Mating the Huntress Page 4

  Then she released him completely, her fingers sliding over his shoulders. A second later they knotted in the fabric of his T-shirt; in the next breath, they were sinking into his hair. It was as if she didn’t know where to touch first.

  When she slipped her hands under his shirt to stroke bare skin, to touch him with blatant fascination, he thought, Fuck it. He put a hand, just one, on her shoulder, over the coat she still wore. She didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she deepened the kiss, rocking harder against him.

  So he slid his palm down her back, and a moan spilled from her lips into his. That sound, sweet and soft and ravenous, scattered whatever scraps of control he’d maintained. He grasped her hips with needy hands and groaned at the feel of her, at the softness and the strength. When her roaming fingers found his nipples, her nails grazing the sensitive flesh, he was thrust into a truly mindless lust. He hiked up her skirt and put his hand on her thigh—

  And hissed as shock and pain carved through his need. Feral instinct had him shoving her away, but she was his mate, so he dropped her onto the sofa instead of throwing her across the room. His palm burning, his mind fuzzy with confusion and enduring lust, Luke felt his beast push through. Felt his fangs extend, his bones beginning to crunch and twist and shift. Restraint. But his control was shot. Voice a ragged mess, he snarled, “What the fuck is that?”

  Chastity looked up at him through the curls that had fallen over her eyes. He knew that he looked terrifying right now, halfway to the monstrous form that made him Were, but alarm only flickered across her features for a second before it was replaced by… triumph?

  And then she said, “Silver,” and launched herself at him.

  He was stronger than her, but he was also absolutely fucking astonished, so when she thudded into his chest, he fell. They landed on the coffee table—or rather, smashed right through it, their weight destroying the wood. She didn’t appear to notice the carnage, though; instead, she straddled his chest with powerful thighs and produced a dagger from God only knew where, a dagger that glinted silver in the light. He caught her wrist in a punishing grip just as she swung it towards his throat. Whip-fast, she tossed the blade to her other hand and aimed for his heart with enough force to carve through a man’s breastbone.

  She managed to sink the dagger an inch or two into his chest, which hurt like a motherfucker—goddamn bloody silver—but wasn’t nearly enough to hit his heart. The shock of pain had his beast snarling and his scrambled thoughts regrouping, cold agony piecing together his lost discipline. Grabbing her other wrist, Luke arched a brow and asked, “You done?”

  “Nope,” she clipped out, and head-butted him. In the nose. For fuck’s sake, that hurt.

  He let her go, mostly because he was worried she’d just concussed herself on his face. “Chastity. Are you okay?”

  She blinked rapidly, scowled, “Shut up,” then jumped to her feet in a rather impressive display of athleticism. Between the way she’d kissed him and the silver currently embedded in his chest, he was beginning to think that Chastity’s shyness wasn’t as straightforward as he’d assumed. Regardless, she was still funny, hot as hell, and great at making coffee. Altogether, he was pleased with fate’s choice of mate for him.

  He was admiring her calves and considering her excellent takedown technique when she demanded, “Is your dick still hard right now? Seriously?!”

  Since the answer was quite obvious, he didn’t bother to confirm. Instead, he asked, “Are you trying to kill me?”

  She responded by stamping on his head.

  He coughed, grimaced, regrouped. “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you a huntress?”

  “Why the fuck won’t you die?” She gave an adorable little growl of frustration, lifted her skirt—more of that, please—fiddled around in the shadows for a moment, then threw something at him. A fine chain of silver landed right over his throat, which dragged a ragged howl of pain from him. And then, without warning, he shifted, completely and involuntarily.

  As a Werewolf, he didn’t turn into an actual wolf or anything so fanciful as that. He turned into what he was: a monstrous bipedal beast. His vocal chords were mostly useless now, so he’d have to question her later, but on the plus-side, the transformation made him even stronger. Strong enough to drag the silver off of his throat with one mammoth claw, burning off a strip of his own skin as he did so.

