Page 7 of Craved By a Wolf

“Maybe. Maybe not. If a witch had figured out a way to find someone’s fated mate for them, you think they wouldn’t have cashed in on it by now? Witches love money. MacKinnon… I’m not sure it’s possible for a witch to divine another person’s mate for them.” Abigail’s shrug said it all.

The redhead had probably been lying.

It strengthened his belief that she had targeted him because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and because she had known he would be driven to find the witch. He had been the perfect candidate for her curse.

His wolf side wouldn’t want to rest until it had tracked down this female who could potentially be his mate.

Already the need to see if this witch triggered an urge to mate with her, rousing instincts in a way only his fated one could, was building inside him, steadily stealing control and blurring reality to make him believe the witch was his true mate. Even if the redhead hadn’t told him he was cursed to die if he didn’t find his fated one as she wanted, he would have eventually succumbed to the deep need to find her.

Or he would have if he could unravel her clue.

“If you can’t lift the spell, maybe you can help me in another way. I was to be given a clue.” He crossed the room in two strides and stopped close to her. His mood took another dark turn as he thought about how the redhead had mocked him and what she had told him, which hadn’t been much. “All I know is my fated female is, according to her, a hella bad witch. The fuckin’ bampot.”

Abigail slowly smiled. “There’s your clue.”

He scowled at her, in no mood for games. “That’s no’ a clue. That’s a manglin’ of the English language.”

She gave him a pointed look and he glared now. She was lucky he wasn’t spewing curses and cutting loose in a way that would have her looking confused rather than irritated. It was hard enough on the best of days to keep his Scottish brogue dialled back enough that the innkeepers didn’t roll their eyes at him and ask him to repeat everything three times. For a fae town in the heart of the Highlands, there was a lack of locals running the taverns.

Bloody imports.

“Hella is a witch. I’ve heard of her.”

That had all his focus locking on Abigail again, the innkeepers forgotten as his heart thumped against his ribs and his blood pounded with a need to make her repeat what she had said so he could be sure he had heard her right.

“Is she local?” Kin tried to imagine what kind of wild lass would come with a name like Hella. Probably the sort who would kick his arse to the moon and back if she knew what he had planned for her.

Could he really hand over his fated female to the redhead?

He scrubbed that thought. She wasn’t his real fated one. If she triggered any instincts in him, it was thanks to the spell. The redhead had employed a cunning trick to make him do as she wanted, because as much as he wanted to return to his pack and forget about this so-called curse she had cast on him, he couldn’t.

He needed to find Hella.

He needed to see her.

“She’s not local.” Abigail slid off the counter and moved around it.

Damn it.

It made sense he supposed. Why would the redhead send a wolf to track a female if she was already in the vicinity? He frowned. Why send him at all? Witches could use spells to access the portal pathways that linked the fae towns and places around the globe, and Hell. The same spell they placed on tokens that shifters and other breeds that couldn’t teleport needed to use the portals, making a small fortune off his kind.

The witch could find this female if she wanted it.

Which led him to suspect that he was an important part of her plan.

She wanted him to be the one to find this Hella.

This whole thing was beginning to smell a lot like revenge. Hella had done something to aggravate the redhead and now he had been dragged into their feud, was a tool the redhead was using to execute what she must consider to be the ultimate revenge. He wanted no part of it, but the feeling building inside him, compelling him to find Hella, said he wasn’t getting a choice, just as the redhead had warned.

The thought of finding a female who might trigger his mating instincts sat like acid coated lead in his stomach though. How long had he waited for his fated female? How long had he been clinging to the hope that there was someone out there who had been made just for him, with whom he could share the deepest of bonds?

A female who would give his life new purpose and light, chasing back the shadows that had long darkened it.

Could Hella really be his mate?

There was no way for him to know.

He frowned at his boots as one dawned on him, whispering through his mind to tease and tempt him. He could find the lass, bring her to the witch, and break the curse. Then he would know.

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