HuntressUnleashed (3 page)

“Relax, lassie. Just a moment longer. Relax for me. That’s
the way. Now. Come for me.”

She obeyed his command, gasping and whimpering as she rode
his hand to completion.

* * * * *

For a minute Caitrin allowed herself to rest against his
shoulder, idly feeling his muscles ripple as he withdrew his hand from her
underclothes—from her. She’d seen stars…colors…felt what she’d never dreamed
was possible. It was as if something dormant had been awoken within her, a
needy, greedy demand that eclipsed all else.

And she’d done it with a werewolf who was a complete
stranger.

What on earth had she been thinking? Was he now going to
expect reciprocation? She peered circumspectly at the jutting kilt. He was more
than ready.

Would they be bonded forever if she allowed him inside her?

Caitrin didn’t think she was ready to know the answer to
that. Self-consciously, she scooted backward across the table, doing her
trousers up with one hand. She had no idea what to say in
this
situation. Table between them, Cait regarded Eagan with trepidation. Eagan
lounged against a chair, regarding her silently.

“Is it customary to say thank you after something like this
occurs?” she asked finally.

“Usually my lasses have snuggled into me and gone to sleep.”
Eagan’s piercing green eyes raked across her body.

“Have you had many of these…lasses?” Why was she suddenly
feeling jealous? The past was the past. But the thought of this man touching
someone else
really
bothered her.

“A fair few. Especially after Rowena.”

Cait paused in the act of tugging her blouse down. “Rowena?”

“The lass I thought to make my mate. She was claimed by
another Alpha. I could have fought him, made her my own. But that would no’
have been fair to her—she had eyes only for Dougal.”

“How long ago did that happen?”

“Nigh two centuries back. I went wenching for a good few
nights, but nothing has ever fully sated me.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
Eagan MacCulloch was apparently not one to wallow in self-pity. Strangely
enough, that made his story more poignant.

“What would sate you?” Curiosity was getting the better of
Caitrin. She bit her lip immediately after speaking. Didn’t she want him gone?

“Sex with ye, Caitrin. Making ye my mate would slake my
lust—every night.”

She wasn’t quite ready to hear that. Stumbling backward, she
traversed the kitchen. Her mind was whirling. Quickly she seized upon the
mundane. “I must go feed the sheep and allow them into the pasture.”

He was on his feet and blocking her path before she’d taken
more than two steps. “I can no’ let you go outside alone. I will scout first.
Delaney is far too canny to give up easily.”

Caitrin grumbled under her breath as she followed him to the
door.

“I heard that, lass.” His rumble of amusement made her
blush. Damn werewolves and their sensitive hearing.

Despite Eagan’s presence, Cait kept her hand atop the sword
hilt. There were Eagan’s tracks, leading to the croft from the hills beyond.
She saw no sign of the other werewolf. Her Sense still tingled faintly. Where
was this Delaney?

Iris would know what to do in this situation. Cait trusted
the powerful witch implicitly. Yet she would have to visit Iris alone. The
witch wouldn’t take kindly to Cait showing Eagan her dwelling. Like her, Iris
cherished her privacy.

Frost and Bannock trailed them as they walked toward the
barn, keeping their distance from Eagan. Cait stole a glance at the werewolf.
Striding along clad only in the kilt, he looked dangerous and sexy all at once,
his eyes smoldering with repressed lust every time he looked her way. She noticed
how he kept his body between her and the barn, not quite crowding her but
ensuring he stayed within a protective distance.

“What needs doing, Caitrin?”

Again his tongue caressed her name, lending it a tenderness
she was unaccustomed to hearing. She drew herself up, trying not to be too
affected by this man.

“The flock needs to be driven into the front pasture. They
can stay there until dark. Bannock and Frost can handle them.”

Caitrin watched the collies herd the sheep through the
gates, silently mourning the slain sheep. The flock was still jittery, warily
regarding the circling collies before allowing themselves to be driven into the
pasture. Even there, many ewes kept raising their heads, scanning the horizon
for danger.

