SeducingtheHuntress (2 page)

She sensed his despicable amusement even before amusement
shook his shoulders and a deep belly laugh cracked the air. “Do you always make
such sweeping accusations?”

Rage boiled over. But this once it wasn’t hot and impulsive.
It was cold and analytical. He might have taken away her bow and arrow, but she
wasn’t entirely defenseless. She twisted around, seeking the wound on his
shoulder. Her breath caught. What should have been a gaping, bloodied wound was
a pink and faint outline on his skin that had all but knitted together.

Shape-shifting bastard!

Bringing her elbow forward, she snapped it back. And hit his
once-wound with a satisfying thud.

His breath whistled between clenched teeth.

Not quite healed after all.
But her triumph didn’t
last long. Using one powerful arm, he tugged her snug against him, trapping her
arms to her sides and her spine to his front—well clear of his wound.

Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. Goddess help her,
she’d aroused the bastard. His cock was thick and hard against her lower back,
his nakedness all too apparent. She swallowed. Panic suffused her from the
inside out, right along with something…carnal. Something she refused to even
think about.

But with weakness already dragging at her body she had no
chance against him if he acted on his aroused state. None at all.

“You’ve had your fun,” he growled. “But no more. You’re as
weak as a kitten, you don’t need to use the last of your energy fighting me…”

His voice receded as if from a great distance and she
somehow knew she was floating in and out of consciousness. She was half-aware
of the sudden motion of galloping—or was she flying? Minutes or perhaps hours
later, he was laying her on the ground. Her eyelids fluttered before she
finally brought him into focus.

She swallowed back fear. He still hadn’t said what he wanted
from her. Had he?

His stare assessed her. Apparently satisfied she wasn’t
dying any time soon, he carefully peeled the bloodied moss away from the wound
on her thigh. Then placing the moss on Millie’s coat, he rubbed the mare with
Isabella’s still-wet blood.

She frowned, uncomprehending. Why would he do that? Was she
dreaming?

He stepped back, and then slapped Millie on the rump. “Yah!”

The mare jumped straight into a gallop and Isabella pressed
a hand to her mouth, biting back a sob. She definitely wasn’t dreaming. The
bastard had just made it plain as day what he wanted. The mare would find its
way home covered in Isabella’s blood, where her people would assume she’d died
at the hands—teeth and claws—of the
nightmix
.

He was making damn sure no one would come looking for her.

She would be at his mercy with no hope of rescue.

“Please don’t,” she croaked. Her voice sounded far away. She
sucked in a breath, fighting to stay clearheaded. “It will push my father over
the edge if he thinks I was murdered.” And in no less than the same way her
brother had been.

The monster in his human form looked impervious to her appeal.
His face stayed unreadable and his stare indifferent. Her belly plummeted. But
of course it made no sense to plead with a born killer.

His features blurred and a buzzing filled her ears. She
opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say disintegrated as all
thought receded. The next thing she knew she was waking to the press of a soft,
wet cloth on her brow.

Wood smoke and the faintest scent of soap and clean male
tantalized her nostrils. A memory stirred as her eyelids slowly flickered open.
“Where am I?”

It wasn’t until she focused on the dark-azure stare of the
man—
nightmix
—crouched over her that everything rushed back into sharp
focus.

Fuck.

Her eyes widened and she searched his stare for
something…anything. “What have you done?” she bit out.

His expression didn’t alter. “What I had to.”

She looked away, unable to hold his stare that left her
feeling disorientated and too damn helpless for her peace of mind. She searched
for her bow and arrows, but of course they were nowhere in sight. Her stare
returned to his and she resisted squirming under his scrutiny, resisted ripping
off the fleecy warmth of his long-sleeved shirt he’d dressed her in and that reeked
of his musky, animalistic scent.

No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, he
would have seen what he’d wanted to while she’d lain unconscious and exposed.
Her breath caught and she automatically reached down and ran a reassuring hand
over her pants.

Thank the goddess, he hadn’t removed her pants.

His eyes followed the movement and then narrowed. “I’m not
the animal you think I am,” he growled. “Believe me, when we fuck, it will be
mutual.”

A heat wave tore through her body and rushed straight to her
pussy. She clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. But nothing could halt
the internal response she had no control over, despite her hatred of the
nightmix
.
“I’ll never fuck what I want to kill.”

He shrugged, his cocky grin causing her juices to flow and
her fury to build. “There’s always a first time.”

She resisted a scathing reply, aware he was enjoying the
dispute and was no doubt all too conscious of her body’s weakness. He must
realize if she was fighting fit and strong no carnal thoughts would have even
entered her mind?

All
her attention would be focused on killing him.

