MARKED BY THE WOLF

Werewolf Fever—Book 3

By Juno Blake

© 2017 Juno Blake, all rights reserved

CHAPTER 1

Teasing fingers traced patterns on Lucy’s thighs. She moaned sleepily and stretched her legs, encouraging the fingers to venture further.

Lucy had slept naked, as always, entwined in her mate’s arms and wrapped in cloudy layers of luxurious bedding. Now she felt the slightest breeze over her body. All the bedding had been stripped back, leaving her body on display.

She could feel lustful eyes on her, leaving a burning trail on her skin. He was still only lightly brushing her thighs with his fingertips, but the force of his gaze was transforming her warm sleepiness into fiery need.

Lucy opened her eyes. Ciaran Mallory stared down at her, all dark, tousled hair, coal-black eyes and burning passion. His body covered hers—almost. Lucy could feel the heat pouring from his bare skin, but he wasn’t touching her. Ciaran held himself over her, a teasing light in his eyes.

She trembled with anticipation.

“One day,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust, “you’re not going to wake up in time.”

Before Lucy could react he thrust into her, burying his cock deep inside her in one smooth motion. Lucy cried out as her body adjusted to his girth. The sensation was just the right side of painful—or the wrong side. She wrapped her legs around his waist, greedy for more.

Ciaran’s eyes narrowed to slits, gold sparking in their depths. Lucy caught her breath. How close is it to full moon?

She had lost track, trapped inside the safehouse. The place was practically a dungeon: no windows, no way of tracking the time.

For all Lucy knew, it could be full moon already. Or close enough, at least…

Lucy gasped as Ciaran slid his full length out of her and thrust in again, slowly, teasing.

Close enough? Close enough for the werewolf’s animal side to become stronger. Close enough for Ciaran, who prized his control over his urges, to begin to lose that control in the most thrilling ways…

Ciaran grasped Lucy by the shoulders. His eyes burned into hers. “Even asleep, you are mine,” he growled as he thrust into her. Harder. Faster.

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “Yes—always—”

Forever. The word seared across her mind and she didn’t know if it came from her, or…

Gold flared in Ciaran’s eyes. He moved his hands to her hips and flipped her over, throwing her onto her stomach. Lucy pushed herself up. She grabbed hold of the headboard less than a heartbeat before Ciaran thrust into her again.

Lucy’s hands juddered on the headboard as his cock filled her again and again. Ciaran kept one hand on her waist, holding her where he wanted her, but he reached forward with the other and placed it on her hand. His fingers tightened over hers as he pounded into her, silently enforcing his ownership.

Lucy arched her back, offering herself to Ciaran. Her body was his. He could do whatever he liked to her. She’d made that decision months ago, and nothing would make her change it.

She couldn’t change it. There was no going back.

Mine. Forever.

Electricity shot through her body, growing stronger with every thrust. Ciaran’s hand on her waist held her firm, his fingernails digging into her skin. She moaned, imagining what would happen when the full moon arrived. He would be stronger, bigger. More violent. Claws would stretch out of each fingertip, and when he dug them into her flesh—

Lucy screamed as her orgasm struck, pleasure coursing like fire through every nerve in her body. Ciaran growled deep in his throat and increased his pace until he was forcing himself into her in a frenzy, driving more and more sensation from her convulsing body.

Stars burst in Lucy’s vision. The muscles in her legs gave out and she sagged under Ciaran’s assault. If he hadn’t been holding her up she would have collapsed onto the bed.

But Ciaran wasn’t done with her yet. He grabbed her waist with both hands. Lucy lost her grip on the headboard and slipped down until the only part of her off the bed was her ass. Ciaran yanked her back and forth, pulling her to meet each of his thrusts until he came with a roar that made Lucy’s bones shake. She felt his cock flex inside her as he filled her with his seed.

Ciaran bore down on her, his weight flattening Lucy against the mattress. He slid one hand under her cheek, twisting her head around until he could see her face.

His body was hot and slick with sweat, and he was still buried deep inside her, pinning her to the bed. Lucy was still panting with exhaustion from the force of her orgasm. Her lungs strained, but he was too heavy for her to take the deep breaths she needed.

Ciaran bared his teeth. “Mine,” he growled. “Never forget it.”

Lucy’s mind flicked back to the voice that had blazed through her mind during their lovemaking. Had it been her imagination—or was it Ciaran’s voice?

She stared into his black eyes. “Yours,” she agreed.

He lowered his head, scraping his teeth along her jaw. A dark thrill raced through Lucy. Yes, her deepest heart cried. Yes, please, do it—make me yours, truly yours—

But Ciaran drew back. His chest and arm muscles flexed and then he was gone, leaving nothing but cool air behind him.

Lucy sat up, staring after him. The words What’s wrong? were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back.

She didn’t need to ask. She knew what was wrong.

