Page 56 of Craved By a Wolf

She had never met a man who could say so much with only a noise. That snort was pure disbelief, and rightly so considering she had had a choice. She could have just knocked him out with the spell and left.

Instead, she had plunged him back into his worst nightmare.

Although he seemed to be handling it a lot better than the last time.

Because he was angry?

Golden fire blazed in the centre of his irises, flaring around his narrowed pupils. Those striking eyes held an accusation, one she didn’t want to see so she looked at her feet, which was a mistake because his left leg still dangled over the edge of the bed and she couldn’t help but notice how small her feet were compared with his.

Or how close they were to touching.

As if he knew her secret desire, he shifted his foot so the sides of their boots touched, and she pulled down a steadying breath as the muted contact only made her ache even more to be skin on skin with him. Her gaze drifted to his hand. Another mistake.

She looked away when she saw all the blood on his hand and the cuts around his wrist, shame eating her from the inside.

“Have ye been off snogging that incubus? And what was all that talk about sex?” he growled and her eyes darted to his face and collided with his just as they turned pure gold. “You’re no’ so prim and proper it seems.”

Hella planted her hands against her hips and glared at him, because who was he to question her life choices? She decided what she did with her life. Not anyone else. Definitely not him. She didn’t need his judgement. She certainly didn’t care what he thought about her.

She ignored the sting in her chest and tipped her chin up, stoking her anger so he would see it in her eyes as well as sense it. “You’re right. I’m not. But I choose who I kiss and who comes to my bed. I don’t need men making decisions for me.”

He snarled, “I’m no’ just any man. I’m your fated male. You’re my mate.”

Hella took a sharp step towards him as her anger got the better of her, the handful of words he had tossed at her like fuel on the fire in her blood, making her want to explode.

“You always saymatelike it means slave. Yours to do with as you please,” she bit out, her heart racing so fast she felt sick and her fingers tingling with magic as it came to the fore, apparently feeling she needed protection. “In your world—in your eyes—do I only exist to please you?”

Some small part of her quietly begged him to say the right thing, to change her mind about him and show her that he wasn’t like every other shifter out there, thinking he owned her because she was apparently his fated one. Even if she was, that didn’t give him a right to her, that didn’t automatically make her his, and it certainly didn’t make her belong to him like a possession.

He went terribly quiet, watching her with wary eyes. The fact he had to pause to figure out what she wanted to hear was infuriating and hurt like a bitch. Deep in her heart, she knew it was hopeless. MacKinnon might be handsome and she might be attracted to him, but he was like every other shifter out there. He viewed her as a possession purely because his instincts said she was his destined mate.

And that was something she would never tolerate.

Not even for a man she was beginning to like.

Might have even come to love in time.

“I won’t release you.” She stepped back and held her nerve when he growled at her, flashing his fangs, a look of disbelief and fear crossing his face. “You’re another threat to me.”

He lunged towards her, grunted when his chains tightened and sagged back onto the bed.

His deep voice rumbled through her as he snapped, “I’m no’ a threat to you.”

She wished she could believe that.

“You are,” she countered and shook her head. “You brought nymphs to my door, forced me to move again, and you keep trying to kiss me.”

His expression soured and he muttered, “No’ like you didn’t like it when we kissed.”

She couldn’t deny that.

His golden eyes brightened again as they narrowed on her, a calculating edge to them. “I did save your life.”

“When?” She shot for coy, even went as far as thoughtfully pressing her index finger to her mouth and turning a puzzled look at the ceiling.

Which made him growl in the most deliciously frustrated way.

“The river,” he snarled.

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