Mating the Huntress Page 2

  She rolled her eyes. “Get in the back, Val.”

  Running the family business with her dad and brothers was generally rewarding, but at times like this it just felt so… galling. She was an Adofo woman. She should be a huntress.

  But twenty-five years ago, on the day of Chastity’s birth, some batty old oracle had rocked up to the delivery room and told her parents—in typically dramatic fashion—that if Chastity ever became a huntress, her first kill would rip out her own heart.

  Sounded like a steaming pile of bullshit to Chas, but her parents had taken it very seriously. So, here she was, a quarter century later, plotting to slaughter a paying customer just to gain access to her birthright. Her gaze slid over to the Werewolf in the corner again. He appeared to have finished his croissants. He was watching her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She looked away.

  Her brother chuckled, oblivious to the presence of a monster in their midst. “Relax, snippy. I was just coming to check on you. I know you get awfully flustered when that guy’s around.” His grin grew impossibly larger as he jerked his head not-so-subtly towards Luke. Even if he had been subtle, it wouldn’t matter; Ma had a theory that Werewolves maintained excellent hearing while in human form. In fact, Chastity realised, if that were the case, it was something she could use to her advantage…

  Trying her best to sound bashful, she mumbled, “Valour, please. Just be cool, okay?”

  Her brother, the youngest of them all at nineteen, lit up at the opportunity to roast a sibling. “Oh, for real? You like him.”

  God, no. But if the beast thought she liked him, he’d hurry up and ask her out already. Then, when they were somewhere nice and private, she could decapitate him. Bearing that—and her false shyness—in mind, she whispered awkwardly, “Would you be quiet?”

  “You should ask him out, sis.” Valour winked as he wandered away. “He likes you too.”

  Chastity barely resisted the urge to snort. That thing wasn’t capable of ‘liking’ anyone. It liked the idea of barbecuing her, for sure. Rolling her eyes at her little brother’s nonsense, she turned back to the counter—

  And let out a rather mortifying shriek when she found the Werewolf standing right in front of her.

  She blinked. Stared over at his abandoned seat by the window. Then at him. Then at the seat.

  How fast was he? He’d been sitting there seconds ago. A second ago. Less than that! And she hadn’t heard him move, either, despite the fact that she was aware of her surroundings at all times. Just how may abilities did the Weres maintain in human form, anyway? Maybe she shouldn’t kill him just yet. Maybe she should stretch this faux-flirtation out, keep monitoring him, add to their family’s sadly spotty knowledge of Were powers…

  “Chastity,” he said, yanking her back to reality. His voice sounded almost like a growl, which was appropriate. For a moment, she was alarmed by the fact that he knew her name—but then she remembered the tag embroidered on her apron, not to mention his apparent super-hearing, and the fact that he’d been coming here for weeks. Duh. Honestly, sometimes she felt like her brain moved slower when he was around—which was probably down to some primal fear instinct that her sisters, with their superior experience, had overcome long ago.

  Never mind the academic possibilities, she decided. She was going to kill this fucker and claim her spot on the squad ASAP.

  “Hi,” she said, hiding her murderous intentions behind a sweet smile. Her reasoning was that many men—especially twisted, dangerous men with fangs and claws and a species-wide tendency towards mass murder—liked feminine attention. This particular Werewolf was evidently one of those men, because he put his hands flat against the counter and leaned towards her, an answering smile on his face. It was a very handsome smile, making faint lines crinkle around those unnatural eyes of his. If she hadn’t known any better, she’d say he looked almost adoring.

  “Hi,” he replied, and there was a shimmering edge to his low, gruff voice, one that suggested… excitement?

  She knew these creatures liked the hunt.

  “How are you?” he asked, which was a question he asked often. Far more than most human customers. But that, no doubt, was all part of his strange grooming process. Still, since she was trying to speed this whole thing up, she decided to answer with something other than a tremulous smile.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Luke.”

  He jolted as if she’d electrocuted him. It was the first time she’d ever said his name, and he was clearly aware of the fact. He’d be even more surprised, no doubt, if she revealed that she knew his full name, his birthday, his address, and his little problem with the moon. But she’d save those surprises until later.