It would be lambing season soon—how could she keep them
safe? She frowned, beginning to understand Da’s ability to kill.

Latching the gate, Cait returned to the barn, absently
tossing feed to the chickens. They scattered, clucking and pecking. She was so
used to being alone that it gave her a jolt to see Eagan working quietly next
to her, collecting eggs.

“Thank you.” She accepted his offering with as much grace as
she could muster. “I need to draw some water from the well.”

“I’ll do it. Wait here.”

Caitrin wasn’t certain whether she should chafe at his
restrictions or be pleased at an extra pair of hands. By the time he returned
with two brimming bucketsful of water, she’d settled for somewhere in between.

“I do not suppose you know how to milk a nanny goat.”

“O’ course I do.” He flashed her a mock-affronted look.

“Oh yes. I had almost forgotten that you’re ancient.”

Had she really just teased him? Was that a smile tugging at
her lips? She turned away quickly, snatching up a clean bucket and crouching
down by one of the two goats. Behind her, she knew he was grinning.

It was noon by the time they’d finished doing chores in the
barn. Caitrin surveyed the haul: seven eggs, a bucketful of milk, fresh water
for washing up and a handful of just-harvested herbs. With a few cups of dried
beans and the last of the celery, they would dine well on soup this evening.

The barn was her favorite place to spend an afternoon.
Curled up in the hayloft, she’d always felt safe and warm, protected from the
elements, surrounded by contented animals.

Trust a werewolf to come and change things. This Alpha was
rapidly entrancing her, causing her to be unable to focus on anything but him.
His lightly tanned skin rippled across his back as he lifted a bale of hay into
the loft.

Of its own volition, her hand reached out, lightly tracing
the outline of his shoulder blade. He nearly dropped the hay bale as he
whirled, green eyes dark.

Caitrin took a step backward. How was she going to explain
herself? He was ratcheting up the lust level again, approaching her with that heat
in his eyes. She took another step and sat down quite suddenly on top of the
last bale of hay.

“Lass, any touch from ye is likely to undo me. I have
restraint, but a man has his limits.”

“Do you…want to be touched?” The inner voice urging
self-control beat at her urgently but she ignored its warning.

“Aye. Very much so.”

“Is it painful? Your face goes all taut whenever I even look
at it.” She gestured at his groin, her fingers accidentally brushing the tip of
his bulge.

“
Och, lass
.” He drew upright, towering over her. From
where she sat, his bellybutton was at eye level and his kilt was not far below.
“Nay, it is not painful, but I am…on edge.”

As long as he stood still, he wasn’t very intimidating.
Caitrin reached out a tentative hand, brushing more firmly against his
erection. This time he merely looked skyward, gritting his teeth. She grew
bolder, skimming a hand under the kilt.

If he’d been feeling unabated lust since their initial
meeting, the least she could do was relieve it temporarily. Once it was over
she could send him upon his way without a second thought. All that remained was
to convince him that, as a Huntress, she could take care of herself against
this Delaney. She would enlist the help of Iris for the wizard.

Eagan shifted, his bare foot rustling the straw, and she was
drawn back to the here and now. After a fumbling moment, her hand found the
length of him, wrapped around his shaft. She slid her hand downward, absorbed
in the feel of his silken hardness, the way his stomach muscles tensed as she
touched him. His ragged gasp was loud in the still barn air.

She peeked up at him, anxious to do the right thing. She had
no idea how to pleasure a man.

“That’s it, lass,” he rasped. “Keep stroking—upward.” His
eyes never left her face as he encouraged her to continue.

Curiosity got the better of her and she lifted the kilt with
her other hand, staring fascinated. How did
that
fit inside a woman? Had
all of his lasses been of large stature?

His toes were curling in the straw as she continued her attentions.
Cait wasn’t expecting to feel lust herself, having thought it abated with their
antics on the kitchen table, but there it was, returning hot and heavy. It sent
her grinding against the corner of the hay bale in an involuntary movement.

