Mated to the Wolf (2 page)

Samantha’s breathing eased. She stared at the luminous glow engulfing his body. “You can’t be a Hunter. Hunters are cruel, like the one who killed my parents. What are you, an angel?”

Bitter laughter rumbled from his chest. “No chance in hell of that, sweetheart. I’m Grayson Adler, an Ancient and empath Healer. My touch removes negative emotions, like fear.”

And it also removes evil
. But no need to tell her this.

“Oh? I like my fear. It’s kept me alive, and I have no intention of letting it go. Especially not to a Hunter.”

A black mist arose from her breath, twirling around the healing white light. The mist crept up his arm, clamped down hard. Grayson bit off a juicy curse. Hurt like hell, as if an anaconda squeezed. He rolled off in a moan.

“Screw you, Hunter.” Samantha sprang up, turned to run.

Grayson extended his palm and shot a bolt of energy toward her. Samantha crashed to the ground like an angel falling from heaven. He walked over to her, studying the innocence of her face, the long blond lashes sweeping over her rosy cheeks. Desire and a fierce protectiveness slammed into him.

“Healing isn’t my only talent,” he murmured. “First rule of the hunt, sweetheart. Always make sure the prey doesn’t know all your ammo. Especially that nifty little trick of lassoing your consciousness.”

Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her tight to his chest. He’d dump her at the Society’s headquarters, collect his bounty and leave. Grayson pushed aside regret. Samantha was no longer his concern.

Much better this way. For all concerned parties.

Three hours later, Grayson was in Denver Colorado, staring across the gleaming mahogany desk at Anderson Stamos, director for The Society for the Elimination of Malevolent Magick. “You’re b.s.ing me.”

Anderson smoothed back his hair between the two green horns sprouting from his head. “Never. Your new assignment is to mate Samantha and absorb her evil powers. Lucien Marcello has already turned her older sister, Mara. Daimon Nelson has been assigned to the youngest triplet. You’re the only other powerful Ancient who can tame her before she turns demon. I’m counting on you to handle her.”

“Handle her? I already did.” Sweat trickled down his spine, pooled in the waistband of his faded jeans. “I don’t need a mate.”

Not with his past. And not with her.

“Samantha has a capacity for good. Her white light was diminished when her demon emerged, but it remains.” Anderson’s eyes darkened, and he steepled his fingers. “She nearly killed an innocent last week, the assistant to a Hunter. Fortunately, the woman was a Fae and healed. But Samantha sawed at her wings until the woman told her Jerome Cabot was last seen in Colorado.”

Grayson went still. His palms became cold and clammy. “Jerome Cabot?”

Anderson nodded, shuffled through a file folder. “The Hunter who killed her parents. She’s vowed to kill him.”

Swearing, he stood, slapping his hat against one thigh. “I’m not taking this assignment.”

“And I was told duty and loyalty to the Society was everything to you, Grayson.” The man sighed. “If you don’t help her, I might as well issue the kill order. We’ve already implanted the thermal detonator inside her, set to go off tomorrow.”

“No!”

His heart kicked hard as he thought of those blue eyes widening as the other Hunters gave chase, ready to rip her to shreds. She would die slowly, painfully.

The director leaned forward, his mouth a tight slash. “Samantha is more dangerous than her sisters right now. She’s already unleashed her demon and nearly killed. Each day her dark powers grow stronger. The Fae she attacked reported that Samantha has venom in her talons that causes excruciating pain. She didn’t have this particular…talent…before the Fae was attacked. We honestly do believe she doesn’t want to hurt others, but acts out of rage and fear.”

Grayson’s heart constricted. “And what if she did enjoy torturing the Fae?”

“You know the answer. A legion of Hunters would be unleashed to destroy her. So, will you accept this assignment?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I take that as a yes?”

Grayson gritted his teeth. “Gods damn it, yes, you horned bastard.”

“I thought so.” Emotion shadowed the director’s face. “Be careful, Grayson. You’re the best Hunter we have, and she’s more than crossed the line. I’d hate to see you hurt.”

“I’m an Ancient. Nothing can dent my tough hide, remember?”

“I wasn’t talking about your hide,” Anderson murmured.