  Later, when he was chained up in her silver.

  His face seemed to light up, those goddamn eyes glinting like old-fashioned glass bottles in the sunlight. Freakish things. Still, his smile was kind of cute, if you ignored the canines.

  “Ah,” he said, running one massive hand through his hair. “Great. So… do you like Halloween?”

  If she were being herself right now, she’d arch a mildly scathing brow. Did she like Halloween, the cursed beast asked. Was he trying to be ironic? Maybe this was sick Werewolf humour. Regardless, she could only dimple sweetly and say, “Yes.”

  He didn’t seem bothered by the simplicity of her responses. “Cool. Well, I wouldn’t usually do this—since you’re working—but…” He huffed out a little laugh that might be charming if she weren’t aware of his hunger for human flesh. “This is kind of a special circumstance.” The special circumstance, she presumed, was his desire to swallow her whole. “So, I don’t suppose you’re free on Saturday night? Because if you are, maybe we could do something Halloween-related.”

  Halloween was Monday, but most people would be partying Saturday. Of course, Chastity didn’t want to party. Killing him would be awkward with so many witnesses. So she gave a smile of genuine excitement—because she was genuinely excited to carve out his heart and show it to Ma—and said, “I would love that. How about a film night?”

  He blinked. “Film night?”

  “Yeah! We could watch old horror films and stuff, in honour of Halloween. I love them.”

  A slow smile spread over his face, different to the one he usually gave her; less sweetly hesitant or quietly considering, and more satisfied. It was the kind of smile a dangerous man gave a vulnerable woman—or perhaps the kind a predator gave his prey. The thought of seeing that smile before he ate her up sent an odd thrill over Chastity’s skin, until every fine hair stood on end.

  “I love those too,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be the type.”

  Oops. It probably didn’t fit her gentle and demure façade, but she liked to stick close to the truth when she lied. “I suppose I’m full of surprises,” she said, which was also entirely honest. He would definitely be surprised when she put him down.

  Of course, Saturday wasn’t quite full moon night—Monday was—so she wouldn’t actually be slaughtering a rabid beast, she realised.

  She’d be killing… him. Luke. A man.

  No. He’s never a man. Not even when he looks like one.

  “Okay,” he was saying. “Film night sounds great. Your place?”

  “No,” she said quickly—maybe too quickly, judging by his blink of surprise. Or perhaps he was just confused that a single woman, who wasn’t visibly threatening, would voluntarily go to a strange man’s home. “Yours, I think.” She pulled a pen and notepad out from beside the till and handed it to him.

  With a look somewhere between bafflement and wonder, he wrote down his address.

  She wondered how he’d look at her when she stabbed him in the throat.

  2

  Creation

  The night would have been pitch-black if it weren’t for the light of the waxing moon, close to full and pure as pearl. Beneath the haunting gloom lay a forest soaked in secrets, and at its shadowed maw, a little cabin. Inside that cabin lurked death. He
, also known as Luke, was trying not to fidget.

  Everything should be just fine; he knew that. He’d spent long enough preparing, after all. Instinct demanded that he show his mate he could provide for her, so he’d done his best to make his spartan home seem inviting. There was a soft blanket on the sofa, because humans got cold so easily, and a fire burning in the grate for that same purpose. He couldn’t cook for shit, and he didn’t think Chastity would react well if he presented her with a rabbit carcass, so he’d run around town all day collecting takeaway menus. Oh, and he’d bought cupcakes. He’d stalked Chastity long enough to know that she liked cupcakes.

  Now, everything in place, Luke waited with his hand shoved into his pocket, toying with that scrap of scarlet fabric. Maybe tonight, he’d find out how Chas knew the huntress he’d torn this fabric from. They must be close, if they shared clothes. His Chastity clearly wasn’t like him; she had friends, people she bonded with. Luke was a solitary creature by nature, loyal to the loving parents who’d raised him, but with no desire to forge connections elsewhere.

  Until he’d found her. Now, for the first time, he knew loneliness. Felt the gap of her absence. Felt true hunger.