He’d noticed what she was doing. She startled guiltily.
After an entire lifetime of nothing—not even a chaste kiss—she was feeling the
full effect of this inferno of an emotion.

“Do no’ stop.” His hands closed around her waist, lifted her
so that she perched atop the empty feeding trough. Somehow he’d eased her
trousers down—damn, but he was skilled at that. Breathing hard, he bent,
fingers exploring, brushing against parts of her she never thought could be so
sensitized. The mere flick of his fingers sent shudders down her body.

Somehow she continued her attentions, squeezing a little
harder as she learned to gauge his reactions. She was surprised to actually
derive pleasure from stroking him, thrilling a little when she discovered an
especially sensitive area. He was certainly becoming familiar with hers, his
bold touch almost undoing her. Her hand slid upward again, responding to the
quickening thrust of his hips.

Then through a haze she felt him tensing, ripping himself
away from her as he spent himself into the straw, hissing in pleasure.
“Caitrin,” he breathed. “Bloody hell, woman. Let me—aye, sit like that for me.”

She was growing familiar with his touch, the way he built
her up until nothing mattered but the movement of his hands, the slow hot
kisses that felt like sheer indulgence. When she inhaled deeply, trying to
catch her breath, he stole her air, leaving her panting.

The haze thickened around her until she was lost in it. She
couldn’t stop now, couldn’t pull away even if she wanted to. With a helpless
cry, Caitrin clutched at his chest, clenching hard and sudden around his
fingers as he coaxed her over the edge. Head thrown back against the wall, half
dressed, she pressed her forehead to his broad chest as she climaxed, held
close, safe in his arms as he guided her into a peaceful aftermath.

Her face burned as she realized just how wanton she was
being.

“I had better tidy my clothes,” she mumbled, ineffectually
tugging at her chemise.

“Did you no’ enjoy yourself?”

“I did.” She looked anywhere but at him. “Did you?”

“Would have preferred to do it inside ye.”

Caitrin coughed, sliding off the feeding trough and away
from Eagan. “Oh no you don’t.
I
am not ready to breed, as you put it so
delicately.”

“Och, do no’ fash yourself, lass. You aren’t fertile—I’d
smell it on ye.”

“I do not know very much about werewolves,” she said a bit
defensively. “Da killed a few over the years.”

“Did ye kill any?”

“No. He forbade me to have anything to do with werewolves.”
She turned away before he could ask more questions. She
was
a Huntress.
The fact was undeniable. “I’m going to take the food inside and start cooking.”

“Stop.” It was a command, not a request. She blinked in
surprise, obeying him unwittingly.

Eagan stalked forward, every inch an Alpha. “Ye will stay
behind me while I scout.”

Caitrin shrugged when his green eyes demanded a response.
“Do not spill the milk, werewolf. The nanny goats are starting to go dry, and
there is cake to bake.”

He huffed, amusement flickering against the hard lines of
his mouth. Caitrin watched him pause in the door to the barn, his silhouette
against the afternoon light standing tall and proud as a statue. After a few
minutes he relaxed his posture, evidently not scenting danger.

“I will no’ be spilling the milk, lass. I enjoy cake. Let’s
get ye into the cottage now.”

When had she last cooked for two? It was strange
contemplating the larger pots and pans in the little kitchen, measuring out
twice the ingredients (and then half again extra—Eagan was huge and probably
ate like a horse) and being watched while she bustled about.

Once the bread was rising and the soup simmering, Cait
sliced up the remnants of yesterday’s loaf, liberally spreading blackberry jam.
They ate toast in silence, Eagan watching her, she watching the rain through
the window. Mentally she went over the chores that needed to be done—washing,
dusting, herding the sheep back inside.

She would have enough time to meet up with Iris before dark
if she hurried—and if it were possible to slip past Eagan’s watchful eye.

He hadn’t been part of such domesticity since he was a
teenager still with his original Pack. His mother had cooked great quantities
of oatmeal, venison stew, bannock bread—and honey oatcakes for special
occasions. Her brood—seven boys and two girls—ate it all and more.

Now they were all long dead save for Eagan.

