Mating the Huntress Page 5

  She’d lied to her brother about checking on Luke, but as her shift drew to a close, Chastity realised she was actually going to do it. She had to. Because something inside her had been restless since the moment she’d left him behind, until she felt as if she were too nervous to settle inside her own skin, and it was only getting worse. If she didn’t see him with her own eyes—hear that low, laughing voice, sense his abnormal heat—she might never feel human again.

  Then there was the fact that he felt human to her—and she didn’t mean the breathtaking feel of his chest under her palms, all warm skin, hard muscle and crisp hair. She had seen Luke every day for weeks, had listened to his hilarious attempts to crack her faux-shy shell, had slowly realised that he was actually rather sweet—in a twisted, predatory way. And then he had bought her red velvet cupcakes because he knew they were her favourite.

  He was not a monster, despite his monstrous form. But what did that mean for the Adofos?

  She dismissed her worries for now, focusing on the familiar rhythms and routines of the shop. When Val was joined by Justice, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her silent, unsmiling older brother was the perfect barrier between Chastity and the rest of the world. As long as Justice was there, running the show with an iron fist and cutting off Valour’s chit chat with quelling looks, she could freak out in peace. She could turn into a barista-bot, hands always busy and smile always pinned in place. She tried, too, tried really hard—and yet her mind continued to return to last night.

  She couldn’t believe she’d kissed Luke. Why had the taste of him been ambrosia? Why had his arms felt like the safest place to drown? Why was she, even now, fighting off hot and breathless memories of his hands, his mouth, his hard cock pressing between her thighs?

  Chastity dropped a mug. It shattered on the floor with a crash that quieted the shop.

  After a heartbeat, the customers absorbed the sudden sound and went back to their conversations. Val gave her a reassuring wink and went to fetch a sweeping brush. But Justice…

  When she bent to pick up the bigger shards of ceramic, Justice joined her. She felt the weight of his gaze, his curiosity, his knowing, even as she kept her eyes pinned to the floor. A second later, he took away her ability to ignore him.

  “Something’s wrong with you.” He spoke firmly and in full sentences, which meant he wasn’t speaking as her brother. He was the family healer now.

  Chastity looked up sharply. “Menstrual.”

  He cocked his head. Which was Justice-speak for, Try again.

  She bit back a sigh. This was the trouble with emotionally intelligent family members; they always wanted to check on your well-being, and other such inconveniences. “I’m worried about a friend,” she admitted, the words bittersweet. She didn’t want them to be true, but they were, and it felt right.

  “What’s wrong with your friend?” Justice frowned, doctorly concern written all over his face. Because he knew Chastity well enough to realise that she’d only be driven to emote by grave situations.

  “He’s been hurt.”

  By me. “Last I saw, he was in bad shape, and I don’t know if he’s better yet.”

  “You can’t call him?”

  “No.”

  “But you can see him.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, wondering where her brother was going with this.

  “You should go, then.”

  She blinked. “What? But—no, there’s still two hours left until closing. And then, you know, there’s actual closing—”

  “I’ll close.”

  “Justice,” she sighed. “I’m the manager.”

  Her stony-faced brother actually rolled his eyes. “Honestly. Women. I’ve worked here all my life, Chas. If I could manage a PhD I can manage closing without your supervision. I’m not completely useless.”

  Her cheeks heated as she rushed to say, “Of course you’re not useless, J! I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t.” The corner of his mouth tilted slightly in his version of a smile. “Get out of here. Check on your friend.”

  She swallowed the urge to claim that ‘friend’ might not, in fact, be the most accurate description. That things between them were… what? Romantic? What a ridiculous thought.

  One fake-date arranged with the intention of murder, a single short but excellent make-out session, and a rather passionate fight to the death did not a relationship make. Luke might not be a monster emotionally, but he was still a literal creature of the night, and she should not be attracted to him, never mind attached. Had she totally missed his hideous fangs and deadly claws yesterday?

  No. They were actually kind of hot.

  It was official. Chastity was losing her grip. She should probably leave before anyone noticed.

  “Thanks, Justice,” she said, leaping to her feet and ripping off her apron as she strode into the back. She passed a clearly baffled Valour with his sweeping brush and hurried to the cloakroom, grabbing her jacket. And then, before she could think better of this whole thing, or really question the twisted impulses driving her clearly malfunctioning heart, she left.

  It was the day before Halloween, and autumn was in full, majestic effect. The air was crisp and cool, biting at her cheeks and lifting her dense curls. Chastity’s boots echoed against the concrete of the empty staff carpark as she huddled deeper into her jacket and started the walk to Luke’s.

  If she were in her right mind, she’d go home and get a scarf and gloves first. Then again, if she were in her right mind, she wouldn’t be doing this at all. She wouldn’t be desperate to see him right now, wouldn’t be resisting the urge to bite her thumb nail and worry about the wound in his chest…

  Wouldn’t imagine she could smell his wild, midnight heat on the harsh wind, or that she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back.

  She stopped walking. Peered into the shadows between Cup o’Go and the next unit, some bougie wine seller. And then, feeling like an absolute ninny, her breath coming fast and her hopes inexplicably raised, she called, “Luke?”