  He forced his thoughts back to the huntress, the one Chastity must know. Really, he owed the vicious woman his thanks. He and his mate had apparently lived in the same city for years, but he’d been so busy—mostly learning to manage his more violent urges—that he’d never come across her scent until that night. Of course, he’d have to give the huntress a stern talking to before he thanked her. It was very rude to invade a man’s forest and try to murder him. He understood the impulse—he was, after all, a slavering beast of the darkness and denizen of evil—but he couldn’t condone the random slaughtering of any species, as a matter of principal.

  He was still wondering how to get that point across without upsetting his new mate’s friend/cousin/whatever when a knock came at the front door.

  He tried not to run.

  Judging by her startled blink when he opened the door, though, he’d still moved a little faster than was normal. Ah, well. He felt himself smile without conscious thought, just at the sight of her—and the scent of her, the usual mix of sweets and shadows, plus an edge of wild arousal that only grew the longer he stared. Luke tensed as he caught that hint of desire, locking down every muscle in his body to stop himself from reacting. Don’t scare her. Just because her body’s responding to you, doesn’t mean shit.

  He held his breath and focused on his sight instead, but that wasn’t much better: Chastity looked as delicious as she smelled. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose seemed shinier than usual, doubtless because of the brisk October wind. That same wind blew at her hair until it rose up around her head like a dark halo, and whipped at the knee-length, black skirt he could see beneath her coat. She held that skirt down with nervous hands and gave him a tiny smile. She might as well have thrown her arms around him, the way his heart reacted.

  “Chastity,” he said. “Come in.”

  But she hesitated in the doorway, her gaze on something outside. “Where’d you get the pumpkins?” she asked.

  “Someone was selling them at a market on the edge of town,” he said slowly, poking his head out of the door to follow her gaze. “Do you want some? The market’s every other Saturday. Of course, we’d miss Halloween, but… you can eat pumpkins, right?” He didn’t have the greatest knowledge of digestible plants, but he’d definitely heard of humans eating pumpkins.

  She pursed her lips, shook her head. “I meant—who did the carvings?”

  “Oh.” He looked down at the winding, floral pattern he’d carved into one pumpkin, the full moon and forest landscape he’d sliced into another. “I did.”

  She blinked up at him in blatant disbelief.

  His cheeks heated. “I’m good with my hands. Come on, you’ll get cold.”

  There was the slightest pause before she finally stepped over his threshold, and then he had her. She was there, with him, in his territory—well, she’d been in his territory the second she stepped into the yard, but this was different. This was her choosing to enter his home. Even though she didn’t know it yet, and he had no idea how he’d get them to their happy ending, this felt like a turning point. Like the moment when his shadowy, solitary life began to brighten.

  Luke ignored his pounding heart and willed his aching cock to behave itself, just for tonight. Tonight, nothing could go wrong.

  “Can I take your coat?” he asked, because apparently that was the polite thing to do.

  She unzipped the warm-looking jacket but held it close around her. “Um, no thank you.”

  Ah, fuck. “Is it too cold in here? I can build up the fire, if you want.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” she said quickly. “I just, ah…”

  He frowned when she trailed into silence, then looked down at the place where her hands clutched the fabric. Her knuckles were pale, she was holding on so tight. He realised all at once that she must be nervous.

  His dad got anxious sometimes, and when he did, he had little habits that helped. So, maybe Chastity clinging to her coat was like that. Maybe she was being brave right now. The thought turned something inside him soft and warm, but at the same time… well, at the same time, he was eager for the day when she wouldn’t feel shy around him.

  “Okay,” he said, hoping he sounded appropriately soothing. “You keep it.”

  She looked up at him sharply, seeming almost suspicious. Then she confused him completely by asking, “Who told you what to do with the pumpkins?”

  She was really into those pumpkins. “I learned to carve when I was a kid. My dad taught me.”

  “No, I mean—the pictures. Someone showed them to you, right? And you copied?”

