HuntressUnleashed Read online

  The poor lass barely knew which way was up with all this lust buffeting her. Eagan could hardly blame her for wanting him gone, wanting the confusing feelings to dissipate.

  He would give her relief. Then they would see whether she still wanted him to leave.

  Eagan moved her farther across the room, bending his head to avoid the overhead beams. Caitrin fit perfectly in his arms, her head nestling comfortably underneath his chin as he backed her into the kitchen. In the next moment he lifted her onto the table, deftly undoing the latch of her trousers.

  “MacCulloch!”

  She bit off his name in a tone somewhere between surprise and condemnation. Yet Eagan read the longing in her body, and body language was good at telegraphing needs. Caitrin definitely needed—him. Now.

  He spiraled one finger between her folds, catching her gasp in his mouth. She was wet and ready—more than hot. His thumb moved in a circle as his other finger penetrated her.

  So damn tight. He nearly disgraced himself on the inside of the kilt. Gritting his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate only on her, Eagan continued, stretching her carefully with two fingers.

  She was so wound up that she was practically vibrating. He eased her legs apart, parting her further. Caitrin was building, seeking release without even knowing it. Her hips thrust forward even as she turned her head away, still trying to deny his existence. A whimper escaped her lips, the sound sexy as hell.

  “Relax, lassie. Just a moment longer. Relax for me. That’s the way. Now. Come for me.”

  She obeyed his command, gasping and whimpering as she rode his hand to completion.

  * * * * *

  For a minute Caitrin allowed herself to rest against his shoulder, idly feeling his muscles ripple as he withdrew his hand from her underclothes—from her. She’d seen stars…colors…felt what she’d never dreamed was possible. It was as if something dormant had been awoken within her, a needy, greedy demand that eclipsed all else.

  And she’d done it with a werewolf who was a complete stranger.

  What on earth had she been thinking? Was he now going to expect reciprocation? She peered circumspectly at the jutting kilt. He was more than ready.

  Would they be bonded forever if she allowed him inside her?

  Caitrin didn’t think she was ready to know the answer to that. Self-consciously, she scooted backward across the table, doing her trousers up with one hand. She had no idea what to say in this situation. Table between them, Cait regarded Eagan with trepidation. Eagan lounged against a chair, regarding her silently.

  “Is it customary to say thank you after something like this occurs?” she asked finally.

  “Usually my lasses have snuggled into me and gone to sleep.” Eagan’s piercing green eyes raked across her body.

  “Have you had many of these…lasses?” Why was she suddenly feeling jealous? The past was the past. But the thought of this man touching someone else really bothered her.

  “A fair few. Especially after Rowena.”

  Cait paused in the act of tugging her blouse down. “Rowena?”

  “The lass I thought to make my mate. She was claimed by another Alpha. I could have fought him, made her my own. But that would no’ have been fair to her—she had eyes only for Dougal.”

  “How long ago did that happen?”

  “Nigh two centuries back. I went wenching for a good few nights, but nothing has ever fully sated me.” His voice was matter-of-fact. Eagan MacCulloch was apparently not one to wallow in self-pity. Strangely enough, that made his story more poignant.

  “What would sate you?” Curiosity was getting the better of Caitrin. She bit her lip immediately after speaking. Didn’t she want him gone?

  “Sex with ye, Caitrin. Making ye my mate would slake my lust—every night.”

  She wasn’t quite ready to hear that. Stumbling backward, she traversed the kitchen. Her mind was whirling. Quickly she seized upon the mundane. “I must go feed the sheep and allow them into the pasture.”

  He was on his feet and blocking her path before she’d taken more than two steps. “I can no’ let you go outside alone. I will scout first. Delaney is far too canny to give up easily.”

  Caitrin grumbled under her breath as she followed him to the door.

  “I heard that, lass.” His rumble of amusement made her blush. Damn werewolves and their sensitive hearing.

  Despite Eagan’s presence, Cait kept her hand atop the sword hilt. There were Eagan’s tracks, leading to the croft from the hills beyond. She saw no sign of the other werewolf. Her Sense still tingled faintly. Where was this Delaney?