  When he sauntered out of the shadows she almost shit herself.

  He leant back against the shop’s brick wall, hands in his pockets, and watched her with those goddamn eyes. “Hey, huntress,” he said.

  Her response was automatic, maybe a touch defensive. “Not a huntress.”

  “No? Well, you did a very good imitation of one last night.”

  She ignored the little stab of hurt brought by the word imitation. This was a sensitive topic for her, and she knew it. So, instead of wallowing, she studied him from head to toe and decided that he looked… good. Great, in fact.

  His skin was back to its usual amber shade, his movements as easy and powerful as ever. He looked strong—and more attractive than he should—in jeans and a leather jacket. So attractive that she felt her traitorous body responding again, just like it had last night. She should be terrified, or tense, at least, poised to defend herself from his near-certain thirst for revenge.

  But she wasn’t scared at all. In fact, her brain seemed to be focusing heavily on the sharp bow of his upper lip, and how much she’d like to trace it with her finger. Or her tongue.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

  He shrugged, and it was all she could do not to salivate over the breadth of his shoulders. “Obviously,” he said, “I’m stalking you.”

  God, did he have to sound so matter-of-fact about it?

  “Why?” she gritted out, horrified to find herself fighting a smile. She was not amused. She was irritated. No, she was worse than irritated; she was disgusted, horrified, and gripped by murderous rage. That’s what Chastity told herself, anyway. Maybe if she thought about those feelings hard enough, they’d replace the disturbing softness that had taken up residence in her chest.

  “Why’d you leave work early?” he threw back.

  She was glad he’d said that, because it gave her
an excuse to stomp towards him combatively—which was a convenient way to obey her body’s need to be close to him. But as she stormed over with her hands fisted and her expression fierce, a cocky little smile tilted his lips, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew.

  He knew something was wrong with her. He knew she couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop caring about him. Maybe he even knew why. Perhaps he had spelled her—not with last night’s cupcakes, since she hadn’t eaten one, but with that scent that seemed to follow him around. The one that was so fucking sweet, that made her hunger and thirst and want and need so badly…

  “Hi,” he said softly, and Chastity realised that she was standing right in front of him. Too close. Not close enough.

  “Hi,” she replied, then winced.

  “What?” he asked immediately.

  “I’ve never said anything so inane in my life.”

  He arched one tawny brow. “Now greetings are inane? Being an Adofo doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “Don’t speak my name, monster,” she snapped, the words automatic. She regretted them a moment later.

  But he only smiled wider. “Are you trying to piss me off? Because I should tell you, all that does is get me hard.”

  “You’re depraved.” And yet, she liked it, her core tightening and her pussy growing slick at his coarse words. At his slight smile. At the sight of him.

  “What I am,” he said slowly, “is yours.”

  Those words sounded disturbingly like the truth, as if he’d just slotted some vital puzzle piece into place. So she ignored them.

  “You should leave,” she murmured. “My sisters come here all the time, you know.”

  “So?”

  “So, they’ll kill you on sight.”

  He smirked. “Worried about me?”

  “Hardly. But I have questions for you, monster of mine. Can’t let them put you down just yet.” At least, that was what she’d tell the family, if they ever found out she was fraternising with a Were.

  He cocked his head. “You wanted to put me down. But you’re not a huntress. And yet your sisters are. Why is that?”

  She clamped her jaw shut against familiar discomfort. This was always a sensitive subject for her, but no-one knew that—no-one had the slightest idea about her insecurities—because she would rather die than let on. Only, right then, in front of him, all she wanted to do was burst into tears and confess everything.

  Ick.

  “Something wrong, sweetness?” he asked.

  This was the part where she turned on her heel and walked away, or maybe where she stabbed him in the eye—except she didn’t have her dagger on her. Couldn’t bring herself to touch it, for some reason, after seeing it buried in his chest. She didn’t really want to hurt him. She wanted to learn him.

  For research, of course. This odd fascination was down to her niggling suspicion that he might have a soul and therefore should not be brutally murdered. Nothing more.

  “Let’s not talk about me,” she said finally. “Like I said, I have questions for you. Can we go back to your place?”

  He gave her a considering look, mischief dancing over the sharp lines of his face. “Maybe I don’t want to be alone with you anymore. You did try to kill me, you know.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m starting to think that I may have been out of order, there.”

  “Oh, shit, really? You know what? Me too.”

  She rolled her eyes in the face of his sarcasm. “Get over it.”

  “I can’t. It haunts me. I might be scarred for life. In fact, I don’t believe I can think straight around you. The fear is just too strong.”

  “Fuck off, then,” she huffed, defensive even though she knew he was teasing. Knowing didn’t stop her from drowning in guilt. Call her naïve, but she really hadn’t expected hunting to be so emotionally fraught.

  “Woah, woah,” he said, straightening up and taking her hand as she turned away. The sudden contact sent a shock of rightness through her veins, forced a little gasp from her lips and turned her blood molten. Suddenly, desire was dancing across her skin, whispering in her ear, all from the rasp of his palm over hers.