  Above him, Chastity wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

  Charming. Absolutely charming. She covered him in silver, then complained at the smell of a little burning flesh. Even now, she was pulling more of those damn chains off her body, which was an… interesting sight, since she appeared to have it stashed up her skirt. He caught a flash of thigh one moment, the glimpse of a dark and enticing V the next. His cock was harder than a fucking hammer, and he couldn’t even do anything about it.

  She threw more silver over him, and Luke remembered that he was supposed to be fighting for his life, or whatever. But she was just one tiny little huntress. He had time to ogle her for a bit. And tease her. Perhaps he could make her smile? He did love making her smile.

  Then she whipped out a pistol, and it occurred to him that she probably had silver bullets. Sigh. Time to concentrate.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain of all that silver, forcing his sluggish, slowly-poisoned body to move, he kicked her feet out from under her—gently. She landed well, which was a relief, and dropped her pistol, which was also a relief. Luke shook off the rest of the chains and threw himself on top of her.

  She looked up into the fanged depths of his gaping jaws and smiled. “I,” she purred, “am going to enjoy killing you.” Then she smacked the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest, shoving it an inch closer to her target.

  Christ, she wasn’t shy at all, was she? The hesitation, the demure smiles and lowered lashes—it had all been a trap. She wasn’t sweet or gentle or biddable. She was a bloodthirsty fucking murderer.

  His heart sang.

  Weres should be easier to kill.

  Chastity had heard enough debriefings between her sisters and Ma to realise that. Werewolves should be senseless creatures driven out of their minds by bloodlust, not apparently sentient beings who were able to make blatantly calculated decisions.

  This. Was. Not. Right.

  The beast above her gave an odd, drawn-out snarl that almost sounded like a word. Then it repeated itself, again and again, and she realised that the snarl was a word. It sounded kind of like…

  Well. Kind of like, “Why?”

  She almost laughed. Who’d have thought a Werewolf would want to chat? They seemed more like the ‘rip out throats now, ask questions later’ type.

  Like you?

  She shoved that suddenly uncomfortable thought away and decided to answer the monster. “It’s my duty to humanity,” she said, honestly enough. “Plus, I want to give your heart to my mother.”

  The Were gave an odd snort that almost sounded sarcastic. But Werewolves didn’t have a sense of humour—or sense, full stop—so she must be imagining things.

  Luke has a sense of humour.

  Her thoughts were out of control tonight. She needed to meditate more. Now wasn’t exactly the time, though, so she settled on violence as a distraction instead. Forcing lax muscles into action in a split second, she bucked and caught the creature by surprise. For a moment, her strength threatened to tip the balance; she almost dragged her wrists free of its clawed grip while her body dislodged its weight. But then the Were shifted, almost lazily, and secured her in its hold once more. Well, shit.

  Chastity tried not to panic as she took quiet stock of her situation, but it was pretty fucking difficult, all things considered. For one thing, she was quite sure that she had a mild concussion and bruised ribs, despite her sneaking suspicion that Luke—no, not Luke, the monster—was going easy on her.

  And that was another problem. Why the fuck would he—it!—be going easy on her? She didn’t know. A game, maybe? It was weird, but not as weird as the
shit going on inside her head right now. She was suffocating beneath this overwhelming sense of wrongness, every bone in her body screeching at her so loud, it was all she could do not to wince. It was as if something deep in her chest, something beyond reason and logical thought, was demanding that she not do this.

  But that didn’t make any fucking sense, and the strangeness of it all was starting to piss her off, and she really couldn’t think straight right now. Not while she was prone beneath a monster so huge, its weight almost took her breath away.

  Its humanoid hands with their dangerous claws sent a chill down her spine. Its fangs were inches from her face, razor-sharp and longer than the dagger in its chest. Above the horror of its twisted muzzle were two familiar, grass-green eyes. Except they didn’t remind her of grass anymore. Right now, they were more like venom.

  She was really up shit’s creek here, wasn’t she? Without a fucking paddle.