  Iris would know what to do in this situation. Cait trusted the powerful witch implicitly. Yet she would have to visit Iris alone. The witch wouldn’t take kindly to Cait showing Eagan her dwelling. Like her, Iris cherished her privacy.

  Frost and Bannock trailed them as they walked toward the barn, keeping their distance from Eagan. Cait stole a glance at the werewolf. Striding along clad only in the kilt, he looked dangerous and sexy all at once, his eyes smoldering with repressed lust every time he looked her way. She noticed how he kept his body between her and the barn, not quite crowding her but ensuring he stayed within a protective distance.

  “What needs doing, Caitrin?”

  Again his tongue caressed her name, lending it a tenderness she was unaccustomed to hearing. She drew herself up, trying not to be too affected by this man.

  “The flock needs to be driven into the front pasture. They can stay there until dark. Bannock and Frost can handle them.”

  Caitrin watched the collies herd the sheep through the gates, silently mourning the slain sheep. The flock was still jittery, warily regarding the circling collies before allowing themselves to be driven into the pasture. Even there, many ewes kept raising their heads, scanning the horizon for danger.

  It would be lambing season soon—how could she keep them safe? She frowned, beginning to understand Da’s ability to kill.

  Latching the gate, Cait returned to the barn, absently tossing feed to the chickens. They scattered, clucking and pecking. She was so used to being alone that it gave her a jolt to see Eagan working quietly next to her, collecting eggs.

  “Thank you.” She accepted his offering with as much grace as she could muster. “I need to draw some water from the well.”

  “I’ll do it. Wait here.”

  Caitrin wasn’t certain whether she should chafe at his restrictions or be pleased at an extra pair of hands. By the time he returned with two brimming bucketsful of water, she’d settled for somewhere in between.

  “I do not suppose you know how to milk a nanny goat.”

  “O’ course I do.” He flashed her a mock-affronted look.

  “Oh yes. I had almost forgotten that you’re ancient.”

  Had she really just teased him? Was that a smile tugging at her lips? She turned away quickly, snatching up a clean bucket and crouching down by one of the two goats. Behind her, she knew he was grinning.

  It was noon by the time they’d finished doing chores in the barn. Caitrin surveyed the haul: seven eggs, a bucketful of milk, fresh water for washing up and a handful of just-harvested herbs. With a few cups of dried beans and the last of the celery, they would dine well on soup this evening.

  The barn was her favorite place to spend an afternoon. Curled up in the hayloft, she’d always felt safe and warm, protected from the elements, surrounded by contented animals.

  Trust a werewolf to come and change things. This Alpha was rapidly entrancing her, causing her to be unable to focus on anything but him. His lightly tanned skin rippled across his back as he lifted a bale of hay into the loft.

  Of its own volition, her hand reached out, lightly tracing the outline of his shoulder blade. He nearly dropped the hay bale as he whirled, green eyes dark.

  Caitrin took a step backward. How was she going to explain herself? He was ratcheting up the lust level again, approaching her with that heat in his eyes. She took another step
and sat down quite suddenly on top of the last bale of hay.

  “Lass, any touch from ye is likely to undo me. I have restraint, but a man has his limits.”

  “Do you…want to be touched?” The inner voice urging self-control beat at her urgently but she ignored its warning.

  “Aye. Very much so.”

  “Is it painful? Your face goes all taut whenever I even look at it.” She gestured at his groin, her fingers accidentally brushing the tip of his bulge.

  “Och, lass.” He drew upright, towering over her. From where she sat, his bellybutton was at eye level and his kilt was not far below. “Nay, it is not painful, but I am…on edge.”

  As long as he stood still, he wasn’t very intimidating. Caitrin reached out a tentative hand, brushing more firmly against his erection. This time he merely looked skyward, gritting his teeth. She grew bolder, skimming a hand under the kilt.

