Page 16 of Wolf Hunter

Bullet looks over the many pack members as they walk through the barrier and glance our way as they pass us. “What if the witches are trying to get revenge in a pretty fucking unoriginal way? What if she’s a hired killer and they took a contract out on your ass? I saw how she fought against you. She’s no normal witch. She has skills. And that means the people are going to want blood. They’re going to want us to retaliate.”

Retaliate.

That would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it? Yet I find myself pausing at the word. “I’ll decide that once I’ve gotten all the information out of her that I need,” I reply. “I’ll always do what’s best for the pack.”

Glancing down at the witch in my arms again, I wonder if what I’ve just said is entirely true.

By the way Bullet’s staring at me, his brow creased with worry, I’m not sure he believes my answer either.

I watch her sleep.

Usually, sacrifices go into the cellar and are bound and treated as a prisoner, but that’s just another thing I can’t seem to do. Instead, I brought her to my family home that sits embedded in the mountain’s rocky face and let her sleep off the venom in the bed.

The room is smaller than the other bedrooms in the mansion, with a large fireplace to ward off the cold Maine winters and windows overlooking the sheer cliffside and the other packmate’s homes below.

Since she’s surprised me at every turn, I’ve disarmed her fully, finding backup ammunition and another small knife hidden among all her skirts. I also don’t want to leave her alone until her eyes open, even for a second. If she really is a hired killer, like Bullet suggested, then she’ll be able to find a way out of here, and I don’t feel like waking up to a blade at my throat.

What vendetta drives this woman?

I’m nearly bouncing on my toes, waiting for her to wake, with tons of questions rolling around in my skull.

Glancing down at the witch, I finally get the chance to take in her delicate, feminine features. The pink pouting bow of her mouth is the same tone as her hair. She’s small and athletic, strong but curvy in all the right places. In sleep, she appears almost frail—a princess cursed by a vindictive sorceress—but I know fire lurks in those closed eyes. I know her sharp tongue sits still but probably has a million insults backloaded.

The venom will wear off in a few hours, and then I’ll get the answers I seek. Until then, I fixate on the deep rise and fall of her chest.

Soon,I tell my wolf and push him back a bit further to make sure I keep my composure.Soon we’ll figure out why.

A whole lot ofwhys.

A massive wingback chair with a view of the cliff sits off to the side of the bed, and I drag it closer to her. Watching her. Waiting.

Another hour ticks by before Pink Hair shows the first signs of awakening. Her fingers convulse, followed by her arms and legs as the paralyzing agent from my bite slowly wears off. A low groan sounds in the back of her throat, and a second later, she lifts her hand to her head and rubs.

She’s going to have a massive headache for a little bit. And no magic means she can’t heal herself either.

I struggle against the grin that desperately wants to break out. If she wakes up and sees me smiling, I’ll be in even deeper shit than the shit I already expect. She’ll try to rip my lips right off my face.

Another few seconds. Then she’ll see me.

I wonder if she’ll scream.

Judging by her physical movements, my guess is accurate. But her reaction? Not what I expected.

Instead of jumping into rage or fear, the moment Pink Hair turns and locks eyes with me, she lifts a brow.

“Dirty move,” she manages to get out, her voice strangled.

She coughs to clear her throat and lifts a hand to rub the side of her neck where I bit down. The marks have healed, but she’ll surely feel the effects for another few hours.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, if you wanted to make me your sex slave, there were better ways to go about it than diving in for the kink with a bite. It was a dick move, and you know it.”

She might have tried for a joke, but I notice the tremor underneath her words. I can appreciate a woman who tries to diffuse a tense situation with humor.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve got better uses for you than sex,” I murmur. Rising, I stand to my full imposing height and stare down at her. “Having a woman try to chop off my dick while I fuck her doesn’t exactly get me off.”

She doesn’t cringe or shift away. She holds my stare with an unmatched intensity.

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