  Ridiculous, she told herself.

  Inevitable, insisted a strange voice in her mind.

  “Don’t hurry off, now,” he murmured. “I think we can work something out.” He tugged her closer, and for some reason, she allowed it. Clearly, something about this beast was melting her brain. It was the only explanation. Because no sensible woman would let a Werewolf lead them into a darkened alley.

  But that’s exactly what Chastity did.

  When Luke had woken up that afternoon with a fucker of a headache and a trashed living room, his first thought hadn’t been to find and flirt with his mate. He’d intended to find and spank his mate for fucking up a perfectly good coffee table with her WWE shenanigans, and also to have a serious conversation with her about how loving couples shouldn’t stab each other.

  But then he’d seen her—he could see her even now, as the alleyway they walked into sucked up the last of the evening light—and God, she was so beautiful. Her jaw was hard, her eyes were narrowed and suspicious, and her cheeks were soft and round enough to bite. Gently. So here he was, plotting seduction instead of communication. Ah, well. He was a horny motherfucker and he’d never claimed otherwise.

  The shadows clung to them as they moved. The alley became a secret little world, distanced from the city’s evening traffic and rough winds, its darkness mirroring the midnight of his monster’s soul. He pushed her against one frigid brick wall and trapped her there with his own body, his arms resting above her head and his booted feet planted either side of hers.

  When she bit her lip instead of kneeing him in the balls, he knew he had her.

  This was going to be fun. Especially now that he could be his true self. His violent little sweetheart had more than proven she could cope.

  “Do you feel guilty, Chas?” he asked, knowing that she did. Which was sweet, if unnecessary. She may have tried to kill him, but he was still alive, so he forgave her.

  Despite the concern swirling in her dark eyes, she cocked her head at him and studied him as if he were a cockroach. Then, after a beat, she said, “Nope.”

  He adored her.

  “I enjoyed that cupcake you left me,” he said. “But I’m sure yours are better.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ll never find out.”

  “Of course I will. You’re going to make me some, as part of your heartfelt apology for stabbing me in the chest.”

  She huffed. She puffed. But, to his everlasting shock, she finally muttered, “Fine.”

  His brows flew up. “Fine? Really? So, she does have a heart.”

  “Don’t push it,” his irritable mate ordered. “It wasn’t all me. I’m pretty sure you bruised my tailbone, you know.”

  “I’ll kiss it better for you.”

  She rolled her eyes, but he caught the slight twitch of her lips. Even as he delighted in the fact that they were having this teasing conversation, that she was relatively open and so whip-sharp and wonderful, he berated himself for hurting her. Maybe she could take it—in fact, she could definitely take it—but he didn’t want to do it. Even by accident. So, reaching through the dark to catch one of her curls between his fingers, he murmured, “No more fighting, Chas. Okay?”

  She shrugged. “As long as you behave yourself, I won’t try to kill you.”

  “Behave myself? Be specific, sweetheart. I think we might have different standards of behaviour.”

  She huffed out a world-weary sigh. “I’d be happy to give you a bullet-pointed list, but first, I need to…” Her pause wasn’t like the feigned hesitations she’d used in the past; it was weighty, considering, so full of thought he could almost hear her mind moving. Finally, she finished, “I need to understand what you are. How good you’re capable of being.”

  Ah. It had occurred to him, while he was fighting for his life las
t night, that unless Chastity had a questionable moral compass—which he wouldn’t necessarily mind—she must be a little… confused. Because Luke was 99.9% sure that he hadn’t done anything to justify being hunted, at least not in the past five years or so. Hopefully they’d clear everything up within the hour, go home soon after, and be physically incapable of achieving anymore orgasms by the time the sun rose tomorrow morning.

  “I think we can strike a deal,” he said, his voice a little rougher than it should be in this form. But tomorrow was the full moon and the scent of his mate’s arousal surrounded him, so self-control might be too high an expectation. “You have questions for me?”

  “I do,” she murmured, her steely voice a little more yielding than usual, her breath coming faster. He was trying not to react to that goddamn scent, trying to ignore the knowledge that she was wet right now, because he knew the unfulfilled bond between them was causing it. But then she ran her tongue over her lower lip, so… fucking… slowly. And he couldn’t resist. He bent his head and flicked his own tongue over the fluttering pulse at her throat, tasting warmth and excitement and her.

  She hissed out a low, shaking breath, and the scent of her arousal flared like a well-fed flame burning brighter. “What are you going to do?” she asked, only half-teasing. “Rip my throat out?”

  “I could no more rip out your throat,” he said honestly, “than rip out my own heart.”

  To his surprise, she froze. Completely. For several, long seconds.

  “Chastity?” he nudged softly.

  She shook her head as if dislodging unwanted thoughts and said, “You want to strike a deal? State your terms.”

  Always to the point, his delicate beloved. “I’ll answer a question,” he said, “for a kiss.”

  “How very nefarious,” she muttered dryly.

  “I’m a monster, aren’t I?”

  “Yep.”

  “You should slap me and run off into the light.”