As firstborn, he’d been the only Alpha. Two of his brothers
had found mates. His other four brothers had joined other established Packs.
His sisters had been snapped up by eager Alphas. Eagan had visited each of them
in turn as he prowled all over Britain, searching for his own woman. Cautious
about overstaying his welcome—Alphas were notoriously prickly around others of
their kind—he remained solitary most of the time.

This was one hell of a refreshing change. He was warm, full
of good food, and the lass had even seen to his cock, exploring him with those
curious wee hands. He was in no way sated by that too-short encounter—he was
growing hard just thinking about it—but the kilt no longer rubbed so maddeningly
against his tip.

Caitrin sat across the room, calmly folding laundry. Eagan
sprawled on the surprisingly comfortable couch, feet spread toward the fire. As
he watched her, she reached for a needle and thread, mending a small rip in the
elbow of one of her blouses.

“There is a guest room where you can rest.” She spoke
without looking up.

“Rather stay here and watch ye.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I kipped a few hours yesterday. Spent the night watching
the croft to make sure Delaney stayed away.”

Her hands stilled. “You are that worried about this
werewolf?”

“I protect what is mine.”

“I told you. I am Huntress, not werewolf.”

“Ye are werewolf enough. Your body calls to me. Tell me ye
do no’ feel lust. Tell me ye do no’ want me.”

She looked away. “Go and rest, werewolf.”

Eagan repressed a smile of triumph. “I’ll rest right here,
lass.”

“As you wish. I shall wake you when the soup is ready.”

But she didn’t. Eagan awoke to find the soup barely
simmering. Late afternoon sun spread across the sheepskin-covered floor,
melting inexorably into sunset. Her scent next to the folded laundry had grown
faint.

“Caitrin!” he bellowed. He knew calling for her was an
exercise in futility, but the shout emerged anyway, ripped from his heart.

Where is she?
He needed her close to him, needed to
confirm with his own eyes that she was hale and happy.

Eagan ran in ever-widening circles around the croft.
Delaney’s scent was old—he breathed a sigh of relief. The lass hadn’t been
taken—she’d
left
. Of her own accord.

Why?
He wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
Come
back!

Her trail led south, winding through the hills. She’d
covered it periodically in an attempt to hide her tracks, but the Guardians’
prints were more difficult to obscure.

Eagan stripped, hanging the kilt on a nearby fence post.
Furious and shaken at Caitrin’s abrupt departure, he could barely control the
Change, his limbs cracking as bone transformed too abruptly. Yet he welcomed
the physical pain as something to take his mind off the overwhelming fear that
threatened to send him out of his mind.

He needed to find her before Delaney did.

* * * * *

Caitrin stepped carefully backward, ensuring that her feet
landed in her earlier bootprints. When she reached bare rock, she leaped to the
side. Another leap landed her ankle-deep in the chilly waters of a thin beck.

One of the collies whined, unhappy at obeying her command to
wait across the beck. She’d had them walk in the water for a quarter of a mile
to further confuse any trackers.

Guardians, Eagan had called the dogs. She paused, eyeing
them. They were certainly devoted to her, never leaving her side. For as long
as she could remember, they’d owned collies. Da must have somehow imprinted
them upon her before he’d died, knowing they would protect her until their last
breath.

The cottage where Iris lived was just over that rise, less
than half a day’s easy ride from Hadrian’s Wall. The witch claimed magic was
strong here, both ancient Pict and Roman. To that potent mix she added her
Irish traditions, having emigrated to Scotland in her youth.

Iris had been like a second mother to her. The witch had
known her since before she was born, having tended to Caitrin’s mother during
her pregnancy. She badly needed some time alone with Iris to talk over what was
happening with Eagan.

Caitrin cast a guilty look over her shoulder. Strange as it
seemed, she was almost missing the werewolf. If she hurried, maybe she could be
back before he woke.

Iris was in the garden pulling up weeds when she arrived.
The aging witch straightened as Cait approached, beaming.

“Caitrin Flint, it has been too long!”