  Desperate, she arched into its sleekly muscled, fur-covered chest, trying to shove the dagger deeper with her own body. It twisted out of the way with a snarl, then shifted their positions with a disturbing economy of movement. All of a sudden, she was on her side and the creature was behind her, her hands held above her head, her legs caught between what would, on a man, be powerful thighs. She wasn’t entirely sure what to call that part of a Werewolf’s anatomy, though, because it didn’t look like a human or a wolf.

  Just a monster.

  And yet, every time her mind searched for ways to kill it, even now, her instincts screamed out in protest. Why?

  The question was swept away by the shock of the beast transforming behind her. Watching Luke become a monster, bit by bit, had been fascinating. Now, she presumed she was feeling the opposite process; she heard the crunch, crack and sickening slide of body parts rearranging, felt him change in a way that should have been impossible.

  For some reason, she wasn’t appropriately horrified so much as intrigued. Chastity found herself wondering what the reverse transformation looked like, what it all felt like, how a Werewolf form worked—and by the time it occurred to her fuzzy brain that she should use the vulnerable period of the shift to attack, he was done. The body caging hers was all man, and, as far as she could tell, mostly naked.

  His clothes, apparently, weren’t equipped to deal with changes of mass and shape that should be impossible. Made sense. She could feel scraps of denim and fabric pressed against her, but mostly it was all bare skin, crisp body hair, and hard muscle.

  Could you stop taking inventory of the thing’s body and start figuring out how to survive this? Thanks, Management.

  “Sweetheart,” he growled into her ear, his breath against her skin making her shiver. “You need to get this knife out of my chest.”

  She didn’t hide her derisive snort. “I don’t fucking think so.”

  “You don’t want to kill me, Chastity. Trust me on that. It’ll send your life rapidly downhill.”

  He was talking utter shit. For some reason, his words reminded her of the goddamn witch whose prophecy had stolen her birthright away. It was rubbish. It was all rubbish. Except… Adofo women were trained to trust their instincts, and Chastity’s instincts were telling her quite clearly that she must not slaughter this particular beast.

  Dammit.

  “Chastity,” he said, “I’m serious. Silver this close to my heart—it’s poisoning me.” And his voice really did sound fainter, less vital. His weight against her was less a restraining force, more a dead cage. As if he were simply lying on her rather than holding her down. He was weaker—and he was telling her so.

  She kept her mouth shut while she grappled with the implications of that fact. At least, until he shifted against her and something thick and rigid and horribly inappropriate brushed against her lower back.

  “Do you still have an erection right now?” she snapped.

  “Not the best use of my energy,” he muttered, “I agree.”

  “Then why the hell are you hard?”

  “Same reason you’re still wet. Don’t throw stones, love.”

  Chastity stiffened, considered denying the charge, then decided not to waste her breath on an obvious lie. She had no idea what was going on with her body right now, or why she’d lost her mind in his arms twenty minutes ago. Sure, she liked a good shag, but the act didn’t usually spring to mind during life or death situations.

  Then again, she realised, he didn’t seem that big on killing her. He’d had her pinned for a while now, after all. He could’ve ripped her throat out with those damned claws. Why hadn’t he?

  “Take it out, Chas,” he wheezed, his voice interrupting her thoughts. “I can’t do it myself.” Because the dagger’s handle was silver too.

  Something in her crumbled. Sure, in theory, she’d love to be a cold-hearted murderess, but in reality he was a man who’d only ever been nice to her and he was fucking dying on his own living room floor. Maybe tomorrow night he’d turn again and run around the city merrily decapitating innocents, but right now he was just Luke, and she couldn’t lie there and listen to his life end.

  She was undoubtedly weak. She decided not to tell her sisters about this.

  With a sigh, Chastity shoved his body away, wincing as he landed fully on the floor with a thud. Then she sat up and looked at him. He was pale, his features drawn, those unnatural eyes almost dull—but, she noticed irritably, she hadn’t managed to break his nose. Hadn’t even bruised it. He had a slight black eye, a gash where she’d stamped on him, and burns everywhere the silver had hit. No other injuries.