  Well, damn. Luke knew from his experience with humans that he gave off more of a thug-slash-serial killer vibe than an artistic one, but surely it wasn’t that unbelievable. “I didn’t copy anything. Look.” There was a little shelf right by the door where he kept his latest carvings—not of pumpkins, but of wood—so he didn’t have to reach far to grab one at random. He held up a tiny, half-finished acorn for her and said, “I make things. I made this.”

  She snatched the carving from his grasp, so fast he barely saw her coming and so neatly that her fingers didn’t even brush his. But for a heartbeat, he felt the ghost of the cold she’d dragged in from outside, emanating from her skin. Suddenly he wanted to wrap her poor little hands in his and rub them until she warmed right up.

  She seemed more concerned with peering at his work. “You’re serious,” she said slowly. “You made this.”

  “I’m an artist. Pays the bills.” He shrugged, as if his art weren’t everything to him. “I… I had temper issues, when I was young. My mum kicked me out and told me to find my own peace. And I did. Eventually.” He nodded at the acorn.

  Her eyes widened for a moment before she asked, “Can I have this?”

  “Uh… it’s not finished.”

  “I know.”

  He thought for a moment before shrugging. “If you want. I can make you something better, though.”

  She gave him one of those little smiles, like a waning moon, and shook her head. “This is wonderful.” She slipped the acorn into her pocket while Luke fought down giddy satisfaction. If she liked the carvings he made to pass the time, she’d love a real piece. He would make her something. He’d find out what she loved, and he’d make it just for her.

  He’d do whatever it took to keep his mate smiling that rare, half-moon smile.

  Luke could be… creative?

  Chastity wasn’t exactly an expert, but she was quite sure Werewolves shouldn’t be capable of that. For one thing, it was a solid indication of possessing a soul. She fingered the little wooden carving in her pocket and decided to show Constance at some point. Her eldest sister would know what it meant. In the meantime, she might have to put off her murderous plans. Just for a little while, for the sake of research.

&nbs
p; Damn it.

  She’d barely been here twenty minutes and she was already uncertain. Uncertainty made her irritable. It was, of course, the Werewolf’s fault. He was confusing her, with his nice little cabin, his friendly hospitality and his amazing bloody pumpkins.

  And had he always smelled this fucking good? Chastity wasn’t sure. The café’s aroma had a way of drowning out everything else, so maybe he’d always had this incredible scent, this heady mixture of power, fresh pine and midnight heat, and she’d never noticed. Or maybe it was his strange little house in the shadows of the forest, rather than him, that smelled so great. It didn’t really matter, in the end, now did it? Because when she was through with him, he’d end up dead regardless.

  That thought pounded through her blood like a drumbeat as he fussed around her, as he told her to sit down, as he showed her a small mountain of takeout menus and asked what she wanted to eat. By the time he went to order, she barely remembered her own decisions. She was too busy breathing through her mouth, trying to avoid that goddamn scent. It was fogging her brain, somehow, relaxing muscles that needed to stay tense, melting her murderous intent until she found herself questioning the ethical implications of killing a Were in human form, and of killing a Were who could… create.

  “Pepperoni, right?”

  His voice, rough and rich as brown sugar, yanked Chastity out of her own head. She dragged her gaze from the flames dancing in Luke’s old-fashioned fireplace to his face, then wished she hadn’t. He really was so handsome. It just wasn’t right. She tried to remember her sisters’ descriptions of vile, slavering Weres, tried to superimpose that image over his strong jaw and smiling mouth and the cute bump in the bridge of his nose, and failed.

  He raised his brows a little and her cheeks warmed. God, he’d asked her a question and she’d responded by drooling over his pretty face. What was with her?

  “Yeah,” she said, and he nodded and spoke into the phone. Chastity settled deeper into the sofa while she waited, snuggling into the blanket before she could stop herself. It was a really comfy sofa, okay? She definitely wasn’t letting her guard down. She had a pistol in her underarm holster—silver bullets—and a silver dagger strapped to her thigh beneath this ridiculous skirt, which she’d borrowed from her flighty sister, Prudence. The minute he went for her, she’d be ready. She didn’t foresee any problems; after all, she had the element of surprise, and beneath his predatory charm, he was just a rabid animal.