HuntressUnleashed (2 page)

Her interest clearly piqued, she took a seat across from
him. Immediately, he eased forward so that his knees were in contact with hers.
She jumped back as if she’d been stung. “Are you like a Hunter?”

“Nay, lass. Alphas are no’ like Hunters. We dispense justice
only to our own kind. We do hunt Loners when necessary but much of our time is
spent managing our Pack, breeding and raising bairns. If we can find a female,
that is.”

“Is it so difficult to convince someone to breed with you?”

Eagan roared with laughter, startling her again. “Nay, lass.
I’ve had plenty a fair wench, but I’ll only have the one
mate
.
Werewolves mate for life.” His eyes blatantly caressed her curves. Was she the
right one for him? He’d never felt so strongly about any other.

“And your females do not object?” She interrupted his
musing, tilting her head curiously.

“Course no’.” The porridge was good. He dashed some cream
into the bowl and watched her while he ate. Caitrin Flint. Unusual name.
Beautiful, though, like everything else about her.

She was quiet for a short while, barely picking at her own
porridge. “How did you break the witchwards so easily?”

“Was no’
easy
,” he clarified. “I’ve just had many
years experience with them.”

“Are you very old?”

“A few hundred years, give or take a decade. Alphas do no’
age until we find a mate.”

“What if you pass near your mate without recognizing her? Do
you begin to age? That hardly seems fair.”

“We have to bed them first.” Like the true gentleman he was,
Eagan hid his amusement at her reaction.

“What if the female wants to leave you?”

“Would no’ happen.”

Yet even as he spoke, he felt a stirring of unease. Would it
even be possible to take Caitrin as a mate? Was she too much the Huntress and
too little werewolf? He knew half-bloods bonded for life, yet would the magic
still spark with her?

Eagan was taking up so much space—both physically within the
cottage and mentally. She hadn’t spoken this much in the better part of a
month, not since her last visit to Iris, the friend and witch who had set the
wards. Coincidentally, Iris had hinted she would be willing to speak more about
Caitrin’s mother, but she’d turned her down at the time, wanting to return home
before dark.

Now she wished she’d taken the witch up on her offer.

Had her mother truly been half werewolf? Was that why
this…Alpha was sitting across from her, exuding incredible sex appeal? Because
her own werewolf blood was responding to an urge to mate?

Every time his legs accidentally-on-purpose brushed hers,
whenever he leaned forward, invading her personal space, Cait had to fight an
urge to let him get closer. She required distance between them—fast.

His gaze followed her across the small sitting room as she
left the kitchen area. “How long have ye lived here, Caitrin?”

The way her name sounded when spoken in his far northern
accent was intriguing. She wanted to hear him say it again. And again. To ground
herself, she traced the hilt of her sheathed sword, running one finger across
its carved decorations. His gaze left her face and settled upon her hand,
watching in evident fascination.

“I was born here,” Cait said, finally remembering to answer.

“When is your da due home?”

Cait bit her lip, removing her fingers from the hilt as if
they’d been burned. “He died three years ago. He was very old and…he seemed so
tired and worn since losing my mother. Iris—a family friend—thinks he stayed
alive long enough to raise me to womanhood and then allowed himself to give
up.”

“Ah, lass.”

Again that genuine sympathy. A wealth of emotion in two
simple words. Unlike the vicar and half the fluttering, useless townspeople,
this man didn’t presume to tell her he knew what she was feeling, nor did he
pry by asking a thousand questions.

“It has been three years and I still miss him.” She turned
to the window, staring at the gray drizzle. Frost laid his muzzle across her
feet, a living, furry blanket of comfort.

Eagan had gone quiet, watching her with a mixture of
amazement and something like terror.

“What?” she asked sharply. “Are werewolves are not supposed
to associate with dogs? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Ye have lived here
alone
for three years?”

“Yes.” None of the suitors from town had ever been remotely
acceptable to her. She’d begun to think herself immune from feeling at all
until Eagan’s sudden entrance into her life.

“Any siblings?”

“Pardon me?” Confused and thrown off her stride, Cait
retreated behind courtesy.

“Do you have any brothers?”

“There is only me.”

Eagan whistled, low and incredulous. “Ye, on your own, in
the middle of Sheepshire where half the damned Loners roam. By Brighid, lass,
you’ve been lucky.”

Caitrin shrugged. “Am I? I have a dangerous Loner stalking
me and a sex-mad Alpha at my table.”

“I’m no’ sex-mad.”

“Then why do I feel so…” She waved her hands in a helpless
gesture.

“I can no’ control what you feel, Caitrin. It is what it is.
And I’m no’ leaving ye to be savaged by Delaney and his pet wizard.”

