Page 4 of Craved By a Wolf

The bitch was casting magic on him.

MacKinnon grabbed her ankle in both hands now, his wolf lunging forwards to snap and snarl as that part of him detected the threat, saw an enemy it wanted to take down and a cage it needed to free itself from. A cage. The lid on his past blew right off the box and all the dark, ugly things spilled out. He growled and bared his fangs, snapped them as fur rippled over his skin in response to the fierce need to escape, to the memories that surged up like a black tide, threatening to swallow him. When he still couldn’t move the witch, he cast a desperate look at several males.

None of the bastards looked inclined to help him.

Several of them looked away, suddenly interested in their boots.

Kin howled as his bones ached, as his muscles clamped down on them with enough force that they felt as if they might snap, and put everything he had into one last effort. Her foot lifted. His eyes widened and he didn’t miss a beat, shoved harder as victory appeared within his reach, fuelled by hope that he would be able to escape her before she could complete the spell.

But then she smiled wickedly.

He howled again as every molecule in his body vibrated, a chain reaction that began in his toes and his fingers and swept through him to collide in his chest. His heart seized, his body feeling fit to burst as he arched off the cobblestones, as pain stole his breath and fire branded his bones.

The world wobbled, the ground pitching, and he laboured for air and fought the encroaching darkness as his vision tunnelled, the witch becoming little more than a smear of crimson and black against a blur of white and turquoise.

Her words warbled in his ears.

“Find your fated one and bring her to me.”

Kin mentally flipped her off as he clung to consciousness, as the pain tearing through him began to ease and the fire began to abate, and his muscles turned liquid. He wasn’t about to hand over his fated female to anyone. He didn’t even know who she was. In all his two hundred and fifty-seven years, he had never even come close to finding her. He had grown convinced that she didn’t exist.

Destiny hadn’t made a female for him.

He was clinging to life for no good reason.

MacKinnon sagged onto the cobblestones, the taste of his own blood strong in his mouth as he breathed, on the verge of chuckling at the witch. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve her wrath, but the moment she let him go, he would tell her whatever she wanted to hear and then he was gone and he was never coming back. Unless she had compelled him in some way, he would be fine.

The witch leaned closer again, slowly coming back into focus as the pain ebbed away, leaving only weakness behind. That weakness increased as she pressed her foot down on his throat again, cutting off his air supply. Maybe he wouldn’t leave. Maybe he would kill her and be done with it. She deserved death.

No one treated him like this and got away with it.

Not anymore.

Her dark eyes glittered and swirled with silver stars as she stared down at him and hissed, “I’ll be kind enough to give you a clue, and a warning that I’ll be keeping tabs on you. Don’t think to play me, wolf. The curse I placed on you is strong. You’re going to crave your mate, will wither and fade to nothing unless you find her and she accepts you, and then you’re going to betray her by bringing her to me. I have a feud to settle.”

Rage scorched his blood to ashes as it hit him that he really hadn’t done anything to deserve this curse. He hadn’t crossed this witch in any way. The female she believed to be his fated mate had crossed her and now she was using him to get to her.

Expected him to go against his very nature, his every instinct, and betray his one true mate.

MacKinnon snarled as he pushed her foot up, black fur sweeping over his bare forearms from beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his dark grey Henley and his nails lengthening back into claws. He pinned her with a glare, channelling all the anger he was feeling into it.

“I’ll no’ be doing what ye want, ye hackit bint, so piss off,” he growled, aware of everyone’s eyes on him, of the judging looks he would be receiving from the nobles among the crowd.

Under normal circumstances, he could tame his tongue and talk as eloquently as the residents of the fae town, not betraying his deep Scottish roots.

But he was pissed.

The witch flashed him another smile, one he wanted to punch off her face. “I don’t remember giving you a choice… unless you think to choose death? If you do not do this for me, that is the fate that awaits you.”

She went to remove her foot and then paused and leaned over him again.

“I almost forgot!” Her dark eyes brightened again. “Your clue. I did promise you one after all. A scent for the wolf to follow, as it were. Your mate is a hella bad witch.”

Kin frowned at her and opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean.

But she disappeared.

He popped to his feet, fury rolling through him in powerful waves as he lifted his head and scented the air as he turned in a circle. There was no trace of her. The crowd backed away now he was standing and they could get a good look at him, the glances they cast him as he stretched his acute senses out to cover almost every inch of the bustling fae town making it clear they wanted nothing to do with him or any trouble he might be bringing.

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