Defying Destiny (6 page)

So why didn’t he hate her? It was

strange. He wanted to hate her, with her

haughty airs, stiff demeanor, and endless

questions. If he weren’t careful he might

actually find himself liking her, and that

would be plain irritating. She was the

enemy. She had slain his brother for sport

and now she sat on his sofa as if she

wanted to be his best friend and have him

confess all of his secrets.

He heard the rustle of fabric and sat up

straighter. If she had relinquished her

sword, he’d feel more secure with her

being here. The possibility of her killing

someone weighed heavy on his heart.
I

never should have brought her here.

“You aren’t moving, are you?” he

called from his seat at the table.

I sound like a complete monster
, he

thought, rubbing a hand over his face.

What is wrong with me?

“What if I am?” came her haughty

reply.

He grinned. He had to pay homage to

her spunk. Few would dare bait him.

He ate about half of his rabbit

breakfast, its cooked consistency making

him lethargic. His short nap on his

brother’s grave was the only sleep he’d

had in over twenty-four hours. Preparing

for the full moon each month was a huge

undertaking for Nash. Some of his people

agreed to confinement and just waited out

the moon’s phase locked in their homes,

but most Wolves severely injured

themselves if restrained while under the

effects of the curse. Until Maralee’s

arrival the night before, Nash’s methods

for dealing with each pack member

depending on his or her reaction to the

curse had protected both Wolves and

villagers from harm for over one hundred

years. He put the leftovers in the cold

room off the kitchen and returned to the

living

area

to

find

Maralee

had

succumbed to sleep herself. She had

fashioned her cloak into a makeshift

pillow and had even removed her boots.

Her feet were curled beneath her on the

sofa, her hand tucked beneath her chin.

She was a rare beauty. Dark hair

surrounded a heart-shaped face with high

forehead and cheekbones. Her eyes, when

open, were inquisitive, wide and silvery

gray. Her skin was creamy ivory and

flawless. What most appealed to Nash

was she seemed unaware of her beauty—

as if she was too busy hunting his kind to

worry about trivialities such as fashion

and beauty tips. His eyes drifted to her

mouth. Such lush lips. He was certain they

would be soft against his. He wondered

how she tasted. He really did want to kiss

her. Mostly, just to see her reaction. He

smiled at the thought of throwing her off

guard. She seemed so worldly yet so

innocent at the same time. He’d never met

anyone like her. She intrigued him.

She killed Cort
, he reminded himself.

You saw her kill him with your own eyes
.

She would have killed every pack member

who had journeyed Sarbough that night, if

he hadn’t stopped her.

She was a murderer.

He couldn’t blame her for hating

Wolves. Most packs of his kind were

without the protection of a Wolf Guardian,

but the curse of the full moon brought

madness to them all. His pack didn’t kill

humans, but only because he was there to

stop them. Other human villages did not

have the same protection. So many lives

had been lost. She was a protector, just as

he was. Their methods were different, but

he understood her motivations more than

he cared to admit.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to

do with you,” he told her sleeping form.

“Sleep with you, I suppose.”

His eyes drifted to the hilt of her

sword. He wondered how many Wolves

had died by the mercilessness of that

silver blade. Perhaps he could take it from

her now, while she slept unaware. He

knelt down beside her and unfastened the

sheath from her belt. Like a stealthy

burglar, he lifted it from her hip. Even

though the sword was sheathed, his skin

crawled when he touched it. If he

accidently cut himself—even just a small

nick—it would be his end.

Maralee sighed in her sleep and he

froze. She snuggled deeper into her

improvised pillow, and he waited until

she stilled again, before he silently

climbed to his feet. The slight weight of

the sword surprised him, but he could not

forget the sinister capabilities of the

blade. He hurriedly crossed the room and

set it upon the fireplace mantle as if it

burned his hand.

His heart felt lighter the instant the

sword was out of her reach. Why did the

last Hunter have to be such a beguiling

creature? Wouldn’t it make things easier if

he just killed her in her sleep? No one

would blame him for avenging his brother.

But he had been one of the few who had

tried to stop the slaying of Maralee’s

family fifteen years before. He wouldn’t

sink to using such methods to solve their

differences now. Instead of killing her,

he’d rather change the way she thought

about his people. To see them as they

were when they were not under the

influence of the full moon. They could find

peace. He had to believe that, because the

thought of ending her life made him

nauseous.

Nash banked the fire in the grate and

then carefully lifted her into his arms. He

did not want her to awaken and venture

out into the village without him. While he

might not want her dead, he was sure

others of his pack would feel differently.

Maralee stirred, but did not awaken. He

carried her to his bed, a pile of thick furs

on the floor of his room, and laid her

down. He removed his sweater, and

climbed into the pallet with her. He would

know if she stirred or tried to reclaim her

sword while they slept in close quarters.