Damn, he was getting up and coming toward her. She shuffled
backward, dislodging the collie’s nose from her foot. The dog retreated as
Eagan approached, sliding behind a chair.

“Where did ye get these Guardians?”

“Guardians? You mean Frost and Bannock? They were Da’s
dogs.”

Da had come back with a new pair of collies every twelve
years, allowing the old ones a quiet retirement by Iris’ fire. The witch and
her daughters doted on the animals throughout their twilight years. Bannock and
Frost were still on the younger side, however. They would be active for years
yet. Which was lucky because she had no idea where Da got his pups from.

“Guardian dogs. Soulbound. When your da passed, the bond
must have switched to ye.”

Cait blinked slowly. “You are telling me that my collies are
out of the ordinary?”

“Aye. They are bound to protect ye above all, with their
lives if necessary.”

Oh. That explained their refusal to herd sheep when Cait had
been about to track down—what was his name? Delaney? She trailed a hand down,
stroking Frost’s soft fur. She could see Eagan’s well-muscled thigh out of the
corner of her eye. And what lay nearby…

“Will you not clothe yourself?” she demanded.

“In what?” He gave an infuriating smile and leaned back in
his comfy chair, baring everything.

Cait closed her eyes briefly. Apparently this sexual
attraction went both ways. He was affected too.
Very
affected.

“I did no’ have the time to bring a bagful of clothes when I
set out after Delaney. I caught his scent on the outskirts of Dumfries and
immediately followed him south.”

“What were you doing in Dumfries?” The question popped out
before she could stop herself.

“My grandnephew is a member of Pack near there. I try to
spend as much time with a Pack as I can, but as an Alpha I can no’ stay around
long. Packs do no’ function well with two Alphas. Subservient wolves can stick
around and live a normal life, but it’s different for Alphas.”

“You have a grandnephew?”

“Aye.” His voice was wistful. “My brothers lived peaceful
lives and died happy. Several were lucky enough to mate, have sons. Now I’m
watching their sons’ sons.”

“All because you couldn’t find a mate?” She was horrified.

“That’s the way it is, lass. Once upon a time, we had the
right proportion of females. That ended for some reason around the time the
Romans invaded. After that, we werewolves produced far more male cubs, knocking
everything out of balance.”

Cait made the mistake of looking at him again. The trickle
of desire was intensifying, becoming harder to deny. She needed space, despite
his sad story. She couldn’t think about his plight.

Abruptly she got to her feet. “I will try to find you
something to wear while I dress myself. Kindly do not attempt to spy upon me.”

She closed the door to her tiny bedroom, pulling on trousers
and a ruffled long-sleeved blouse. Then she took her time combing her hair.
Even a few minutes away from Eagan was time in which she could breathe
properly, removed somewhat from all that lust.

Her hands shook, gripping the comb hard. This was not in her
life plan. Caitrin Flint,
Huntress
—not werewolf—was perfectly fine
living alone. She enjoyed managing her own croft, driving the sheep to market,
growing her own vegetables and trading wool and mutton. She had managed
perfectly well for the past three years.

Now Eagan was here, complicating her life. Introducing her
to sensations she hadn’t even known she was missing. She had to move him on,
cling to her Huntress identity, which probably meant killing Delaney and the
unknown wizard.

First things first.

Cait rummaged in the closet, frowning. None of her garments
would remotely fit the burly werewolf in her sitting room, but she kept
something that just might.

“A kilt?” The lass was full of surprises.

“It preserves your modesty,” Caitrin replied primly.

“Och, I rather thought ye did no’ mind my natural state of
being. Especially seeing as ye augment it so.”

She blushed a bewitching shade of scarlet, tossing the
garment onto his lap. Only to stare wide-eyed as the kilt draped itself in a
most interesting fashion.

“Look your fill, lassie,” Eagan invited.

Caitrin made a strangled noise. “Put it on, werewolf!”

He was nothing if not obliging, wrapping himself in the
thick woolen cloth. “Who did the kilt belong to, Caitrin?”

Warily, she glanced back at him. “Nobody. I bought it at
market several years ago.”

Jealousy thrummed deep inside him, pumping through his veins
faster than logical thought. “Did ye buy it for someone in particular?”

“No.” Her dark-blue eyes were guileless. “I thought I might
use the material to make a saddlecloth, only I never got around to the
project.”

Eagan relaxed, fighting the foolish grin that threatened to
spread across his face. There was nobody else in her life. Perhaps her
inexperience was the reason she was responding so adversely to the call of her
wolf blood. Briefly he toyed with the idea of going closer to her, touching her
silky skin—turning up the heat.