The door slammed behind him so hard, it fell off the hinges. Several office workers looked up, saw his scowl, and bent their heads over their computers. He could smell their fear. He was used to it, just as he’d accustomed himself to being alone. Used to not giving a damn about anyone.

No one ever got inside him. Samantha could never tunnel past his soul into his well-guarded heart.

But gods help him if she found out his dirty little secret.

Then he’d become the hunted, not the hunter.

The foggy haze slowly lifted as she blinked hard. Willing herself to waken, Samantha fought to claw out of the darkness. The surface beneath her was soft. She was indoors, but where? The acrid tang of smoke teased her senses, along with a masculine scent of leather, horses and wild pine.

And the distinct smell of werewolf.

Not in Kansas anymore, she thought, but damn if there was a Toto around.

Remembering the hardness of the shifter who’d captured her, she kept her eyes shut. Best to pretend unconsciousness until she could assess the threat.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” a deep voice drawled. “Time to kiss the prince.”

Her eyes remained shut.

“If you don’t wake up, you’ll force me to kiss you.” He sounded amused. “And it won’t be PG-rated.”

Samantha opened her eyes, struggled to sit up. Surprised at the lack of restraints, she whipped her head around. She was on a four-poster in an oak-paneled bedroom bigger than her apartment. A fire crackled on a stone hearth while a cold wind shrieked outside.

Wherever she was, a storm brewed. Judging from her internal clock, it was night.

A werewolf sat in the rocking chair before the fire. Not any wolf, but the bastard Hunter who’d captured her.

The worn boots, red-and-black checked shirt and faded jeans gave him a rugged, outdoorsy look. His dark hair was clipped short, but fell in a rebellious wave over his forehead. His gray eyes were sharp and assessing. With the hard edge of his jaw, the blunt cheekbones and straight nose, he would have been remarkably handsome.

Except for the cruel slash of a silver scar that ran from his left temple down his cheek, curving the edge of his mouth upward.

Beneath her intense scrutiny, his expression went blank.

“Finally got a good look at my face? Get used to it. You’ll be staring at it for a long time.”

Samantha pushed back the blanket, swung her legs over the bed’s side. Ignoring him, she reached down for her worn boots. Fear fluttered at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it aside. Had to save her powers and her strength.

“Going somewhere? And we barely know each other. I can be quite a welcoming host, when given the chance.”

The old leather boots had shrunk in the wetness. Samantha struggled to tug on her footwear, hiding a wince as they made contact with blisters. Three weeks on the road, little money, lots of walking.

“I really hate it when women run out on me,” the wolf continued. “We should at least talk. Don’t you enjoy a little chitchat after sex?”

Horror pulsed through her. Dropping a lace, she swiveled. “You did not have sex with me while I was unconscious.”

He gave her a steady look. “Did I?”

Drawing on her waning powers, she examined flashes of the past. Images sailed by like a slide show. He’d taken her here (where?) removed her boots and let her sleep. Nothing more.

“What a lying tongue you have, wolf.”

“The better to eat you with, my dear.” He flashed a cocky grin, made lopsided by the scar. The smile disarmed her. It was a charming smile that gave her heart a little tug, made it beat faster.

But experience had taught Samantha that men were all the same. They just wanted one thing, like the cowboy and the werewolf shifters in the bar. She wanted one thing, too, and it had nothing to do with getting naked.

Then he stalked into another room. When he returned, he clutched a big bowl. Tendrils of steam curled upwards. Her stomach grumbled.

The wolf set it down on a tray and brought it to her side. “It’s not poison. Just homemade venison stew.”

“I don’t eat meat.”

He raised one finely arched brow. “I’ve never heard of a demon who wasn’t a carnivore. You will eat this. Your body needs the protein.”

“Screw you.”

That slow, sexy grin glided over his face again. “In good time, sweetheart. We will be lovers, but first, you need your strength. I can be very … demanding.”

“I’m not a demon.” Feeling woozy and out of her element, she dug into the stew. Forget pride. Four days with little food stripped her of energy. Once she regained her strength, her powers would return.

“A Darklighter. There’s enough demon in you to call out a contract for your pretty little hide.”

Fear rippled through her. Samantha set down the spoon, wiping her mouth with the paper napkin as she sought to disguise her emotions. The venison was delicious, but she had no appetite.

