Page 25 of Craved By a Wolf

Hella had the dreadful feeling he had been whipped.

Held captive and abused.

Cold stole through her, her guilt weighing her down now to have her falling to her knees beside him. She hadn’t known. She reached a trembling hand out to his face, aching inside as she took in all his scars and replayed how he had reacted to being chained. The pain of his memories had to be severe, the things he had suffered during his captivity horrible enough that just the thought of being chained had sent him off the deep end, turning him wild with a need to escape his bonds.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her heart going out to him as he panted, his breaths still too fast for her liking.

She had caused this, but perhaps she could do something that might go some way towards making amends. She reluctantly pushed to her feet and went to her bag, hefted it onto the counter and rifled through it. She pulled out all the ingredients she needed and an empty flask, and set to work, mixing just the right amounts to make the potion.

A tonic to calm his turbulent mind and help him rest and recover.

And it didn’t hurt that it would keep him asleep while she decided what to do.

She swirled the liquid in the flask, watching the powders and fine herbs melting into it as it changed colour, going from green to red to violet. When it turned inky blue and specks like silver stars emerged in it, twinkling at her as the liquid shifted, she decanted a dose into a smaller bottle.

Hella took it to the wolf and sank to her knees again, not hesitating to touch him this time. She carefully lifted his big head, marvelling at how soft his fur was, and angled it onto her bare knees. His rapid breaths shifted the skirt of her dress, pushing it up higher to expose more skin, as if even in sleep he was trying to make a move on her.

She poured the tonic into his mouth, spilling some on her thighs. Apparently, it wasn’t easy pouring liquid into the mouth of a wolf. The gap between his teeth was too large and she couldn’t angle his head any better than she already had. All she could do was continue and hope that he drank enough of the potion for it to be effective.

When the bottle was empty, she set it down beside her and watched him. She brushed her fingers through his thick fur, the feel of it mesmerising her, and stroked his ears. He slowly calmed, his breathing becoming more even, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because her tonic was working or because she was petting him.

Hella bit the pad of her thumb as she gazed down at him.

She wasn’t sure what to do with him.

But a few things kept popping into her head.

That kiss had been toe-curling after all.

Again, she almost hadn’t done as she had planned. This wolf had a bad habit of making her do that, and part of her felt that was dangerous. The rest of her had enjoyed the kiss far too much, had been swept up in the moment and had almost fallen under his spell.

She carefully stroked her palm across his cheek, feeling as if she was on a precipice and no matter what she did, she was in for a painful fall. Her fingers drifted to his muzzle and she traced one of the scars as she murmured.

“What shall I do with you?”

Chapter 9

MacKinnon raced across the moorland, crushing heather beneath his paws as the last light of day painted the sky with threads of pink and gold above the munros that protected the glen. He paused atop a hillock, the magic of the gloaming reaching right down to his soul to warm it, but at the same time he felt agitated.

Restless.

He needed to keep moving.

Couldn’t stop to watch the light change as he often did.

Not this time.

He kicked off again, heading in the direction he had been, running as fast as he could manage. His steps were sure and light as he navigated the rough and broken ground, leaping between clumps of heather, using them as a guide as to where was safe to place his paws and avoiding the boggier parts of the valley floor. Water trickled, heavy with the earthy smell of peat, but another scent overpowered it.

Heather.

Fresh rain.

Faintly spiced.

He breathed deep of it and calm coursed through him, as if that scent was a balm for his weary soul.

Weak sunlight bathed his black fur as he crossed the glen, heading for the green mountains on the other side, where heather painted the lower slopes purple. He needed to be there. He felt it in his blood, like a compulsion, a powerful need he could only obey.

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