He was a very light sleeper. He covered

them both with a quilt made of rabbit fur,

and quickly drifted to sleep.

Maralee rolled over, still mostly

asleep, and curled up against the warm

body beside her. Her fingers splayed to

burrow into a thick, warm pelt. Her hand

rose and fell steadily with the intake and

outflow of the sleeping animal’s breath.

So warm and soft. She snuggled closer. It

took a moment for the hazy veil of sleep to

lift.

What?

Her heart slammed into her ribcage.

Her eyes flew open, but the room she

found herself in was totally devoid of

window and light. The only indication she

hadn’t succumbed to blindness was the

narrow band of light at the bottom of the

door at her feet. Her frightened gasp woke

Nash, and his hand reached for hers in the

darkness.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said groggily. “I

thought we could both use some sleep.”

Maralee began to search the pallet

beside her for a large, fur-covered animal.

Her hands found the smooth, warm skin of

Nash’s chest, but no fur.

“There is something in here with us,”

she said. Her heart drummed erratically.

Irrational terror gripped her. “An animal.

It’s huge. Has…has…
fur
.”

“Calm down,” Nash said. “You’re

obviously mistaken. I’m exhausted. Lie

down awhile longer.”

He tugged her down beside him and

cradled her against his side. She struggled

out of his grasp and sat up again.

“I am not mistaken. I felt it with my

own hands.”

He took her hand and rubbed it over

the furry surface of the quilt covering

them. “Did it feel like this?”

She stroked the rabbit-fur quilt and

shook her head.

“No, not as soft as this. Courser fur,

like a dog.”
Or a wolf,
she added silently.

She knew that was too preposterous to put

to words.

He chuckled. “You must have been

dreaming.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then where is this large, furry animal

now?”

She glanced around the dark room, but

couldn’t see anything. “Maybe it’s hiding

or something,” she said, starting to feel

foolish now. It probably had been the quilt

she’d felt, and her overactive imagination

had turned it into something more

frightening. She couldn’t blame it on

nightmares because she hadn’t had one

while she’d been napping. She couldn’t

remember the last time she’d slept without

dreaming about the Wolves.

Nash climbed from the pallet and

crawled to the door. “I like you better

asleep,” he told her, before opening the

door to let light into the room.

The room was very small. The large

pallet of furs, which served as the bed, ran

practically from wall-to-wall. The ceiling

was low and there were no windows at

all. It reminded Maralee of a cave.

“Is this your room?” she asked. Its

complete lack of ornamentation or

furniture surprised her, although the pallet

was far more comfortable than any bed

she’d slept in.

“Is it not up to your usual standards?”

She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed by

her question. “I was just asking.”

He grinned at her crookedly making

her pulse accelerate on cue. She

swallowed hard and lowered her gaze.

“I suspect you haven’t been in the bed

of very many men,” he said.

She glanced up, startled by the

realization that she
was
in his bed. How

had this transpired? She distinctly

remembered falling asleep on his couch

not in his bed.

He continued, “I say that, because

looking the way you do right now, any

man in his right mind wouldn’t let you out

of it again.”

He chuckled when she gasped and

ducked her head. She wondered why his

comment seemed flattering rather than

insulting. Surely, such an outlandish

statement deserved a harsh reprimand.

Words failed her, however, and she

merely sat trembling beneath the heavy

weight of his stare. She hadn’t had time to

pursue relationships in the past. Not that

she was considering it now.

A sharp knock at the front door broke

the tension between them and Nash ducked

his head to leave the small room. “Stay

there, Maralee. I’ll be back shortly.”

He closed the little door and

oppressive darkness bathed her. With him

out of the room, she was finally able to

gather her thoughts. What was she still

doing here? Would he take her back to

Sarbough? Was he holding her prisoner or

just making it feel that way? What would

he do if she disobeyed him and left the

room? At times, he seemed so calm,

serene even, and at others, he was like a

wild animal—out of control. She wasn’t

sure if it was wise to bait him.

Maralee heard the sounds of Nash’s

deep voice and another higher pitched one

from the living area. Curious, she crawled

from the pallet and eased the door open,

straining

her

uninvited

ears

for

conversation.

“Rella said you brought a woman here.

Someone from the village,” a woman said.

“The

Hunter

from

last

night

discovered me at Cort’s grave. I wasn’t

sure what I should do with her.” Nash’s

tone was apologetic.

“So

you

brought

her

to

our

settlement?”

the

woman

sounded

incredulous.

“I want her to see how we live. I think

if she comes to understand us better, then I

don’t know…maybe she can help us

somehow.”

“Help us? She’s a Wolf Hunter, Nash.

You’re our guardian and yet you invite

trouble

amongst

us

without

any

consideration for the safety of your