The Wolf King (The Wolf Kings #1) (MLM)

CHAPTER FIVE.

                Jack had no idea how tired he really was until he woke a moment later to knocking on his door. He groaned under his breath, turning his face into the carpet. Instead of bathing and changing, he'd simply pulled his coat and scarf on, tucked his blanket back in with his other things, and fallen asleep with his satchel in his arms, curled up on the floor before the fire.

He pushed himself up slowly as the person knocking said, "Mr. Hunter, may I come in?"

Jack squinted groggily at the door half a second longer before Mira's words from earlier came back to him.

"Are you a werewolf, too?"

"Of course. We all are."

"Mr. Hunter?"

The voice was a man's. Steady, but not threatening. Jack swallowed and stood as the man asked again if he could come in.

"Come in," he managed without breaking his words.

The doors opened and a tall, lanky man walked in. He had pitch black hair that was curled back perfectly, wore a violet vest over a white button-down shirt, his nails were painted black, and a single, silver fang earring hung from a pointy ear.

He looked around until his amethyst eyes settled on Jack, then he blinked once, slowly. "You look awful," he said in a British accent, and strode up to Jack. They were the same height, but maybe it was the way this guy held himself that made him feel taller.

The man plucked Jack's coat and scarf. "So glad I spent an hour scrubbing at these. Really, sir, blood is hard enough to get out the first time!" He rolled his eyes, turning away. "Well, we're not taking you to breakfast with the king looking like that, are we? Hurry along now, sir, I'll run the bath and you can –"

"I'm not taking a bath," Jack said, if only to get him to slow down. "And I'm not wearing any of his clothes either."

"Nonsense, sir," the man said indignantly. "I can't possibly let you go downstairs with –"

"And don't call me 'sir,'" he said, then in an afterthought, "please."

"Then what should I call you?" he demanded.

"Jack. Jack Hunter. That's my name. What's yours?"

The man blinked, caught off guard. Had he not expected Jack to ask for his name?

"Er . . ." his shoulders fell. "Everett Mallow." He raised his chin. "I'm the one that told His Majesty you'd probably want your own room. He wasn't really happy about it, but I managed to convince him."

"Nice to meet you, Everett," Jack said with a sigh, sitting down on an armchair and rubbing his face. "Too bad it's not under better circumstances."

Silence. Then –

"You don't seem very happy to be here," Everett noted. He leaned over, hands on his knees as if to get a good look at Jack's face without coming too close to his ruined clothes again.

"Gee," Jack said dryly, "what gave you that idea?"

"I don't understand," Everett said. "You've met your mate, you should be –"

"He's not my mate," Jack cut him off through gritted teeth. "And I'm not going downstairs. I won't eat with my own kidnapper, I'd rather starve first."