Page 46 of Craved By a Wolf

She had no desire to find out whether MacKinnon would be just as wildly possessive and dangerously protective as the males in those stories.

She kept shoving against his shoulders, but he refused to release her, even when she bashed her fists into his back and took to elbowing his thick head. Everyone they passed stared at her and a thought pinged into her head, but was quickly shut down. She couldn’t call for help. If she did, there was a danger that MacKinnon would attack anyone who tried to rescue her, believing they meant to take his fated one from him.

A flash of the three dead nymphs she had leaped over when escaping the rest of Ethyrian’s guards filled her mind and she stilled. MacKinnon wouldn’t just attack anyone who tried to take her. He would kill them.

The streets around her changed as he carried her further from the centre of the town, into the outskirts at the other end of the cavern to the shifter district and far from the one where her real home was. The buildings grew smaller, two-storey detached affairs that had peeling pastel paint and roofs that had seen better days, and the flagstones gave way to cobbles. Where the hell was the wolf taking her?

He slowed at last and began breathing hard, huffing at times, and she angled her head in an attempt to see his face.

When it failed, she muttered, “What are you doing?”

“Scenting,” he grumbled, his voice gone low, far too sexy.

“All I smell is old blood, urine and other things I wish I couldn’t.” She glanced around her again, not missing the vampires that skulked in the shadows between the buildings, able to walk in the light here because the sun was false.

They all looked horribly hungry.

She focused on her fingers, but they didn’t even tingle with magic. She was tapped out, needed to sleep and maybe whip up a rejuvenation potion to help her along. The sensation that she was powerless wasn’t a welcome one, had her easing closer to MacKinnon, if that was possible. He seemed to detect her fear, because he gently brought her down from his shoulder and pinned her to his chest.

Or maybe he was just taking advantage.

In order to avoid sliding right off him, she had to wrap her legs around his waist, which only encouraged him to plant his hand on her backside again.

This time, Hella didn’t complain. She was too busy keeping an eye on the vampires, hoping that the fact she was with a werewolf would keep them at bay. The two species never had seen eye to eye.

MacKinnon turned and she glanced over his shoulder in time to see him shove open the wooden door of a small white house. It smelled musty as he carried her inside and she wrinkled her nose.

He set her down by the door, closed it and hemmed her in, pinning her back to the wall, his big body crowding her and stealing the air from her lungs as he made the room feel far too small.

“What are you doing?” She pressed her hands to his broad chest and shoved, not moving him an inch.

“Shh,” he hissed and canted his head, his glowing golden eyes fixed on the door, a look of sheer concentration etched on his face.

She froze and listened too, but heard nothing. What could he hear? He was strong and clearly had sharp senses, which meant he had to be old, but he didn’t look much over forty-five to her. There was a little age showing in just the right places on his face. Smile lines bracketed his mouth and his eyes, telling her that he knew how to laugh and have a good time.

Part of her wanted to say she found that impossible to imagine given the fact he was prone to glowering and growling at her, but she had seen flickers of it at times, enough to know that if she wasn’t so caustic towards him and he wasn’t so obsessed with the fact she was meant to be his, that she might find she actually enjoyed his company.

MacKinnon’s striking golden eyes slid to meet hers, his voice gone low and husky. “They’re definitely gone.”

“Doubting my spells now, wolf?” She rolled her eyes at him, bringing up the only barrier she could as he pressed closer to her and his voice did wicked things to her body, making her ache and yearn for him.

“Would never doubt you, my wily wee witch.”

“I’m not your anything.” Her heart shot into her throat as he lifted his left hand and she ducked to her left, making a break for it. He pressed his hand to the wall there, blocking her exit with his arm, and when she turned the other way, he did the same there. Her eyes darted up to collide with his.

“I’ll be having another kiss now,” he murmured throatily, just the sound of his voice making her thighs quiver and nipples bead.

She swallowed to wet her parched throat and leaned back.

“What for?” Her eyes widened as something hit her. “Oh my gods, you led the nymphs to me just so you could stage this rescue!”

She couldn’t believe his audacity.

No. Actually, she could.

“I did no such thing,” he barked, his handsome face darkening, and she almost believed he was being sincere, only she wasn’t about to trust a word that left his far-too-kissable lips. “I killed three nymphs and the others scattered. I thought they were gone for good. I brought the three to you as a peace offering.”

Hella pulled a face. “I thought it was cats that brought dead things as presents?”

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