She walked into the witch’s embrace, allowing all her
worries to fall away for that brief few moments. Iris squeezed her tightly,
nearly as strong in her old age as she had been fifteen years ago.

“I apologize for not visiting sooner,” Caitrin said, pulling
away reluctantly. She was fond of the old witch, who had taught her to read,
write and mix simple potions. As a child she had often visited Iris, but the
visits had tapered off once Caitrin had taken on more responsibilities at the
croft.

“If you had stayed away much longer I would have shown up on
your
doorstep,” Iris replied. “Come inside for tea and a bite to eat.”

They traipsed indoors, inhaling the combined scents of
exotic herbs and freshly baked oatcakes. Iris poured the tea, sitting across
from her as Cait dug into the oatcakes. She stalled for time, savoring them
down to the last crumb.

“Did you know that Frost and Bannock are Guardians?”

“‘Course I did, child. I helped your da choose his puppies
every time. Cait, little one, tell me what’s ailing you.”

Cait took a sip of tea, nervously fiddling with the saucer.
“A werewolf showed up on my doorstep this morning.”

“And?”

“He’s still there.”

She’d only seen Iris genuinely surprised a handful of times.
The witch blinked, staring at her. “He let you go? Without following you?”

“Not precisely. I slipped out while he was asleep.” It
hadn’t been easy. She’d gone out the window with the dogs, fearing the door
would creak and give her away. But she’d done it—using the Huntress skills Da
taught her. Her only regret was not bringing the sword with her.

“You came here to find out more about your mother.” Iris
paused to ascertain the truth of that. When Cait nodded, she continued. “Yes,
your mother was half werewolf, a fact which she preferred to be kept private.
Her father—your grandfather—was a Loner.”

Caitrin winced, understanding why her mother rejected that
part of her heritage. She’d always wondered how her mother—who easily passed as
a normal human—could keep up with Da.

“Did she ever…Change?”

“Only in private. Your father offered to find a full-blood
to bite her, but your mother didn’t want a full conversion.”

“Would it have saved her from the fever?” Caitrin had to
ask.

“Yes, child. Your father never forgave himself for not
forcing her to get bitten. As a half-blood she fought hard, but the human part
of her succumbed to illness in the end.”

Caitrin swallowed a too-hot sip of tea. “What does this mean
for me?”

“Whatever you wish it to mean, child. Times are changing—in
ancient days, each kept to their own. Now blood mingles with blood. In the end,
you choose who you are.”

“But Eagan has been wandering for centuries looking for a
mate,” Caitrin burst out. “It isn’t fair.”

“There is a distinct lack of werewolf females.” Iris
shrugged, as if to say
that’s not my problem
.

“Am I a suitable mate for him?”

“Why do you ask?” Iris refilled her cup.

“When I’m around him, I feel…I…” Her bluntness suddenly
dissipated into embarrassment.

Iris nearly dropped the teapot. “
Attracted
to him? Do
you mean to say the feeling is mutual?”

Cait nodded miserably.

“Have you acted upon those feelings? No? Then you still have
a choice. You can send him away—I’ll cast you an extra-potent warding spell—or
you can stay with him. If you do the latter, there’s no walking away. You’ll be
addicted to him and he to you for the rest of your natural lifespan. He will
also insist upon biting you. Turning you. He will require you to run with him
as a wolf.”

Addicted to Eagan? Able to run her hands across his velvet
hardness anytime she pleased? There was a definite draw in that idea. Besides,
she didn’t think she’d
want
to walk away from sex with him once she’d
indulged in the experience.

Yet what would happen to her Huntress skills? Would they
disappear, succumbing to his bite, leaving her unproven forever?

“There is another werewolf as well,” Caitrin said abruptly.
“Eagan says he’s a Loner of sorts, one who’s lived far past his lifespan, but
there’s a wizard helping him with dark magic.”

“Och, is that so?” Iris rose, beginning to rustle through
cabinets. She pulled out a small glass bottle and turned back to Cait. “Is the
other werewolf following you?”

