Chapter 130

“Why the hell would you want to mate with some inferior male?” Caleb demands, his rage flaring like the red flashing through his eyes.

“He wouldn’t be inferior to me,” I snap back. “He would be my husband and mate.”

“Stop saying that!” Caleb roars.

He’s trying to intimidate me. Well, it won’t work. I’ve agonized over my feelings for him, and this decision. I’m not going to back down now. The status quo is not acceptable; it’s far too painful. Something has to give.

I hop to my feet, tired of him towering over me. Taller than me, he still towers somewhat, but it’s not nearly as bad now that I’m standing as it was when I was sitting down on the chair.

“I’ll say it as much as I want,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be your consort anymore!”

Technically, I suppose, I never really did, but there have been enough pleasant moments to keep me from saying those words that I would immediately regret. We’ve had many nights of pleasure, some lasting well until the morning. There’ve been moments of softness too, which always takes me by surprise.

I wouldn’t trade them, though. The only thing I would maybe switch out is our rocky start.

Caleb straightens, still trying to intimidate me. He can be a scary man when he wants to be, but I’m past the point of being frightened by him. Not when he’s acting like this, like a petulant child unwilling to give up his favorite toy.

I have no misconceptions that I mean anything more to him than that, and I’m tired of it. I don’t want to be a toy anymore. I want to either mean something to Caleb, or be gone away from him. There’s no middle ground here.

We glare at each other for several long moments. I keep thinking Caleb is going to lecture me or scold me. He certainly looks like he wants to.

But then his face softens somewhat. Well, he starts to look less like he wants to murder me and more like he just wants to break some inanimate object in half instead.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

“You… don’t…?” I search his face, trying to discern if this confusion is sincere or if he’s playing some kind of game, setting me up for something. But the longer I look, the more I realize… the confusion is real.

Caleb genuinely has no idea why I wouldn’t want to be his mistress.

Gods, what kind of privileged life has this man lived? Has he never in his entire life been rejected?

Looking at him, at his handsome face, at his wide shoulders, no. I suppose he likely would have never been rejected, even if he wasn’t born king.

But knowing that the confusion is real softens some of the animosity that has been growing inside of me towards him. It makes me want to answer his question.

“I don’t want to be a backup, Caleb. What I want more than anything else in the entire world, is to be my partner’s most cherished person. Not someone who gets passed around and forgotten…”

The weight of Samuel’s betrayal weighs heavy on me. I don’t have feelings for Samuel anymore, but the memory of the pain I felt remains like a phantom wound. I never want to feel that way again.

“I want to be by my partner’s side for all occasions and celebrations. Once you marry Annabelle, you will do those things with her. If I stay as your harem member, I will be set aside. That’s how it should be. You should focus fully on your mate. But it’s not enough for me. I want to be someone’s one and only.”

Caleb’s face is a hard mask, making it impossible to tell what he is thinking.

Then, like whispering a breath, he says aloud his realization. “You think you don’t mean anything to me.”

It wasn’t a question, more a statement. There’s nothing I can say against it, because it is one hundred percent the truth.

His brow furrows slightly, giving him an annoyed expression. He steps closer, chest so near my chest, so that he can stare down at me with a deep intensity.

“You mean more to me than you realize,” he says. It’s almost as if he’s speaking the words straight into my soul, the way they seem to reverberate through my body.

He lifts his hands, and without touching, traces them up the lengths of my arms to my shoulders. His palms hover just over my skin. It still, somehow, feels like a caress even when he’s not touching me. He’s so close, if I concentrate, I can feel the warmth of his hands.

“Caleb…” I whisper.

For a moment, I feel like I can see the stars in his eyes. Then, all at once, he hardens once more, dropping his hands away.

“You belong to me, Harper, and you always will,” he growls.

Then, as if that is the logical end to our conversation, he turns and walks right out of my room.

Caleb has not been this confusingly annoyed in some time. Why does he care what Harper wants? Even if she was kind to him, even if she saved his life, he is the king. He’s not beholden to her request, so what if he is the one who had originally offered it?

Only, that’s exactly why he should honor it. Harper did save his life, and he promised her that he would give her anything. The sky is the limit.

He didn’t think she would ask for freedom.

The one thing that he absolutely does not want to give.

She spoke of mating another werewolf so casually. Even now, it has Caleb clenching his jaw with rage. She is his and no one else’s.

The thought of some lesser being attempting to taint her with his touch makes Caleb want to put every man in the castle straight through a wall.

He doesn’t care if it’s unreasonable. Not when any of them could be the one that Harper wants instead of her King.

Too furious for reason, Caleb storms out into the training yard where the guards are preforming their drills.

He walk right into the middle of their formation, stretches his arms out wide, and shouts, “Someone fight me!”

The guards look at each other, uncertain.

Nearby, Tristan, rubbing his forehead, starts walking toward him.

“You!” Caleb shouts, pointing at a guard at random. “Fight me. Now!”

The guard seems shaken but all know better than to deny a direct order from the king. So he rushes forward and takes position in fighting stance.

Tristan walks faster.

Caleb starts to low growl as he tenses his body, ready for a brawl.

His fangs start to elongate. His fingers twitch, turning into claws.

The guard’s eyes grow large and Caleb starts getting taller.

At once, Tristan darts forward and shoves the guard behind him.

“King Caleb,” Tristan says. “I request that you do not kill any of our guards.”

“If they will night fight me,” Caleb growls. “Then perhaps you will, Beta.”

Tristan goes very still. In a fair fight, no one can beat Caleb, not even Tristan, who matches Caleb’s strength with speed.

“If that’s what it will take to stop you from killing someone, then fine,” Tristan grumbles. Looking around, he’s aware of their audience.

In barely a whisper, knowing Caleb will still hear it while no one else will, Tristan adds, “Or, maybe you can just tell me what the hell has you in this state, without all these damn theatrics.”