  If he’d been feeling unabated lust since their initial meeting, the least she could do was relieve it temporarily. Once it was over she could send him upon his way without a second thought. All that remained was to convince him that, as a Huntress, she could take care of herself against this Delaney. She would enlist the help of Iris for the wizard.

  Eagan shifted, his bare foot rustling the straw, and she was drawn back to the here and now. After a fumbling moment, her hand found the length of him, wrapped around his shaft. She slid her hand downward, absorbed in the feel of his silken hardness, the way his stomach muscles tensed as she touched him. His ragged gasp was loud in the still barn air.

  She peeked up at him, anxious to do the right thing. She had no idea how to pleasure a man.

  “That’s it, lass,” he rasped. “Keep stroking—upward.” His eyes never left her face as he encouraged her to continue.

  Curiosity got the better of her and she lifted the kilt with her other hand, staring fascinated. How did that fit inside a woman? Had all of his lasses been of large stature?

  His toes were curling in the straw as she continued her attentions. Cait wasn’t expecting to feel lust herself, having thought it abated with their antics on the kitchen table, but there it was, returning hot and heavy. It sent her grinding against the corner of the hay bale in an involuntary movement.

  He’d noticed what she was doing. She startled guiltily. After an entire lifetime of nothing—not even a chaste kiss—she was feeling the full effect of this inferno of an emotion.

  “Do no’ stop.” His hands closed around her waist, lifted her so that she perched atop the empty feeding trough. Somehow he’d eased her trousers down—damn, but he was skilled at that. Breathing hard, he bent, fingers exploring, brushing against parts of her she never thought could be so sensitized. The mere flick of his fingers sent shudders down her body.

  Somehow she continued her attentions, squeezing a little harder as she learned to gauge his reactions. She was surprised to actually derive pleasure from stroking him, thrilling a little when she discovered an especially sensitive area. He was certainly becoming familiar with hers, his bold touch almost undoing her. Her hand slid upward again, responding to the quickening thrust of his hips.

  Then through a haze she felt him tensing, ripping himself away from her as he spent himself into the straw, hissing in pleasure. “Caitrin,” he breathed. “Bloody hell, woman. Let me—aye, sit like that for me.”

  She was growing familiar with his touch, the way he built her up until nothing mattered but the movement of his hands, the slow hot kisses that felt like sheer indulgence. When she inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath, he stole her air, leaving her panting.

  The haze thickened around her until she was lost in it. She couldn’t stop now, couldn’t pull away even if she wanted to. With a helpless cry, Caitrin clutched at his chest, clenching hard and sudden around his fingers as he coaxed her over the edge. Head thrown back against the wall, half dressed, she pressed her forehead to his broad chest as she climaxed, held close, safe in his arms as he guided her into a peaceful aftermath.

  Her face burned as she realized just how wanton she was being.

  “I had better tidy my clothes,” she mumbled, ineffectually tugging at her chemise.

  “Did you no’ enjoy yourself?”

  “I did.” She looked anywhere but at him. “Did you?”

  “Would have preferred to do it inside ye.”

  Caitrin coughed, sliding off the feeding trough and away from Eagan. “Oh no you don’t. I am not ready to breed, as you put it so delicately.”

  “Och, do no’ fash yourself, lass. You aren’t fertile—I’d smell it on ye.”

  “I do not know very much about werewolves,” she said a bit defensively. “Da killed a few over the years.”

  “Did ye kill any?”

  “No. He forbade me to have anything to do with werewolves.” She turned away before he could ask more questions. She was a Huntress. The fact was undeniable. “I’m going to take the food inside and start cooking.”

  “Stop.” It was a command, not a request. She blinked in surprise, obeying him unwittingly.

  Eagan stalked forward, every inch an Alpha. “Ye will stay behind me while I scout.”

  Caitrin shrugged when his green eyes demanded a response. “Do not spill the milk, werewolf. The nanny goats are starting to go dry, and there is cake to bake.”

  He huffed, amusement flickering against the hard lines of his mouth. Caitrin watched him pause in the door to the barn, his silhouette against the afternoon light standing tall and proud as a statue. After a few minutes he relaxed his posture, evidently not scenting danger.