“I backtracked and walked through the beck on my way here.
He’ll have some trouble finding me.”

“But find you he will, child, with the help of that wizard.
He will not leave you alone now that he knows you exist. Given his age, he’ll
be dangerous. They both will be.”

“I was going to track and kill the Loner. Da would have done
it right away, but I couldn’t.” Caitrin made the confession all in one breath.

“Ah, child. You never told me you struggled with your
heritage.”

“I was a disappointment to Da. I can track, I have a little
bit of the Sense…but I can’t kill my catch.”

“You were
never
a disappointment to your father.” The
pure conviction in Iris’ voice nearly convinced her in turn. “Listen to me,
young Caitrin Flint. Your da loved you for yourself.”

“But he tried to change my mother, have her
werewolf-bitten.”

“Which he did purely out of an overwhelming desire to see
her survive and raise her daughter to adulthood!”

Caitrin winced. “That’s not fair,” she said for the second
time.

“Life is not fair.” The words were tempered with a slight
smile.

Cait looked away, knowing the old witch was right. “What is
the potion for?”

“To help you see clearly, child. I must be honest with
you—the potion is designed for witches who can see the supernatural by means of
their third eye. Its effects on you may not be so clear-cut. You will need to
use all your senses, paranormal or otherwise, to resolve this situation.”

“Should I drink it now?” Caitrin regarded the glass vial
dubiously. The viscous liquid within was a dull gray-green.

“Yes.” Iris ladled a generous dollop of honey into Cait’s
teacup. “Here. The sweetness will help chase the taste away. It is not
pleasant.”

Not pleasant
was the biggest understatement Cait had
ever heard. She staggered, rasping for breath as the potion hit the back of her
throat, burning its way into her stomach where it sat like a chunk of lead. The
taste…
ugh
, rancid and acidic all at once, she nearly heaved it up again.
Blindly she groped for the honey, spooned it into her mouth.

“Told you it was vile.” Iris whisked the empty vial away.
“Sit here and finish the honey.”

“I should start home. It’s almost evening and I promised to
wake Eagan before dinner.”

The witch snorted. “He’s a werewolf, child. They hardly
sleep. I can almost guarantee he’ll have been on your trail for the better part
of an hour.”

Cait barely hid her shiver of anticipation. She didn’t think
she would mind meeting Eagan on her way back. Just how skilful was the werewolf
at tracking? Would her distractions throw him off?

Iris thrust a small package into her hands at the door.
“Here, child. Cheese, bread and apples. Have a safe journey home.”

She hugged the witch. “Thank you, Iris.”

The witch smiled. “Let me know your decision, Caitrin.
Whatever you choose, I will support you.”

Iris was still watching as Caitrin reached the top of the
hill. She turned and waved, clutching the package of food away from the
collies’ interested snouts, then set off downhill.

This time she was able to cross the beck without wetting her
feet, hopping from stone to stone as the dogs splashed through. She frowned
slightly, wondering if Eagan really was awake and following her.

A single suspicious woof from Frost was all the warning she
received before she came upon the figure in the rapidly falling dark. At first
she thought he was Eagan, standing there waiting in the road. That same involuntary
lust rose hot and deep, more intense than her initial reaction now that her
body was more experienced.

Arousal was immediately tempered by fear as the man in the
road took a step toward her. He was not Eagan. And he had a subtle wrongness
about him.

“A beautiful young woman, all alone in the wilderness.”

“I do not have time to stand chatting with strangers,
especially one to whom I have not been properly introduced,” Caitrin informed
him. Some small part of her hoped he would listen to reason, take a cue from
her rude politeness and leave.

“My name is Delaney Coburn, wee lass. Now we are no longer
strangers, you see.”

He came toward her. So did the lust. “Ahh, now I see why
Eagan was so keen to keep you to himself.”

“I am a Huntress,” she warned him.
Why the hell didn’t I
go back for the sword?
She examined Delaney, trying to stay cold, detached,
like Da would have done. This werewolf didn’t have Eagan’s size, but he was
well-muscled and had the weight and reach of her.