Page 62 of Craved By a Wolf

And gods help him, but he had fallen for her.

The other half of his broken, blackened soul.

The light to his darkness.

The beauty to his beast.

And just like that his wolf calmed, lowering its head in pure reverence of the female before him.

Hella stepped towards him, her right hand coming up.

Kin caught it and pulled her to him, and she angled her head back, her gaze instantly dropping to his mouth, an invitation he couldn’t turn down. He swooped on her lips, claiming them in a soft kiss this time, one that added to that warmth she roused in him and had his head fogging as his heart healed. Her lips were like nectar of the gods as she opened to him and he drank deep, couldn’t get enough of her as strength poured back into his tired body. Her little hands fisted his shirt as she kissed him back, her soft curves inflaming him as she pressed them against the length of his body, bringing them into sweet but tormenting contact. He needed more than this. He needed her bare skin against his.

He wanted to growl when she pressed her hands to his chest and stole her lips away from his, but she stopped him with one word.

“MacKinnon,” she whispered, a balm to his soul, and he wanted to tell her to say it again, to keep saying his name in that breathless way and never stop, because he couldn’t get enough of it. She swallowed hard and her brow furrowed as she gazed up at him, the concern in her green gaze unravelling his strength. Never had he thought it possible for her to look at him like that—as if she felt something for him. Something as deep and powerful as he felt for her. Her head shook slightly as she took him in. “I haven’t seen you in weeks and… mother earth… what happened to you?”

“The curse,” he snapped as unwanted anger surged to the surface and he rubbed his sore eyes, fighting the urge to lash out at her because she was responsible for his condition. No. She wasn’t. The redheaded witch was. Hella was just another victim of this curse, and he was sure she could break it, or at the very least she could help him grow strong enough to break it himself. He lowered his hand and reached for her. “Another kiss, lass.”

She stepped back, evading him.

He growled, furious that she was still fighting the attraction he knew she felt towards him, the need that he had tasted in that kiss and felt right the way to his bones. He couldn’t mistake the scent of desire on her or how she had responded to him, and he certainly couldn’t miss the hunger that still shone in her eyes as she gazed at him.

His wee witch was pleased to see him.

She had missed him.

He reached for her again, determined to have her back in his arms, to steal a little more strength from her lips.

“I’ll help you,” she said and his heart soared.

And then plummeted when she turned away and went to the books spread across the thick wooden bench table and began leafing through them and he realised she wasn’t talking about bedding him.

“There has to be a way to lift the curse,” she muttered as she set one book aside and started on another. “I was looking into curses in general while you were gone, but they’re so specific and I had no one to ask about the details of your one in particular.”

“Really?” he bit out, his mood taking a dangerous turn as he stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him. “Couldn’t think of anyone at all? No’ like… say…me… oh… or maybe thehackit bintwho cursed me to get back at you? Why didn’t you try asking her?”

Her shoulders tensed but she said nothing, didn’t even do him the courtesy of looking at him. He resisted the urge to palm the steel-hard bulge in his black jeans and stomped towards her, determined to have her look at him because he wanted to see in her eyes that she felt guilty about not coming to him.

He needed to know she had missed him as badly as he had missed her.

She glanced at him when he drew level with her, a quick one that barely had her eyes landing on his chest before she returned them to her book and began leafing through it with renewed vigour as she muttered, “There’s no need to shout.”

MacKinnon huffed. There was every need to shout. He was angry, hurt that she had been trying to work on his curse but hadn’t even considered coming to see him.

And gods… had he stayed away all that time because he had wanted her to come to him?

He pressed his left palm to the top of the table as he considered that, as he realised that it was the truth. All those weeks, all that suffering, and all because some foolish, pathetic part of him had wanted her to come to him for once. He cursed his heart, aware it was responsible for his ridiculous actions.

“Tell me again how you came to be cursed.” Her voice was small, weak, and he sensed her nerves as she kept her eyes on her books, hiding in them.

It wasn’t fear that made her act in such a way. No. His wee witch responded to fear in a very different way, would have put him in his place rather than withdrawing into herself. Or perhaps it was fear, but not of him. She feared what she might do if she looked at him.

Because she wanted him.

She could pretend all she wanted that she didn’t, but he could feel it in her, smell it on her. She desired him, was battling her attraction to him right that second, as her eyes kept trying to shift to him and she diligently kept her profile to him. He edged closer to her and her breath hitched, her slender shoulders tensing for a split-second to give away the effect he had on her.

She liked him close. She liked it as much as he did.

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