Ciaran Mallory was a werewolf—but he couldn't take wolf form. The full moon made him more passionate, possessive, and fearsome, but that was all. For other werewolves the full moon was a time of freedom, their wolf forms beings of pure and simple power, offering a cathartic release from human concerns.

Not Ciaran. The monstrous wolf-man shape he took at full moon was anything but simple. As were the consequences of his inability to take full wolf form.

Lucy was Ciaran’s mate. Her body burned for him, and over the last few months, that carnal desire had been joined by… something else. She wouldn’t call it love; it was too terrifying for that.

Love was irrelevant, anyway. As mates, their lives were inextricably bound together, regardless of personal feelings. Ciaran had claimed her, and she had accepted his power over her; that was enough.

Or it should have been.

There was one problem with their arrangement. Usually, a werewolf would claim his mate by marking her. Biting her. The scar left by the bite cemented the mate bond, and marked the werewolf’s mate as untouchable to other werewolves.

Ciaran could hurt her. He’d proved that, again and again, until her body was covered with bruises and scratches that left her quivering with desire. But nothing more.

It was always the wolf who performed the bite. Without a wolf form, Ciaran couldn’t mark Lucy. And without his mark, Lucy had no magical protection from rival werewolves.

Hence the safehouse.

CHAPTER 2

“Ciaran.” Lucy swung her legs over the side of the bed and followed him across the room. Her feet sank into carpet thick as meadow grass.

There were no windows in the safehouse, just blank, featureless walls. Ciaran stood in a dark corner, staring into the shadows.

His jet-black eyes were hooded, an expression Lucy recognized. She sighed and wound her arms around his waist, leaning one cheek against his back.

“How long is it?” she asked. “Until the full moon?”

“One night. Not long enough.”

“But the trial—”

Ciaran cut her off with a curt bark of laughter. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“We can try again,” Lucy continued. “The sentencing is today, and if the full moon is straight after…”

“It won’t work.” Ciaran’s voice was heavy with bitterness. “Even in my half-transformed state, I can’t make myself bite you. And I know better than to force myself to make it work.”

The muscles in his back tightened. “The wolf claims the mate. That’s the way it’s meant to be. Who knows what I would do to you, biting you in my wolf-man form?”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” Lucy traced circles on his abs with her fingertips. “Except the ways I like to be hurt.”

Ciaran turned to face her, tipping her chin up with one finger. “You trust me too much, Lucy Abbotsford. Even I do not trust myself that much.” He sighed. “I’m broken, Lucy. When I inherited the werewolf curse, something went wrong. I never thought I would find a mate, but now that I have you, I will not risk harm coming to you from my broken curse.”

Lucy bit her tongue. She knew what she wanted to say—that, to her, Ciaran wasn’t broken. He was terrifying, exquisite—and wonderful.

But she’d tried that before. She knew he wouldn’t believe her. Not really.

Ciaran shook his head. “You are right about one thing. After today, the trial will be over.” A thin smile whispered over his lips. “One less day until I can take you away from this lightless cage.”

“The cage hasn’t been so bad,” Lucy lied.

“Liar.” Ciaran bit her gently on her lower lip. “Besides. I want to see the moonlight on your skin again.”

Lucy held him closer, molding her body against his. “As soon as the sentencing is carried out.”

Ciaran’s arms tightened around her. “As soon as itis safe,” he agreed, bitterness lacing his voice like poison.

Lucy trembled in his arms. The trial. She hadn’t attended any of it—Ciaran had protected her from that, at least. She didn’t want to see the men who were on trial ever again, even if they were being locked up.

A month ago, three werewolves had attacked her while she was working as a photographer at a pack-meet, a werewolf social event. She was there as an employee of Blackpaw Pack, not a participant in the mate-taking ritual—but the rogue werewolves hadn’t cared about that.

Ciaran had saved her from them, whisking her away to his own territory and refusing to let her go. She had been his more than willing captive ever since that night. The moment her attackers were taken into custody, Ciaran had arranged for her to be brought to this safehouse. She had no idea where it was—Ciaran and his security team were the only people who knew the house’s location, and how to get in.

She could be on an island. Deep underground. Or even in the center of London, or another city. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, so long as she was safe.

Every time she thought of that night, she remembered how helpless she had been. The terror of being completely exposed and vulnerable.

“I hope they lock them up and throw away the key,” she said. She meant the words to sound tough, but they came out wobbly.

Ciaran swept his hand around to the back of her head and held her close. She breathed in, inhaling his spicy, masculine scent, and her the thudding in her ears softened.

“Werewolf justice doesn’t include imprisonment,” he said gently. “Delauncey and his associates will be cut off from their Pack, and exiled.” He paused, and Lucy could hear the frustration in his voice when he continued: “It’s all very civilized. A few decades ago, the sentence would have been justice by combat.”

“I would have liked to see that,” Lucy said sharply, surprising herself.

Ciaran chuckled. “No, sweetheart, you wouldn’t. Trials by combat were always held at the full moon—and I would have been the one fighting them.”

