HuntressUnleashed Page 2

  “Water or whiskey.” He took a seat at the table, his knees barely cramming into the diminutive space. He was far too large for her little croft cottage. The beams were just under six feet and he’d had to bend quite a bit just to walk across the kitchen to the table.

  She poured herself the remainder of the nettle tea and ladled him a glass of water. “Tell me about this danger I am in.”

  “All in good time.” Eagan downed half the glass of water and sat back, surveying the cottage. The interior was well-maintained, if tiny. He stretched his legs out toward the fire—even werewolves felt the chill when naked in human skin—and turned to unabashedly stare at this self-styled Huntress.

  In Brighid’s name, she was sexy. Shoulder-length, raven-black hair was still tousled from her night’s sleep, lending her a wary, wild-animal look that was only accentuated by her skittishness toward him. And those full, luscious-looking lips…

  She noticed his stare and looked away, flustered. “Would you care for some porridge?”

  “Aye, a bowl would be most welcome, thank ye.”

  She gave his chair a wide berth as she entered the kitchen. “While I cook, you can tell me precisely what danger is lurking outside my property. I can Sense…something.”

  “Can ye Sense me?”

  She paused, about to tip oats into a pan. “Not anymore.”

  “Aye, now that I’m an honored guest, I suppose ye no longer feel my proximity. Did no’ your da ever warn you against inviting strangers inside?” Thank Brighid it was him who found her first.

  She’d raised her sword again, and that glare was back on her wee face.

  “Be at ease, lass. I’m no’ going to ambush ye in your own dwelling. Ye do no’ have to watch me every moment.”

  “I shall be the judge of that.” Her steely-blue eyes met his gaze defiantly. Aye, she definitely possessed werewolf blood. He was stunned that it was calling to him so strongly. All mature werewolf females felt strong lust around an Alpha if they were unmated, but this Huntress couldn’t be more than a quarter-blood.

  Eagan frowned. Could this lass be the mate suited for him? For the better part of a century, he’d been searching from Pack to Pack, scouting the sparse population of females for someone who could be his. Now, almost by fluke, he’d stumbled upon this lass.

  Unfortunately, so had Delaney. His nemesis, the werewolf had been a Loner for far too long, evading all justice. Eagan had found him hock-deep in sheep blood yesterday just in time to prevent Delaney from going after the girl. It would have been over then and there for the Loner if his enemy hadn’t had a damned dark wizard assisting him.

  Lately, some werewolf males had been allying themselves with outcasts of other paranormal societies—especially dark wizards and witches who could magically cover their tracks in return for plundering coveted body parts from werewolf-raided villages. This was causing major trouble among the Packs, who had enough trouble keeping their identities secret.

  “Is that other wolf stalking me?”

  Eagan inclined his head, impressed by her quick deduction. “Aye, he is.”

  “Because of my alleged werewolf blood?”

  Again he nodded. She turned away, but not before he saw the expression on her face. Hunted. She was scared. She shouldn’t be scared.

  “I do no’ even know your name, lass, yet you know mine. Who are you?” He pressed her gently, although he was keen for answers. He wanted to know everything about her.

  “Caitrin Flint.” She placed a bowl of oatmeal before him along with a small pitcher of cream. “Now tell me more about this other werewolf. How am I supposed to believe you are not working with him?”

  He hid a smile at her imperiousness, understanding that it was a façade to hide her fear. Brave lass. “Alphas do no’ work with Loners. Alphas kill Loners,” he explained.

  Her interest clearly piqued, she took a seat across from him. Immediately, he eased forward so that his knees were in contact with hers. She jumped back as if she’d been stung. “Are you like a Hunter?”

  “Nay, lass. Alphas are no’ like Hunters. We dispense justice only to our own kind. We do hunt Loners when necessary but much of our time is spent managing our Pack, breeding and raising bairns. If we can find a female, that is.”

  “Is it so difficult to convince someone to breed with you?”

