Then his phone rang.

She stopped pacing, whirled and glared at him.

Callum studied her.

She looked glorious in her anger.

Yes, he liked this Sonia much better.

Not taking his eyes from her, he yanked the phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

"Callum."

"She's not lying," Ryon told him and Callum didn't know what to do with that information. It proved she wasn't playing a game and further provided unwelcome information that his mate had a rare blood disorder that, if untreated, could lead to an agonizing death.

Something about this rattled him in a way he never felt before in his entire life.

"Have a man bring it to the cabin," Callum ordered and he watched Sonia's shoulders fall as her head tipped back and she looked at the ceiling with closed eyes and extreme relief washing over her face.

Fucking hell, if he'd called her bluff, he'd have killed her.

That rattled him further.

"I even talked to her doctor," Ryon, always thorough, said in his ear as Sonia tramped to the kitchen and started to yank things from the fridge and cupboards. "She's got a rare blood disorder. Never heard of it, it's about seventeen syllables long. Inherited it from her father," Ryon's voice lowered. "It's nasty, Cal. She could die from it."

"How did you miss this?" Callum clipped.

Ryon chuckled and Callum's hackles rose. "Mac, and you, I'll remind you, forbid any of the brothers spying on her when she was inside her house. Follow her to stores. Monitor her purchases and expenses. Go through her trash but you never let us go through her house or watch her in it. She visited the doctor regularly but medical records are confidential, which, by the way, meant I had to talk fast to get the doctor to tell me anything. She has a monthly prescription for birth control, which we knew about from a light **** into her records some time ago. She picked those up monthly from her doc along with the injections we didn't know about. But this disease she's had since birth. The **** Caleb just did uncovered it but we had to go back years and, even so, it was buried, almost like it was hidden. The information about her condition and the prescription for the injections was protected behind so many passwords even Caleb had trouble unlocking it."

Even though this made sense, Callum didn't like it.

Not only that they missed it, and in missing it could have killed her, but also the fact that it made him feel a strange sense of unease that the information was hidden, protected, secret. Medical records were confidential but why would this life-threatening condition be guarded so thoroughly? In case of an emergency, wouldn't that information need to be readily available?

His eyes moved to Sonia and at what he saw, he let go of the disquiet he felt. Right then, he had more important things to deal with.

"Is it snowing down there?" Callum asked.

"Flurries," Ryon answered.

"It's not flurries up here. The man you sent may need a snow mobile or an ATV, but, whatever it takes, he gets that medication here by tonight. Is that understood?"

"I talked to the doctor, Cal. I know how important this is," Ryon returned calmly. "I sent Waring. He knows this is priority and it's for the queen. He's a good man. He'll be there with the meds."

Callum felt his body go stiff. "Does he know ndash;?"

"Cal, don't ask that question," Ryon broke in softly. "He doesn't know what's in the parcel just that the queen requested it."

Ryon, Callum knew, would never expose Sonia's weakness. Only the inner circle (that would be Callum, Ryon and Callum's blood brothers, Caleb and Calder) would know of this latest development.

Callum changed the subject. "Any more on the plot?"

"We're widening the net."

"I want regular reports."

"You'll get them."

"Later," Callum muttered.

"Good luck," Ryon replied, his voice filled with humor, his overhearing the conversation between Callum and Sonia telling the tale.

Callum didn't reply. He snapped the phone shut.

Sonia was preparing lunch which looked as if it consisted of an enormous salad and nothing else.

No, actually, Sonia looked like she was punishing the vegetables that would soon be their lunch if her frenzied use of the knife was anything to go by.

Callum shoved the phone in his back pocket, slid off the stool and rounded the counter making his way toward her.