Page 3 of The Lycans: Vol Four

I sank to my knees and placed a hand on my chest, over my rapidly beating heart.

The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

At first sight, I assumed she was a wee human, but as I inhaled the concentrated scent of her, took that part of my mate into my lungs, I realized she was of the Otherworld.

A nymph—water, to be specific—and quite possibly the weakest species in the Otherworld, only as strong as a human, with no discernible powers but having attained longevity of our world.

And they were strongest surrounded by their element—either earth or water.

I closed my eyes and shuddered. I’ve found her. I’ve finally found her, and now, for the first time in my lonely, gods-forsaken life, I feel like I have purpose.

I found myself standing and stumbling forward, my boots snapping and cracking twigs with every step I took, before I fell to my knees. I snapped my eyes open at the same time I heard her gasp.

She spun around, the long fall of her raven hair swinging wildly behind her to finally settle over one shoulder. She had her hands pressed to her stomach, her fingers curled around her shift.

For long moments, we just stood there staring at each other. She backed up a couple of steps, but I stayed where I was, on my knees, because I didn’t want to frighten her. I held my breath, too terrified to even blink because I feared this would all vanish.

She licked her lips, and I was riveted to the sight of her moistening that plump, red mouth. Gods, she was tiny. Less than half my size, a slip of a little thing.

I placed a heavy hand on the tree beside me, my other hand out in front of me, palm toward her in supplication. I placed one foot on the ground and stilled, showing her that I wasn’t trying to do anything swift and didn’t want to frighten her further.

When she didn’t seem afraid, I dug my claws into the bark and placed my other foot on the ground, slowly rising. Her eyes widened as I rose up, up, and up until I stood tall and proud at my six-foot-seven-inch height.

She murmured something in her native tongue, low and breathy, before blinking rapidly and shaking her head.

I inhaled her scent again and couldn’t help the low rumble of pleasure that left me. She smelled so sweet, like new blooming flowers with a hint of sea salt in the air.

She started speaking softly again, her words rushing out of her quickly as she finally took another step back. I couldn’t understand her language. Maybe she’d speak Gaelic?

“There is no need for ye tae fear me, lass. Do ye no’ recognize me as yer mate?” I spoke the Gaelic softly, trying to keep the gruffness out of my voice, trying to keep the growl out of the words, because my Lycan was so close to the surface.

I was all but shaking, trying to rein him in. But I knew my eyes glowed, knew she could probably sense the feral side of me coming out.

She spoke again, her focus on my twin glowing orbs. I felt my own confusion fill me and explode outward. My mate didn’t seem to know what I was, didn’t seem to recognize me as the beast I was. But surely it was impossible she didn’t know of the species in the Otherworld, being one herself?

And when she took another step back and shook her head, I cursed low and exhaled roughly. I was a patient male, but seeing my mate just meters from me, knowing that I was frightening her right now—even inadvertently—had a pain unlike anything I’d ever experienced spearing through me.

It was very clear she didn’t understand my native tongue, and I racked my brain with how to communicate with her. Maybe English?

“Do ye understand English, lass?” I wanted to go closer to her, to wrap my arms around her and envelop my body around hers, protecting her slight form, taking in her scent, the feel of her body against mine. And staying back was so fucking hard.

I still had a hand braced against the tree trunk, my nails gouged in so deep I could feel sap seeping out of the trunk and covering my fingers.

She wet her lips and nodded. I curled my fingers deeper into the trunk, hearing the bark split as I watched the slide of that small pink tongue dragging across her full bottom lip. Gods, my cock was threatening to burst free from my leathers. I tried to make myself smaller, praying to the gods she wouldn’t look down and notice what I was sporting. Surely that would frighten my wee girl.

I cursed low. “Bollocks.” I looked down at the ground and lifted my free hand to rub it over my face. I could feel the beard covering my cheeks and jaw, the days upon days of me in the wilderness probably having me look more feral than I really was.

Although right now, I felt like a primitive beast wanting to take my mate to the forest floor and claim her until there was no doubt in anyone’s mind she was mine. But I was more civilized than that—or at least that’s what I told myself. I would never scare her, never want to force myself upon her. When she gave herself to me, it would be with moans on her breath and her hands on my body.

“I’m fooking this all up.” I ground my back molars and looked up at her.

Her head was slightly tilted to the side, her eyebrows pulled down low as she stared at me. “Who are you?”

I closed my eyes and felt my body sway at the sound of her voice. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard, and it went straight through me like a shot of heat, lighting up every dead, hollow part of me. My blood sang, my heart raced, and I felt the sweat bead across my brow.

“Odhran,” I said gruffly and cleared my throat. “Odhran of the Scottish Lycan clan, lass.”

Her English was impeccable, with only the slightest accent from whatever her native tongue was. “You’re far from home, Odhran.”

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