  Eagan roared with laughter, startling her again. “Nay, lass. I’ve had plenty a fair wench, but I’ll only have the one mate. Werewolves mate for life.” His eyes blatantly caressed her curves. Was she the right one for him? He’d never felt so strongly about any other.

  “And your females do not object?” She interrupted his musing, tilting her head curiously.

  “Course no’.” The porridge was good. He dashed some cream into the bowl and watched her while he ate. Caitrin Flint. Unusual name. Beautiful, though, like everything else about her.

  She was quiet for a short while, barely picking at her own porridge. “How did you break the witchwards so easily?”

  “Was no’ easy,” he clarified. “I’ve just had many years experience with them.”

  “Are you very old?”

  “A few hundred years, give or take a decade. Alphas do no’ age until we find a mate.”

  “What if you pass near your mate without recognizing her? Do you begin to age? That hardly seems fair.”

  “We have to bed them first.” Like the true gentleman he was, Eagan hid his amusement at her reaction.

  “What if the female wants to leave you?”

  “Would no’ happen.”

  Yet even as he spoke, he felt a stirring of unease. Would it even be possible to take Caitrin as a mate? Was she too much the Huntress and too little werewolf? He knew half-bloods bonded for life, yet would the magic still spark with her?

  Chapter Three

  Eagan was taking up so much space—both physically within the cottage and mentally. She hadn’t spoken this much in the better part of a month, not since her last visit to Iris, the friend and witch who had set the wards. Coincidentally, Iris had hinted she would be willing to speak more about Caitrin’s mother, but she’d turned her down at the time, wanting to return home before dark.

  Now she wished she’d taken the witch up on her offer.

  Had her mother truly been half werewolf? Was that why this…Alpha was sitting across from her, exuding incredible sex appeal? Because her own werewolf blood was responding to an urge to mate?

  Every time his legs accidentally-on-purpose brushed hers, whenever he leaned forward, invading her personal space, Cait had to fight an urge to let him get closer. She required distance between them—fast.

  His gaze followed her across the small sitting room as she left the kitchen area. “How long have ye lived here, Caitrin?”

  The way her name sounded when spoken in his far northern accent was intriguing. She wanted to hear him say it again. And again. To ground herself, she traced the hilt of her sheathed sword, running one finger across its carved decorations. His gaze left her face and settled upon her hand, watching in evident fascination.

  “I was born here,” Cait said, finally remembering to answer.

  “When is your da due home?”

  Cait bit her lip, removing her fingers from the hilt as if they’d been burned. “He died three years ago. He was very old and…he seemed so tired and worn since losing my mother. Iris—a family friend—thinks he stayed alive long enough to raise me to womanhood and then allowed himself to give up.”

  “Ah, lass.”

  Again that genuine sympathy. A wealth of emotion in two simple words. Unlike the vicar and half the fluttering, useless townspeople, this man didn’t presume to tell her he knew what she was feeling, nor did he pry by asking a thousand questions.

  “It has been three years and I still miss him.” She turned to the window, staring at the gray drizzle. Frost laid his muzzle across her feet, a living, furry blanket of comfort.

  Eagan had gone quiet, watching her with a mixture of a
mazement and something like terror.

  “What?” she asked sharply. “Are werewolves are not supposed to associate with dogs? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Ye have lived here alone for three years?”

  “Yes.” None of the suitors from town had ever been remotely acceptable to her. She’d begun to think herself immune from feeling at all until Eagan’s sudden entrance into her life.

  “Any siblings?”

  “Pardon me?” Confused and thrown off her stride, Cait retreated behind courtesy.

  “Do you have any brothers?”

  “There is only me.”

  Eagan whistled, low and incredulous. “Ye, on your own, in the middle of Sheepshire where half the damned Loners roam. By Brighid, lass, you’ve been lucky.”

  Caitrin shrugged. “Am I? I have a dangerous Loner stalking me and a sex-mad Alpha at my table.”

  “I’m no’ sex-mad.”

  “Then why do I feel so…” She waved her hands in a helpless gesture.

  “I can no’ control what you feel, Caitrin. It is what it is. And I’m no’ leaving ye to be savaged by Delaney and his pet wizard.”

