Page 77 of Craved By a Wolf

Violence.

He craved violence.

If Hella wanted to keep him locked in this room, if she wanted to flirt with other men, then she would just have to deal with the consequences of her actions. He stormed to the dresser, gripped it with both hands and hefted it into the air on a howl. He twisted and hurled it clear across the room, making a huge dent in the pale blue plaster. The drawers fell out as it dropped to the floor and he kicked off, was across the room in a heartbeat to snag one and smash it on his knee. He tore another two apart with his bare hands, saliva rolling down his fangs as he growled and unleashed his fury on it. When it was nothing more than tinder fit for the fireplace, he grabbed a wardrobe and gave it the same treatment.

His fingers stung, the scent of blood heavy in the air as he panted and stalked across the room to rip into another set of drawers. He grabbed the mirror from the top of them and pivoted, smashing it into the wall, and grunted as some of the glass bounced back and hit him, cutting into his hands. He didn’t care.

Black fur rippled over his skin as he snarled and destroyed a second wardrobe and a chair, hurling both at the window. They bounced back off the spell Hella had placed on the room, denying him the satisfying sound of glass smashing, and his gaze flicked to her carpet bag.

It had glass in it.

It contained everything she loved.

MacKinnon stalked towards it.

Stilled when he sensed Hella close to him and her intoxicating scent filled his lungs. His wolf calmed and he focused on her, narrowing the world down to her where she stood on the other side of the door.

It opened to reveal her.

Her pretty mask of indifference fell away the moment she looked at him, her green eyes widening as they took him in and then the room. He breathed hard, pulling her scent deep into his lungs, savouring it and the fire it lit in his veins, the need that built with each second that ticked past. Her eyes revealed everything to him, told him a thousand things.

Told him that he wasn’t alone.

He stared at her, silently stalking his prey as a need rolled through him.

A hunger to possess her.

She was his.

Every fibre of his being howled that at him.

She tipped her chin up. The action was slight, but he noticed it, together with the hardening of her eyes that warned him she wanted to be in control again. Not this time. He wouldn’t hurt her, but he would have her. He could feel her need, knew her desires better than she did in that moment as his instincts whispered what she wanted.

She wanted to be possessed by him.

The destruction he had wrought because she had dared to flirt with another man had excited her, had brought her running back to him, and try as she might to pretend she didn’t desire him, it was right there in her eyes for him to see.

He turned to face her, moving slowly so he didn’t spook his prey, and hid nothing from her as he stared into her eyes. He wanted her. Plain and simple. He needed her and he was going to have her. He was going to satisfy her needs and please his female. His fated one.

And once she was sated, they would be having a talk about her bad habit of restraining him.

Her pulse drummed a fast rhythm in the side of her neck, attempting to lure his gaze there. He kept it locked with hers instead, waiting to see how she would react to the possessiveness of his gaze.

Her pupils dilated, devouring the emerald of her irises.

Rose climbed her cheeks.

“Kin—”

She didn’t get to say whatever it was she had wanted to tell him. The sound of her saying his name, the one he wanted to hear on her lips, broke the tether on his restraint and he sprang at her.

He gathered her into his arms, banding them tightly around her, and pinned her to the wall near the door as he claimed her lips, swallowing her shocked gasp, and the moan that followed it.

Her hands flew to his shoulders and rather than shoving him away, she frantically clutched at his muscles, dragging him closer. His wicked wee witch. She was wild as she tore at his shirt, pulling it up over his head, breaking the kiss for just long enough for the material to pass between them. The moment his chest was bare, her hands were roaming all over it, making him as crazed as she was.

Or maybe not even close.

She raked nails down his stomach and tackled his jeans, had his shaft freed in less than a few seconds. She worked it with her hand, maddening him, and he kissed her harder, his pulse skyrocketing.

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