  Well; except for the big fucking knife in his chest.

  For some reason, the sight of him even slightly injured made her feel… odd. His pallor, the laborious sound of his breathing, squeezed something tender in her chest. She actually felt tears, hot and completely unwanted, pricking at her eyelids. Ugh. The urge to sob out loud was suddenly, inexplicably overwhelming, so she grabbed the hilt of the dagger, gritted her teeth, and yanked it out of his chest as fast as possible. As soon as the silver left his flesh, that nagging desire to break down faded slightly. But not enough. Not enough.

  Luke coughed horribly for a moment, then relaxed, his eyes closed.

  Biting her lip, she said, “Hey.” He didn’t reply. Panic, senseless but no less potent for it, flared to life inside her. “Hey. Luke!”

  He cracked open one gently glowing eye and said, rather grumpily, “What?”

  She almost pissed herself through sheer relief. But she managed to keep her face straight and her voice flat as she asked, “You gonna die or what?”

  “Not if you let me sleep,” he said gruffly, and closed his eyes again.

  So, he was okay. Fantastic. She could leave now and think about the little wooden acorn in her pocket, the strange feelings that hummed deep in her bones, and what it meant that he hadn’t hurt her, not even a little bit. She could run all the way home.

  Except she didn’t. Not for hours. Not until his colour returned, his breathing grew slow and even, and the hole she’d carved into his chest, stopped bleeding.

  Not until she’d placed a glass of water and one of those red velvet cupcakes close enough for him to reach when he woke.

  4

  Monster of Mine

  “Did you decorate the shortbread today, Chas? It’s cute.” Valour bit into the pumpkin-piped biscuit with a smile.

  “Thanks,” Chastity mumbled, and tried not to think of the beautiful pumpkins she’d seen last night.

  Or the man who’d carved them so skilfully.

  But Valour ruined her efforts when he frowned at the clock and said, “Your guy hasn’t turned up all morning. Think something’s wrong?”

  “Don’t care,” Chastity said, heaving a fresh bag of beans into the coffee grinder. For a long moment, the sound of tiny beans clattering against plastic and metal cut off all conversation. But then the bag was empty and the moment passed and Val was still fucking talking.

  “He’s been coming in everyday for, what
, a month? And always at the same time. I don’t know, Chas, I’m kind of worried.”

  She bit her lip, hard, to stop herself from snapping. Valour, like all of the men in the Adofo family, was painfully kindhearted. He was a natural protector, even of strange, enormous men with strange eyes and dark secrets. Chastity knew full well that caring was painful, so she couldn’t just dismiss her brother’s worry.

  She also couldn’t tell him that the repeat customer who flirted with her valiantly was actually a Werewolf, because that would involve confessing that she’d gone against family protocol to hunt alone, and against Ma’s wishes to hunt at all, in the hopes that she could prove herself. And then she’d have to admit that she was starting to have second thoughts about hunting this creature. That, aside from her mortifying attraction to him, she simply didn’t think he should die. That Valour wasn’t the only one worrying about him. That she was worried too.

  No, she couldn’t tell her brother any of that, because he’d freak the fuck out.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “I’ll check on him.”

  Val’s face lit up, not just with relief but razor-sharp interest. “And how will you do that?” he asked, a smug smile on his face.

  “I have his number,” she lied. Luke hadn’t actually given her his phone number, but she’d also never seen him with a phone.

  “I knew it!”

  “Valour. Shut up or I won’t bother.”

  “Shutting up.” Val’s grinned and wandered off to run stock checks. The minute his back was turned, Chastity shoved the breath she’d been holding out of her lungs and willed her tense muscles to relax.

  It didn’t work.

  It had been over twelve hours since she’d crept out of Luke’s cabin, and for some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. It felt as if her heart was thudding hard against her ribs, burning up her chest in its urgent need to go to him.