His own urges were becoming more difficult to deny. It had
been impossible to hide his reaction shortly after stepping over the threshold.
Even though Delaney and the dangerous wizard remained nearby, his thoughts
dwelled upon Caitrin.

Raven hair combed and braided, proper clothes donned, the
not-quite-Huntress looked as if she might be able to handle some trouble
herself. Yet Delaney was far more dangerous than a typical Loner. Delaney was
old, almost as old as he was. Until recently, Eagan thought his old
acquaintance dead and gone.

Turned out the corrupt werewolf was using dark wizardry to
unnaturally prolong his life. Delaney was no Alpha—as a beta he should have
joined a Pack, lived a normal, if potentially mateless, lifespan. Instead he
had chosen to become an aberration.

“The kilt fits well. Thank ye, Caitrin.”

“You can take it with you when you leave,” she replied tartly.

“Will no’ be leaving until ye are safe.” That was
non-negotiable. He’d seen what Delaney did to females. This Huntress would be
no exception to his viciousness.

“Then go and dispense justice to the werewolf. The Loner,
whatever you call him.”

“Delaney is worse than a Loner. His kills are no’ born of
madness but of willful cruelty and dark magic.”

Caitrin paced to one of the windows. “I can still Sense him
out there. Only faintly now.”

“He may have moved away to set up camp. How close is the
nearest town?” That Sense she had could be useful. Eagan was a fine tracker but
he couldn’t tell when Delaney was near unless he was following actual spoor.

“Eight miles east. The same witch who warded my house set a
few near the town to deter paranormal activity.”

“Let us hope they hold.” Callous though it was, Eagan was
not prepared to abandon the lass to save the townspeople. He suspected Delaney
wouldn’t bother with them either, although the dark wizard might convince him
otherwise.

He turned his attention back to Caitrin, watching her as she
watched the light drizzle outside, her blue eyes pensive. She was getting
better at hiding the effect lust was having upon her, although he could still
smell her arousal. He paced closer, unable to help himself.

She turned immediately, emitting a squeaky little gasp as
she realized how close he was. “Why can you not…stop that? This sneaking up on
me. These feelings.”

“Do no’ want to. What are you so afraid of, Caitrin?”

“I am not afraid.” Her chin came up immediately.

“Ye should never be afraid o’ this.” He cupped her chin and
brought her mouth toward him, claiming it in a kiss that sizzled halfway to the
Shetland Islands. Once he’d gentled past her initial resistance, she closed her
eyes and leaned into his embrace.

Eagan went as slowly as he could bring himself to,
luxuriating in her silky-soft skin, her lush curves. Time later to think about
whether theirs could be a true pairing. Now he only wanted to explore, lose
himself in pure sensation.

His tongue flicked against her lips as he moved her away
from the window toward the safer interior of the croft cottage. His Huntress
snapped open her eyes, ready to protest against that indignity, but whatever
she was about to say was lost in a soft moan as he pulled up her blouse.

Her breasts strained against their bindings, tumbling free
as he tugged at the wispy chemise concealing them. She startled in surprise as
he handled them, dipping his head to taste their sweet tips. The tips no other
man had tasted.

Every single part of her body called for his touch—he could
never get enough of her. Briefly overwhelmed by her very presence, he paused
just to look at her.

Blue eyes blinked, hazed by the passion that had come upon
her like a sudden summer rain, drenching her in sensation she’d probably never
felt before. Despite her earlier defiance she was leaning into him, soaking up
his touch.

The poor lass barely knew which way was up with all this
lust buffeting her. Eagan could hardly blame her for wanting him gone, wanting
the confusing feelings to dissipate.

He would give her relief. Then they would see whether she
still wanted him to leave.

Eagan moved her farther across the room, bending his head to
avoid the overhead beams. Caitrin fit perfectly in his arms, her head nestling
comfortably underneath his chin as he backed her into the kitchen. In the next
moment he lifted her onto the table, deftly undoing the latch of her trousers.

“MacCulloch!”

She bit off his name in a tone somewhere between surprise
and condemnation. Yet Eagan read the longing in her body, and body language was
good at telegraphing needs. Caitrin definitely needed—
him
. Now.

He spiraled one finger between her folds, catching her gasp
in his mouth. She was wet and ready—more than hot. His thumb moved in a circle
as his other finger penetrated her.

So damn tight
. He nearly disgraced himself on the
inside of the kilt. Gritting his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate only on
her, Eagan continued, stretching her carefully with two fingers.

She was so wound up that she was practically vibrating. He
eased her legs apart, parting her further. Caitrin was building, seeking
release without even knowing it. Her hips thrust forward even as she turned her
head away, still trying to deny his existence. A whimper escaped her lips, the
sound sexy as hell.