She turned away from him once again and watched the rain
that drummed steadily against a window set into a rough-hewn log wall. Pine
branches swayed outside in the wind, in sync to her unsettled belly. She
squeezed her eyes closed, forcing back a far different wave of emotion. Even if
her father hadn’t believed she was murdered and he tried to track her down, the
storm would have washed away any trail that was left behind by her captor. The
best of his tracking dogs wouldn’t be able to pick up her scent now.

Her throat tight, she forced her eyes back open and turned
to him. “Perhaps you should have killed me before I woke.”

A muscle in his jaw locked tight as all his humor faded fast
from his eyes. “Is your life not worth anything to you?”

“More to the point—is my life worth anything to you?”

“You won’t be dying anytime soon.” He leaned back onto his
knees before reaching for a big ceramic mug on the floor beside her mattress of
cushions. “You must be starving.” A spoon clanked before he proffered her some
of the mug’s contents. He quirked a dark eyebrow at her tight-lipped silence.
“Don’t worry, it’s not poison. It’s a tried-and-true old family recipe.”

A deep ache clutched at her soul and left her emotions
tattered. What would this…this
monster
know or care about family? He
would have been too busy killing people and tearing whole families apart. Tears
threatened as she lifted a clenched hand and knocked the spoon from his clasp.
Soup splattered the blanket as the spoon flashed through the air, then
clattered across the hardwood floor.

She hadn’t eaten for goddess knew how many hours. Yet even
with the enticing aromas filling the air she experienced some satisfaction at
the mess she’d made. Right then she didn’t much care if she brought on his
inner darkness. At least she’d see the real monster hiding within him. At least
she’d see his true colors.

She glared. “I have no interest in your food.” That was all
well and good until her belly chose that moment to rumble, louder even than the
heavy rain outside.

He blew out a slow breath, his expression carefully bland.
“Now you’re being childish.”

Her face grew hot. Since her brother’s death she’d been
coddled and treated as if she was a helpless babe. Not helped one bit by her
petite stature. It’d taken constant pleading and proof of her ability with a
bow and arrow to convince her father she could hunt with the best of his men.
And now this man—
nightmix—
whatever the hell he was, treated her as
though she was still that same helpless girl. She glared. “I might be small but
I’m no child!”

He nodded, his stare appraising. “Even with your short hair
and your disguise, I knew right away you were all woman.”

So much for concealing my identity.

Her glare deepened while unmistakable warmth radiated
through her body. She slammed shut all carnal thoughts and squared her
shoulders. She would
not
succumb to this monster. “Just as I knew
immediately you weren’t all man.”

She lifted her chin and held his gaze. She expected nothing
less than his fury. Instead he looked…resigned.

“That’s harsh.”

There was no flash of triumph, no satisfaction to savor.
Regret filled her from the inside out. Madness! This creature might give in to
his bloodthirsty compulsion at any moment and tear her from limb to limb! She’d
been witness to that firsthand and had lived with the terrible flashbacks most
of her life.

“Yeah, well, sometimes life is cruel,” she said hoarsely.

His expression softened, right along with his tone. “So
young and yet so bitter.”

She clasped the blanket until her fingers ached. “And you
pretend to care?”

He placed the mug back onto the floor. “Believe it or not,
my kind aren’t all cold-hearted killers. Just the same as your kind aren’t all
saints.”

Her chest tightened at his logic. She held up a hand,
stalling further words. It was true what they said. Talk was cheap. And actions
spoke louder than words. Lord knew enough families had seen the devastating
action of a
nightmix
and its killing spree. “Please, spare me the
speeches.”

His full lips pinched together before he scraped a hand over
his face. “I see your mind is made up.”

“Yes.” Just once she drew on the suffering of her past,
allowing it to feed the vehemence in her stare. “And nothing will change it.”

A long, drawn-out silence greeted her statement as he
visibly fought to collect himself. But even as something close to dread crept
into her psyche and made her rethink her earlier death wish for his beast to
come out, he let loose a heavy breath and got to his feet. “I’m heading out to
catch us some fresh game.”

He was leaving her alone? Excitement and then panic hit her
in equal levels. She hid them both even as thoughts tumbled around and around.
Escape might be possible! She might well die in the forest, what with the rain
teeming down and cloud cover ensuring there would be no way of knowing where
she was headed.

His head cocked to one side, as if he didn’t quite know what
to make of her non-reaction. “We need to get your iron levels up,” he offered
in explanation.

She arched a brow and reminded scathingly, “You lost blood
too so don’t for a minute pretend it’s my well-being you’re worried about.”

“I’m a shape shifter, my health is already restored. What I
am is damn hungry.”

