The Lycan King's Defiant Surrogate

Chapter 98

For a brief moment, Caleb's entire face goes slack with shock. In that instant, I feel vindicated, like maybe he'll learn something now.

However, in the next second, his face hardens instead. His words like ice, he says, "What did you just say to me?"

Any other day, maybe I would have backed down. The Alpha is intimidating when he's pissed off. Even now, I feel a tremor of fear zip down my spine.

But fear isn't the only thing I feel. A kindling of defiance has always simmered inside of my soul, ever since my disgrace. It comes forward now and then, usually to get me in trouble, before I can suppress it once more to keep the peace. Right now, that defiance burns like a bonfire.

Maybe it's the near-freedom that comes from being in this place. Maybe it's the confidence that Caleb can't kill me here, unless he wants to leave himself entirely servant-less. I imagine he'd be dead in two days, not knowing how to pour his own ice water. Whatever the cause, the defiance is there, bright and hot, and it won't be silenced any longer.

"I said, get it yourself," I tell him, enunciating each word slowly so that there can be no confusion.

He steps down from the porch, moving toward me with his long, kingly strides. I stand up to meet him, unwilling to kneel before him now.

He glowers down at me, his upper lip curled in disgust. Curiously, at the same time, the ice thaws in his eyes, and his own fire seems to spark there, hot and dangerous.

"I am your King," he says, his voice a deep growl. The shivers that tone of voice gives me are entirely different than fear, but I press down on those feelings, restraining them. This is not the right time to be horny.

"Out here, it's just the two of us," I tell him, steel in my voice. I want him to know that he can yell and demand and posture all he likes, it won't make a difference. "Look around, you are the king of nothing but weeds and an old farmhouse. I cannot maintain this place entirely on my own while also catering to your ever meager need. You know where the icebox is. I'm busy trying to help us survive out here."

"You can stop your work to tend to my needs. It is your duty as my servant."

I shake my head. "If you don't start pulling your own weight around here, I'm going to walk off and leave you here. How would that be? We'll see how long the king can last on his own. Do you even know how to work a stove?"

"Do not mock me," he says furiously. Inching closer, he towers over me, glaring down the length of his nose at me. "You won't care if I walk off then," I snap, unwilling to be intimidated. "A king should be able to stand on his own." In a flash, Caleb reaches out and grabs me, clutching the front of my dress in his fists.

"Until Tristan returns, it will take both of us to survive out here," I tell him, squawking slightly now as he lifts me up off my feet. My voice turns pleading. Why can't he understand? "I can't do it all alone. You have to pull your own weight!"

A deep growl escapes the back of Caleb's throat. For a moment, brace myself, because he looks mad as hell and like he might just throw me across the meadow.

But then, his gaze shifts, and he looks down at the garden beneath us and its sorry state.

"You expect this... to grow us food?" Caleb asks. Slowly, he lowers me down to my

feet.

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Chapter 98

When my feet touch the ground, I breathe easy again. "It's already growing some. We just need to help it."

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Caleb releases his hands from my dress and takes a half-step back. His anger has simmered now into mere annoyance - and skepticism. "Show me." That's... odd. I was expecting more fight from him. At the very least, I thought he might just storm off and leave me alone. But now he wants to... help?

Maybe my words got through to him. Does he now see how important it is for us to work together to survive?

Containing my pride, I return to my work in the dirt, showing him how to grab the weeds and remove them, while also being cautious of the plants we want to save.

"If you expose the roots, make sure to cover them again with fresh soil."

He watches for a time, then bends down and, with a disgusted look on his face, digs his hands into the dirt to uproot a rather nasty weed. I've seen this man covered in blood and gore. I've seen him commit torture and other terrible acts, all with a straight face. But it's the dirt under his fingernails that has him looking the most disgusted.

He removes a few weeds as I showed him, but then seems to grow impatient and starts pulling faster and at random.

"Stop!" I tell him quickly, before he can uproot a carrot.

"What?" he says shortly, throwing me a look of frustration.

"That's a carrot," I say.

Looking down, he slowly releases the death grip he had on that carrot. "They look the same..."

"Perhaps if you stick with the grasses," I suggest. "The grasses don't look like any vegetables."

He looks at his hands. Even from where I am, I can see the dirt caked into his skin at the bends of his fingers and palms.

"My hands are not built for such gentle work," he says. "I am built to rule, not to... tend gardens...'

"It's an adjustment. It will take time."

"I am a king," he says, the annoyance returning tenfold to his voice. "I should not have to adjust."

""Caleb," I start.

"Do not address me so informally," he snaps, as he pushes himself back to his feet. "Whether we are here or anywhere else, I am still your King, and you will treat me with respect and dignity." He looks at his hands again. "Dignity..." he repeats with distain, then huffs a sharp breath.

Before I can think of what to say to him, my own anger flaring, he storms off, not in the direction of the house, but through a part of the meadow, headed toward the nearest line of trees.

I let him go, glaring after him. He's made such a mess of the garden, it's probably for the best that he just gives up.

It will be a miracle if we survive out here for any length of time without killing each other. Or starving to death. At this rate, I'm thinking killing each other will come first.

For a time, I continue my work on my own, weeding most of the garden. Yet, the longer I work, and the longer Caleb takes to return, the more I wonder if I wasn't patient enough with him.

He is a king, after all. He's likely always had servants tending to his every whim, so he wouldn't know how to use a stove or an

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Chapter 98

ice box or how to weed a garden.

That he helped at all today shows a willingness to learn, to do his part and pull his own weight.

Maybe tending the garden isn't the right task for him, but we can try other things...

I should apologize, I realize. Or at least, offer some suggestions of things he could help with that he might excel at.

Gods know where he wondered off too. He is coming back... right?

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Nervous now, I abandon my work to follow the path he took, across the meadow and through the trees. There, I hear the sounds of rushing water. I follow the noise to find a river. In that river, stands Caleb.

Entirely naked.