  Damn, he was getting up and coming toward her. She shuffled backward, dislodging the collie’s nose from her foot. The dog retreated as Eagan approached, sliding behind a chair.

  “Where did ye get these Guardians?”

  “Guardians? You mean Frost and Bannock? They were Da’s dogs.”

  Da had come back with a new pair of collies every twelve years, allowing the old ones a quiet retirement by Iris’ fire. The witch and her daughters doted on the animals throughout their twilight years. Bannock and Frost were still on the younger side, however. They would be active for years yet. Which was lucky because she had no idea where Da got his pups from.

  “Guardian dogs. Soulbound. When your da passed, the bond must have switched to ye.”

  Cait blinked slowly. “You are telling me that my collies are out of the ordinary?”

  “Aye. They are bound to protect ye above all, with their lives if necessary.”

  Oh. That explained their refusal to herd sheep when Cait had been about to track down—what was his name? Delaney? She trailed a hand down, stroking Frost’s soft fur. She could see Eagan’s well-muscled thigh out of the corner of her eye. And what lay nearby…

  “Will you not clothe yourself?” she demanded.

  “In what?” He gave an infuriating smile and leaned back in his comfy chair, baring everything.

  Cait closed her eyes briefly. Apparently this sexual attraction went both ways. He was affected too. Very affected.

  “I did no’ have the time to bring a bagful of clothes when I set out after Delaney. I caught his scent on the outskirts of Dumfries and immediately followed him south.”

  “What were you doing in Dumfries?” The question popped out before she could stop herself.

  “My grandnephew is a member of Pack near there. I try to spend as much time with a Pack as I can, but as an Alpha I can no’ stay around long. Packs do no’ function well with two Alphas. Subservient wolves can stick around and live a normal life, but it’s different for Alphas.”

  “You have a grandnephew?”

  “Aye.” His voice was wistful. “My brothers lived peaceful lives and died happy. Several were lucky enough to mate, have sons. Now I’m watching their sons’ sons.”

  “All because you couldn’t find a mate?” She was horrified.

  “That’s the way it is, lass. Once upon a time, we had the right proportion of females. That ended for some reason around the time the Romans invaded. After that, we werewolves produced far more male cubs, knocking everything out of balance.”

  Cait made the mistake of looking at him again. The trickle of desire was intensifying, becoming harder to deny. She needed space, despite his sad story. She couldn’t think about his plight.

  Abruptly she got to her feet. “I will try to find you something to wear while I dress myself. Kindly do not attempt to spy upon me.”

  She closed the door to her tiny bedroom, pulling on trousers and a ruffled long-sleeved blouse. Then she took her time combing her hair. Even a few minutes away from Eagan was time in which she could breathe properly, removed somewhat from all that lust.

  Her hands shook, gripping the comb hard. This was not in her life plan. Caitrin Flint, Huntress—not werewolf—was perfectly fine living alone. She enjoyed managing her own croft, driving the sheep to market, growing her own vegetables and trading wool and mutton. She had managed perfectly well for the past three years.

  Now Eagan was here, complicating her life. Introducing her to sensations she hadn’t even known she was missing. She had to move him on, cling to her Huntress identity, which probably meant killing Delaney and the unknown wizard.

  First things first.

  Cait rummaged in the closet, frowning. None of her garments would remotely fit the burly werewolf in her sitting room, but she kept something that just might.

  “A kilt?” The lass was full of surprises.

  “It preserves your modesty,” Caitrin replied primly.

  “Och, I rather thought ye did no’ mind my natural state of being. Especially seeing as ye augment it so.”

  She blushed a bewitching shade of scarlet, tossing the garment onto his lap. Only to stare wide-eyed as the kilt draped itself in a most interesting fashion.

  “Look your fill, lassie,” Eagan invited.

  Caitrin made a strangled noise. “Put it on, werewolf!”

  He was nothing if not obliging, wrapping himself in the thick woolen cloth. “Who did the kilt belong to, Caitrin?”

