Page 1 of Craved By a Wolf

Chapter 1

Life was pretty sweet.

Hella ambled along the lakeshore, the heels of her black knee-high boots clicking on the pale golden flagstones that formed the broad promenade and her gaze on the stunningly blue water to her right as it twinkled in the artificial sunlight. She sipped her iced coffee, a bounce in her step, her whole body feeling lighter—brighter—for finally having swept off the oh-so-clingy nymph.

Ethyrian had been fun for a while. Charming. Rich. Handsome—no—beautiful. Hella wasn’t sure a man should be beautiful, but that was nymphs for you. They weren’t gorgeous like incubi, who all looked as if they had just stepped out of Hollywood and easily gave Brad Pitt and Ryan Reynolds a run for their money. No. Nymphs crossed the line into beautiful, every single one of them looking for all the world as if they had just stepped out of the wood elf kingdom inLord of the Rings.

Man, she could really go for some Legolas right now.

She scowled, pushed that thought aside, and stopped her roaming gaze before she could single out any eligible males in the crowded promenade. She wasn’t going to backslide. This was going to be her year. One devoted to exploring everything the fae town she lived in had to offer.

Which was a lot.

The damned nymph popped back into her head.

Hella booted him back out of it.

She had a policy when it came to her bedfellows. She didn’t do commitment. She didn’t do clingy. She most definitely didn’t do men who cried like babies and begged her to take them back.

Hella had flatly told him no and goodbye and had kicked him to the curb.

For a man who had been desperate to stay with her, he certainly hadn’t been calling all hours of the day or making wild attempts to change her mind. Which was strange.

It might have been a bit disappointing if it hadn’t allowed her the space and freedom to expand her horizons.

Hella flashed a saucy wink at a pair of panther shifters loitering outside one of the taverns to her left that lined the broad pavement, facing the huge lake. The younger of the two took the bait, his smile nothing short of salacious as he gave her a sexy, slow once-over, raking his golden eyes from her hair to her boots and back again. Currently, she was working her way through all the eligible males in the fae town.

She glanced at the buildings that encircled the lake, crammed into the cavern that sat beneath a mountain, and realised that was a lot of men. Fenix, her incubus best-bud, was going to be kept in tonics and pills for a long time thanks to her current foray into sexually exploring every possible species—bar those classified as demon breeds like incubi—to see what suited her tastes best.

She hadn’t tried panther yet.

She twirled a strand of her wavy blue hair around her fingers and sipped on her drink, making sure he got a good eyeful of the way she wrapped her glossy lips around the straw.

His low growl sent a thrill down her spine as he stepped towards her. His friend put a halt to everything by grabbing his arm and tugging him back, and saying something that had the handsome shifter frowning at him. Maybe they were going to fight over her. Two females stepped out of the tavern holding four tankards and made a beeline for the males. Hella shrugged. Or maybe not.

She turned her cheek to them, no longer interested in what either male had to offer. She also didn’t do cheats. Anyone who warmed her bed for a night or two needed to be unattached.

The last thing she needed was angry females banging down her door or spreading malicious talk about her. It was bad for business.

No one wanted potions, ointments or spells from witches liable to screw others over. People tended not to separate a witch’s personal life from their business practice. If she was known to cheat when it came to pursuing pleasure, she couldn’t be trusted to not cheat when it came to the wares she sold. Plenty of witches had fallen foul of that and had been driven out of business, or worse, out of the fae town in which they lived.

Hella took in the elegant pastel pink, cream and dove-grey four-storey buildings that lined the promenade, their lead roofs absorbing the bright sunlight that bathed their façades. They resembled the buildings in Geneva, the nearest mortal town, a classic European air about them. The ones that acted as hotels for visiting immortals had French doors and balconies for each room rather than windows, offering a view of the lake to everyone who stayed there. Others were taverns with apartments above them, and some were shops and other businesses.

She drifted towards the large windows that lined the lowest floors of a row of stores, admiring the colourful glass bottles in the perfume emporium and the latest fashions displayed in the next building. Her gaze dropped to her black dress. Witches had to wear black dresses. It was tradition. No one wanted to buy magical goods from a woman in a pink dress or linen slacks and a camisole. A witch had to look the part.

Hella had pushed the limits of what was acceptable, testing out several dresses in her years to see how far she could go without turning off her clients and driving them elsewhere. Rather than the drab ankle-length dress many witches wore—mainly those fresh from the coven—she chose to wear knee-length empire-line dresses or summer dresses that cinched in at the waist and were stitched with faint violet stars. She even wore corseted dresses that showed a little more of her wares than was appropriate according to most circles in witch society.

Today, she had picked her favourite strapless empire-line dress, one that had a sheer black layer over the silky underlayer. That top layer was folded into pleats around her breasts, and beneath them there was a delicate band of ribbon embroidered with silver swirls and dots.

She always felt good in this dress. It drew the eye to her best assets.

She also didn’t do ankle boots. She pushed the boundaries there too, choosing knee-high leather boots that laced up the front and had a comfortable three-inch block heel.

She eyed a pretty amethyst brooch on one of the dresses in the window display and drifted towards it, her gaze transfixed on it as the polished stone and gold filigree that surrounded it glittered in the warm light. If she couldn’t wear colours other than black, maybe she could accessorise. She had never tried wearing jewellery before. Surely that wouldn’t turn her clients off?

“Want it?” A male voice rolled over her and she tensed, her head whipping to her right. Disappointment flooded her when she found herself face to face with a squat, ageing man who was wearing half a tankard of ale down the front of his leather jerkin. He slurred, “I’ll buy it for you.”

In exchange for what?

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