  “I will no’ be spilling the milk, lass. I enjoy cake. Let’s get ye into the cottage now.”

  When had she last cooked for two? It was strange contemplating the larger pots and pans in the little kitchen, measuring out twice the ingredients (and then half again extra—Eagan was huge and probably ate like a horse) and being watched while she bustled about.

  Once the bread was rising and the soup simmering, Cait sliced up the remnants of yesterday’s loaf, liberally spreading blackberry jam. They ate toast in silence, Eagan watching her, she watching the rain through the window. Mentally she went over the chores that needed to be done—washing, dusting, herding the sheep back inside.

  She would have enough time to meet up with Iris before dark if she hurried—and if it were possible to slip past Eagan’s watchful eye.

  Chapter Four

  He hadn’t been part of such domesticity since he was a teenager still with his original Pack. His mother had cooked great quantities of oatmeal, venison stew, bannock bread—and honey oatcakes for special occasions. Her brood—seven boys and two girls—ate it all and more.

  Now they were all long dead save for Eagan.

  As firstborn, he’d been the only Alpha. Two of his brothers had found mates. His other four brothers had joined other established Packs. His sisters had been snapped up by eager Alphas. Eagan had visited each of them in turn as he prowled all over Britain, searching for his own woman. Cautious about overstaying his welcome—Alphas were notoriously prickly around others of their kind—he remained solitary most of the time.

  This was one hell of a refreshing change. He was warm, full of good food, and the lass had even seen to his cock, exploring him with those curious wee hands. He was in no way sated by that too-short encounter—he was growing hard just thinking about it—but the kilt no longer rubbed so maddeningly against his tip.

  Caitrin sat across the room, calmly folding laundry. Eagan sprawled on the surprisingly comfortable couch, feet spread toward the fire. As he watched her, she reached for a needle and thread, mending a small rip in the elbow of one of her blouses.

  “There is a guest room where you can rest.” She spoke without looking up.

  “Rather stay here and watch ye.”

  “When was the last time you slept?”

  “I kipped a few hours yesterday. Spent the night watching the croft to make sure Delaney stayed away.”

  He
r hands stilled. “You are that worried about this werewolf?”

  “I protect what is mine.”

  “I told you. I am Huntress, not werewolf.”

  “Ye are werewolf enough. Your body calls to me. Tell me ye do no’ feel lust. Tell me ye do no’ want me.”

  She looked away. “Go and rest, werewolf.”

  Eagan repressed a smile of triumph. “I’ll rest right here, lass.”

  “As you wish. I shall wake you when the soup is ready.”

  But she didn’t. Eagan awoke to find the soup barely simmering. Late afternoon sun spread across the sheepskin-covered floor, melting inexorably into sunset. Her scent next to the folded laundry had grown faint.

  “Caitrin!” he bellowed. He knew calling for her was an exercise in futility, but the shout emerged anyway, ripped from his heart.

  Where is she? He needed her close to him, needed to confirm with his own eyes that she was hale and happy.

  Eagan ran in ever-widening circles around the croft. Delaney’s scent was old—he breathed a sigh of relief. The lass hadn’t been taken—she’d left. Of her own accord.

  Why? He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Come back!

  Her trail led south, winding through the hills. She’d covered it periodically in an attempt to hide her tracks, but the Guardians’ prints were more difficult to obscure.

  Eagan stripped, hanging the kilt on a nearby fence post. Furious and shaken at Caitrin’s abrupt departure, he could barely control the Change, his limbs cracking as bone transformed too abruptly. Yet he welcomed the physical pain as something to take his mind off the overwhelming fear that threatened to send him out of his mind.

  He needed to find her before Delaney did.

  * * * * *

  Caitrin stepped carefully backward, ensuring that her feet landed in her earlier bootprints. When she reached bare rock, she leaped to the side. Another leap landed her ankle-deep in the chilly waters of a thin beck.

  One of the collies whined, unhappy at obeying her command to wait across the beck. She’d had them walk in the water for a quarter of a mile to further confuse any trackers.