  Warily, she glanced back at him. “Nobody. I bought it at market several years ago.”

  Jealousy thrummed deep inside him, pumping through his veins faster than logical thought. “Did ye buy it for someone in particular?”

  “No.” Her dark-blue eyes were guileless. “I thought I might use the material to make a saddlecloth, only I never got around to the project.”

  Eagan relaxed, fighting the foolish grin that threatened to spread across his face. There was nobody else in her life. Perhaps her inexperience was the reason she was responding so adversely to the call of her wolf blood. Briefly he toyed with the idea of going closer to her, touching her silky skin—turning up the heat.

  His own urges were becoming more difficult to deny. It had been impossible to hide his reaction shortly after stepping over the threshold. Even though Delaney and the dangerous wizard remained nearby, his thoughts dwelled upon Caitrin.

  Raven hair combed and braided, proper clothes donned, the not-quite-Huntress looked as if she might be able to handle some trouble herself. Yet Delaney was far more dangerous than a typical Loner. Delaney was old, almost as old as he was. Until recently, Eagan thought his old acquaintance dead and gone.

  Turned out the corrupt werewolf was using dark wizardry to unnaturally prolong his life. Delaney was no Alpha—as a beta he should have joined a Pack, lived a normal, if potentially mateless, lifespan. Instead he had chosen to become an aberration.

  “The kilt fits well. Thank ye, Caitrin.”

  “You can take it with you when you leave,” she replied tartly.

  “Will no’ be leaving until ye are safe.” That was non-negotiable. He’d seen what Delaney did to females. This Huntress would be no exception to his viciousness.

  “Then go and dispense justice to the werewolf. The Loner, whatever you call him.”

  “Delaney is worse than a Loner. His kills are no’ born of madness but of willful cruelty and dark magic.”

  Caitrin paced to one of the windows. “I can still Sense him out there. Only faintly now.”

  “He may have moved away to set up camp. How close is the nearest town?” That Sense she had could be useful. Eagan was a fine tracker but he couldn’t tell when Delaney was near unless he was following actual spoor.

  “Eight miles east. The same witch who warded my house set a few near the town to deter paranormal a
ctivity.”

  “Let us hope they hold.” Callous though it was, Eagan was not prepared to abandon the lass to save the townspeople. He suspected Delaney wouldn’t bother with them either, although the dark wizard might convince him otherwise.

  He turned his attention back to Caitrin, watching her as she watched the light drizzle outside, her blue eyes pensive. She was getting better at hiding the effect lust was having upon her, although he could still smell her arousal. He paced closer, unable to help himself.

  She turned immediately, emitting a squeaky little gasp as she realized how close he was. “Why can you not…stop that? This sneaking up on me. These feelings.”

  “Do no’ want to. What are you so afraid of, Caitrin?”

  “I am not afraid.” Her chin came up immediately.

  “Ye should never be afraid o’ this.” He cupped her chin and brought her mouth toward him, claiming it in a kiss that sizzled halfway to the Shetland Islands. Once he’d gentled past her initial resistance, she closed her eyes and leaned into his embrace.

  Eagan went as slowly as he could bring himself to, luxuriating in her silky-soft skin, her lush curves. Time later to think about whether theirs could be a true pairing. Now he only wanted to explore, lose himself in pure sensation.

  His tongue flicked against her lips as he moved her away from the window toward the safer interior of the croft cottage. His Huntress snapped open her eyes, ready to protest against that indignity, but whatever she was about to say was lost in a soft moan as he pulled up her blouse.

  Her breasts strained against their bindings, tumbling free as he tugged at the wispy chemise concealing them. She startled in surprise as he handled them, dipping his head to taste their sweet tips. The tips no other man had tasted.

  Every single part of her body called for his touch—he could never get enough of her. Briefly overwhelmed by her very presence, he paused just to look at her.

  Blue eyes blinked, hazed by the passion that had come upon her like a sudden summer rain, drenching her in sensation she’d probably never felt before. Despite her earlier defiance she was leaning into him, soaking up his touch.