She swallowed. Hard. The last thing she needed to hear about
was his hunger issues. Human flesh was the preferred diet to a
nightmix
and
history had proven that time and again. “If this is your way of trying to gain
my trust…”

His eyes narrowed. “I shouldn’t have to try. You were the
one hunting me, remember?” He cleared his throat. “Look, just…don’t bother
trying to escape. I keep no horses here and you’re not in any condition to walk
in aimless circles around the forest.”

She glared, but it only caused his lips to twitch into an
arrogant smile before he added succinctly, “And it will only give my beast good
reason to come out and chase you down.”

Bastard.

He hadn’t meant it solely as a predator catching its prey.
It was man versus woman. Male pursuing female.

So why did her knees go weak and her pussy moisten even
more?

He swung away before she could find her voice. She glared
harder still at his broad back that soon disappeared through the doorway and
out into the rain. A cold wet wind blasted inside the cabin before the door
clunked shut and every ounce of her energy ebbed away.

She sighed, feeling not only spent from the confrontation
that had her body see-sawing with lust and hate, but worried sick for her
father too. She couldn’t bear to think what he was going through. One senseless
death from a
nightmix
had been more than enough for him to cope with.
And that wasn’t to mention the desert fever that had taken his soul mate. His
wife.

And my mother.
She sagged back onto the cushions that
made up her bed, melancholic and low-spirited by her thoughts. And all the
while there was a simmering guilt deep in her soul for how she’d treated the
nightmix.

Had she lost her mind? All her life she’d prepared herself
for the day she could kill one, no,
all
of the monsters before they
murdered another innocent human. And yet, it had taken the first
nightmix
she’d seen to have her mind all in tangles and her belly in knots.

She drifted in and out of sleep, the whole while conscious
that long hours had passed since the monster had left his den.

Had the
nightmix
come to harm? Would he be coming
back? Her breath abruptly caught in her throat. Had her father’s hunting party
finally chased him down and killed him? Something sharp lanced through her
chest, a sob catching in the very bottom of her throat.

She gritted her teeth. The damn
nightmix
deserved to
die. And no amount of lies in the world—his lies—would make her think
otherwise.

It was only when the hunger pains in her belly began to
worsen that she forced her mind back to her present predicament. She sat and
reached for the mug of soup. It was cold but tasted heavenly, a thick broth
that was filled with chunky vegetables and what tasted like juicy pieces of
rabbit. She upended the mug and slurped the last of the concoction down.

She hated to admit it, but the
nightmix
knew how to
make a decent soup. Already a little of her strength was returning. She wiggled
her leg experimentally. The deep gash on her thigh was surprisingly bearable.
Then again,
wort
moss was known to speed up the healing process many
times over.

Pushing aside the rip in her pants, she peeled back an
obviously fresh wad of moss. Her breath caught. Neat stitches drew the wound
together, and although there was a puffy redness, there was no sign of
infection.

She placed the moss back across the wound on her thigh, her
mind refusing to cooperate with what she knew was the truth. The
nightmix
had
stitched her up and tended to her when she’d been unconscious and at her most
vulnerable.

He wasn’t a murderer.

Not yet. But sooner or later his inner darkness will
overtake his mind. And he’ll be just the same as the monster who murdered my
brother.

She closed her mind to her seesawing emotions, unable to
deal with the unraveling of her tight-set way of thinking. The
nightmix
had
put on quite a show to make her doubt herself. Hell, for a little while she’d
even managed to forget about her past—the very reason she wanted the
nightmix
dead.

Darkness was falling outside. Through the window the
branches were shadowy silhouettes flailing in the wind and rain. She heaved a
sigh. The heavy, oppressive sky gave every impression the wet had set in for
quite some time.

For the moment at least she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
There was no escape. And though she mightn’t yet have the strength to kill him,
she sure as hell had the balls to enrage him.

She’d die on her own terms, not his.

Her breath caught as an idea as brazen as it was bold took
shape in her mind and wouldn’t shake loose. There might well be a more
satisfying way to seek her revenge. Make the beast fall in love with her. And
then watch the light go out in his eyes even before she pushed a knife into his
heart.

It would be the ultimate revenge. And quite possibly the
only way to put her demons to rest.

If
he came home.

The unsettling disquiet again hovered at her subconscious.
She frowned, brushing aside her concern. She didn’t want to be left alone in his
cabin and having to fend for herself…nothing more.

She pushed to her feet, swaying for a moment as vertigo
gripped her, before she padded across the small room to where a large, covered
pot sat on dying coals. There was enough light for her to properly see the
room, which was at best little more than the most basic shelter. But it was
strong, solid. And just about indestructible.