Page 39 of Craved By a Wolf

His plan was simple.

He was going to find the nymphs she feared and deal with them, and then he would return to her triumphant and she would be so grateful that she would fall into his arms and accept him. Once he was strong enough, he would cart her back to the Fort William fae town, hand her over to the witch and be done with this whole affair.

Life would return to normal.

His wolf side growled at that, pacing within him, making him restless.

He steeled himself, refusing to listen to his instincts. He didn’t want to keep Hella. She wasn’t his true mate. In time, he would find his real fated female and he would win her heart. That was enough for him.

Kin stopped in the middle of the promenade, earning a few glares as people had to abruptly change course to avoid colliding with him. He curled his fingers into tight fists as an urge built inside him, one so powerful that it had him on the verge of turning around and heading straight to Hella. He wanted her to belong to him.

He wanted her to be his mate.

He didn’t want to go back home without her.

He didn’t want to betray her.

He closed his eyes and drew down a breath, tired of this internal battle that was happening more and more frequently as the hours ticked past. He had made up his mind and he would see his plan through. When he handed Hella over to the witch and she lifted the curse, he would see that he was right.

Hella wasn’t his true fated one.

His fingers relaxed and his shoulders sagged, and he opened his eyes and stared at the flagstones in front of him.

But what if she was?

What if he handed her over and the witch lifted the curse, and he still felt that Hella was his fated one?

Gods. He scrubbed a hand down his face, weariness invading his soul. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself if that was the case. He would have done the unthinkable.

The unforgivable.

He would have betrayed his mate.

He wasn’t sure how he would handle the shame of his pack knowing what he had done, and they would know. Word would spread through the fae town and beyond.

Grant MacKinnon had betrayed his fated mate.

He sank to his haunches in the middle of the street, uncaring of the way people were no doubt looking at him as they passed, and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling before him. Could he really do this?

If Hella did turn out to be his mate, then he would have only one recourse.

Death.

He would deserve it for committing an act so reprehensible and destroying the sanctity of what it meant to find your fated female, something all mature wolves yearned for.

And even then, he wasn’t sure his death would atone for his sin.

His eyebrows knitted hard and his jaw tensed as he ran through his options and found they were limited. The curse was active. It was real. Even now his strength was waning. How long could he go without luring Hella under his spell and into bed? How long could he then go without handing her over to the witch? Bedding Hella wouldn’t lift his curse. It would only negate its effects, and for how long?

He was no fool.

He had felt fine before he had kissed Hella. That kiss had triggered the current weakening of his body, his grim march towards death. If he bedded her, the effect would no doubt be worse.

His strength would most likely leave him faster, forcing him to bed her again to keep it up, and then what? Would the drain happen faster still? Each time he slept with Hella, would the effect of the curse speed up? The redheaded witch would have taken measures to ensure he had to bring Hella to her in order to break it.

Which meant his suspicions were probably right.

The more he bedded Hella, the faster his strength would leave him.

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