Page 5 of Craved By a Wolf

People tended to react that way to him.

Either that or they got out of his way, giving him a wide berth.

MacKinnon liked to think of it as a perk of being six-ten. It certainly made up for all the times he banged his head on a doorframe or was asked to reach something for someone in a supermarket. He had lost count of the number of older mortal women who had requested assistance and then snared him in a ten-minute round of complimenting his height and his build, and complaining how there hadn’t been men like him when they were young enough.

There had been men like him around when they had been young enough, because he had been around. Only he had never been interested in human women. They were too delicate. Breakable. As fragile as glass.

Kin preferred a female with spirit and strength, one who could handle him.

Was his fated one such a female?

He huffed as he realised the witch was gone. There was no trace of her for him to track, and all he had to go on was her word that he was cursed and a clue that didn’t make any sense. He scrubbed the day’s worth of growth on his face, scratching the stubble as he went over everything she had said, giving his body time to recover before he dared to move. The benefit of being an old wolf was that he healed fast. In less than a day, his throat would be as new.

His mood, however, looked as if it was going to be in the ditch for a while at least.

What the hell was the clue?

The hackit witch hadn’t told him a thing he could use. Not even her name, so he couldn’t hunt her down and press her for more information.

Or kill her and hope it lifted the curse.

He growled. If there even was a curse. And even if there was, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—trust a word the witch had said. She had known him, sure, but that didn’t mean she was telling the truth about the existence of his fated female. He had a reputation around town and there weren’t many other six-ten alpha wolves in the area. In fact, there weren’t any. She had probably decided to target him because he was easily distinguishable from the other wolves and most of the patrons and residents of the fae town. He had been an easy target, one she could cast a spell upon to make him believe whoever she wanted was his fated one, giving him a reason to find her.

Doubt began to spread through him, his logical mind swift to lock on to his theory that the female this witch wanted him to betray wasn’t his mate. She was just another witch and he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kin shoved his fingers through his dark hair, tousling it as the crowd dispersed, returning to their business and leaving him standing on the cobblestone road that arced through the witches’ district in the direction of the town square. He drew down a deep breath, coughed as his throat ached and the thick scents from the copper stills bubbling beneath the colourful canopies that stretched outwards from the white two- and three-storey buildings burned his lungs. A few of the shop owners had remained outside and were watching him with curious eyes. Several of them went back to tending to their collections of clay pots and jugs as he glanced at them, making it clear they didn’t want to help him.

There was one way of finding out whether he had been bespelled and if it was possible that spell was a curse and one designed to trick his mind and his body into believing this witch he was meant to find and betray was his mate.

He could ask another witch.

Kin made a beeline for one of the shops.

For a breed that preferred to wear black, the witches loved a splash of colour. The roofs of every building in the district were made of green, blue and gold tiles that undulated like great serpents, and jewel-tone canopies adorned with crests and writing extended from every one of them, providing shelter for the stores that spilled out onto the wide pedestrian street.

He ducked beneath a violet canopy and reached for the painted wooden door, but it opened before he could touch it. The petite white-haired witch that filled the doorway smiled up at him, her green eyes bright with mischief.

“Been a while, Kin. What brings you to town?” She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Need some more smartphones?”

This witch peddled phones that worked on a magical network her sister had built, a method of communication that even functioned in Hell, and he had purchased several from her in the past. His pack had members who worked with others in that dark realm, and he didn’t like being out of touch with them for long periods. Hell was dangerous. No place for a wolf.

“Came to meet with a pack. Was waylaid by a redheaded witch.” He rubbed his throat, drawing her gaze there, and her eyes slowly widened.

She eased back and to one side, and held her arm out. “Come inside. I’ll take a look at that for you.”

“I’ll heal,” he growled and squeezed past her, ducking low to avoid banging his head on the top of the doorframe. “I need answers. Am I cursed?”

“Cursed?” She peered back into the street, a worried edge to her expression, and then closed the door and locked it. She flipped the sign on the glass around and came to him, her eyes glittering with concern. “What makes you think you’re cursed?”

When she raised her hand, he instinctively backed off, his wolf side driving him to keep his distance as it sensed magic. While he and his wolf were really one and the same—two halves of a whole—the human and beast sides of him reacted very differently in most situations. It was the reason many of his breed viewed the two separately and could distinguish between what reactions came from the wolf and what came from the human. His human mind used logic, employing a broad range of emotions and experiences to draw conclusions about things and react to them. His wolf mind operated on a more basic level, fuelled by strong instincts to survive, breed and protect. Emotions were boiled down to only a handful and any recent experience coloured his reactions, which meant in the eyes of his wolf side, magic equalled bad.

And something to avoid.

Unfortunately, he backed right into one of her rotating displays of phone cases. He grimaced and twisted as it toppled, tried to grab it and caught it at the last second, but not soon enough to stop it from spilling half its contents across the floor. He grunted as he righted it and moved to one side too much, knocking against another display stand.

“Your bloody shop is too wee.” He seized the second display before it could fall too, growled as he cast a glance around him and realised there was nowhere he could move without being in danger of causing mayhem.

Abigail sighed and took hold of his arm, pulling him towards her as she waved her other hand. The air charged and the hairs on his nape rose again, and everything in the room scooted away from him to line the edges, giving him space.

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