“I can sense your fear. It smells like old ashes.” He returned to the rocking chair and sighed. “Eat your stew. I won’t harm you.”

“No, you’ll leave me for others in the Society to kill.” Her stomach knotted as she remembered what happened to those deemed malevolent.

Eating poisoned stew would be a merciful death.

“You’re not going to die.”

“Taking me in for the bounty?” She frowned, studying the cabin. It made no sense. Hunters always returned their quarry to lockup first, collected their pay and left.

Or dumped the bodies at the Society…

“I’ve been given a different assignment.” His gaze was steady. “Tame your dark side.”

“Right. And that’s why you brought me here.”

“No, I brought you here so we could become lovers.”

The stew lodged in her throat. She choked it down, coughing. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor, wolf.”

“I’m not joking and the name is Grayson. Might as well know my name before we get naked.” A devilish gleam entered his eyes. “So you can scream it when we’re in bed together.”

Samantha gulped down the rest of the stew, wiping her mouth carefully. She folded the napkin into a neat triangle and set it on the tray. “I don’t get naked with anyone and we will not become lovers.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said softly.

Strength seeped into her cells, her bones.
The only thing you’ll see is my ass as I’m leaving, wolf.

“And such a pretty little ass it is, too. A sight I wouldn’t mind, especially since I’ll haul it back in here if you escape.”

Her breath hitched. Samantha bit back a worried gasp. “You’re no ordinary Hunter. They don’t read minds.”

Grayson smiled and stood. His shadow dipped over her. He was over six feet and muscled. She remembered his heavy weight atop her as he’d pinned her in the field. His erection riding the apex of her thighs. Her body tingled and warmth pooled between her legs.

Samantha steeled herself and studied her captor. Not one to easily escape, but hell if she wouldn’t die trying. He was the only thing blocking her from the Hunter she needed to destroy.

“I’m an Ancient. One of the hybrids whose powers enable us to track the darkest evil, and vanquish it.”

Those broad shoulders shrugged. “I’m also an SWW, single white wolf who enjoys cooking venison stew, long walks on the beach in the moonlight, fine wine over dinner and I’m looking to bed a Single White Darklighter so she’ll stop ripping off the wings of Fae and searching for a certain Hunter to latch her talons into.”

“Not latch. Destroy.” She stood, spilling the bowl. It clanged on the wood floor, the violent noise matching her inner turbulence.

He bent over and picked it up, giving her full view of his backside. Denim stretched over his taut buttocks. Firm and muscled. A tingle raced through her veins, making her breasts suddenly aching and full.

“Don’t think so. The Society has a thing about demons killing their Hunters.”

“And I have a ‘thing’ about Jerome Cabot, the Hunter who murdered my parents.”

His expression shuttered. “Your father was a demon with a hefty bounty on his scalp. He’d been warned not to mess with humans and ignored it.”

“And my mother? She was an angel.” Samantha squeezed her fists. Blood seeped from her palms as her talons emerged, digging into soft flesh. Her powers were returning. The demon inside her emerged with fear. It roared for justice, craved for the kill.

“A fallen angel, who failed at her mission to destroy your father. The Society banished her for breaking the laws.”

“They fell in love! Is love against your laws, too?”

“Mating a demon is, and she knew it, knew the consequences.” His rugged voice softened. “They were left alone until your father killed that human.”

“That human butchered our neighbors and their children. They never hurt anyone. Our town was a little haven from crime until that killer came along!”

“I know. But our laws are clear. Leave the justice for mortals. Your father stirred up a load of trouble when he took the law into his hands. He was warned not to interfere. He paid the price.”

Grayson took a step closer, crowding her against the bed. “Maybe you forgot about the panic when the public found a corpse ripped to shreds and hanging upside down. Rumors started about demons and witches. Our world was nearly exposed, not to mention your father’s rage unleashed black magick on the town. It took a year before the darkness was expelled and by then, four houses were burned to the ground, ten divorces took place, a host of kids fell prey to drugs. That’s what your father’s rage did.”

Troubled, she fell silent. She’d been blissfully ignorant of the happenings around her. Her mother had shielded them from it.