“You fought them before,” Lucy reminded him. “I know you can’t fully transform at full moon, but you’re strong, you’re—”

“—Not strong enough.” Ciaran’s voice was flat with certainty. “Not against a werewolf in wolf form. This is the best possible outcome, Lucy. Exile means Delauncey and the other two are forbidden from contact with other werewolves, and no longer under the protection of Pack law. If they approach their previous Pack, or another, they can be run off, or even killed. That is why sentencing is always held just before the full moon, so that punishments for breaking exile can be quickly meted out.” He paused. “And being without a Pack has… consequences, for werewolves. What remains of their lives will not be happy.”

“Good.” Lucy knew she shouldn’t feel happy for other people’s misery, but in this case, she felt the rogue werewolves were getting just what they deserved.

She couldn’t bear the thought of them attacking other women. She couldn't even stand remembering what they had done to her.

The memory of that night was like a heavy black shroud, threatening to blot out everything that was good about her new life now. Lucy gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t let those bastards have any hold on her life. They weren’t worth it.

“What time is the sentencing?” Lucy slid her hands up Ciaran’s chest, tilting her head back to look at him. She knew one guaranteed way to drive grim memories out of her mind…

“One hour before sunset.” Ciaran’s dark eyes glinted. He knew what she was thinking, and his protective caresses became more possessive. “I will attend, of course, but we have some time yet…”

Lucy relaxed into him for a moment, letting his attention drive the stress out of her body. Then she ducked out of his grasp, grinning impishly. “I’m going to have a shower. If you want to join me…”

She could feel his predatory gaze on her back as she headed for the en-suite. She was still naked, and her skin burned where she imagined him staring: her neck, the long line of her back, the curve of her waist and ass… she swung her hips as she walked, trying to provoke him.

He didn’t take the bait. At the bathroom door, she swung around—and he had vanished.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. Where…?

“Looking for me?” whispered a rough voice in her ear. Ciaran slipped one arm around her waist, drawing her backwards into the bathroom.

A shiver ran from the top of Lucy’s head down to her toes. Ciaran’s voice always did things to her. His soft Scottish brogue made her skin prickle with anticipation.

“How did you sneak past me?” she demanded, trying to sound indignant instead of helplessly aroused. Ciaran laughed.

“The best hunter doesn’t need to chase his prey. He waits where he knows it will come to him.”

Ciaran reached around her, switching the light off and pulling the door shut. Lucy blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust, but the darkness was inky-black, like a blindfold.

She heard the shower start, and a moment later, Ciaran took her hand.

“Come,” he ordered her, and she obeyed, sliding her feet carefully over the marble-tiled floor.

She felt the heat of the shower spray before the water hit her body. The shower was waterfall-style, and Ciaran placed her in the middle of it. Lucy dropped her head back, eyes closed, and let the hot water stream over her.

Ciaran’s voice was so low she could barely hear it over the rush of the water. “It was thoughtless of me to wake you so selfishly this morning. Taking you so soon after you woke up… It’s much more fun when you have longer to squirm.”

Lucy gasped as his fingers ghosted up her side, his touch even hotter than the water.

“Ciaran…” she breathed, desire flooding through her.

She reached out blindly, aiming for where she thought he would be. Her fingers found nothing but empty air.

“Tsk, tsk, sweetheart.” Ciaran’s voice came from behind her. “That’s not how this game works.”

He took hold of her wrists and raised them above her head. “Stay,” he commanded.

Lucy obeyed him, keeping her arms up even after he let her go. She could feel him prowling around her. Even in human form Ciaran’s vision was supernaturally stronger than hers—she was blind in the darkness, but he could see her.

Hot water sluiced over her body, rinsing off the evidence of their earlier lovemaking. She smelled a hint of mint and other herbal scents—but only a hint. Ciaran preferred unscented or gently scented products.

He didn’t like anything to get in the way of his mate’s natural scent.

Lucy shivered. Feeling the heat of Ciaran’s body near to hers, she stretched, pushing out her chest and hips. She wasn’t allowed to reach out to him with her hands, but he was standing in front of her. If she leaned forward—just a little…

Ciaran chuckled. “None of that, sweetheart.”

Lucy moaned her displeasure, but stayed where she was. Her reward came a moment later. Ciaran ran a sudsy bath sponge down her neck and across her collarbones. He worked slowly, with tantalizing care, first washing her arms with long strokes, moving around to her back…

…And never touching her. Lucy ached for the sweet sensation of his skin against hers, but he only touched her with the sponge, never his hands.

“Patience, dear one,” Ciaran murmured. He reached around her, soaping up her belly. Lucy fought the urge to let herself fall back into him. That’s not how this game works. And she wanted to play it through to the end.

She trembled as Ciaran moved upwards at last, making circles around her breasts. Her skin tingled as the slow circles became smaller, closer to her stiff, sensitive nipples.

The sponge was slick with soap. Soft. Too soft. Lucy wanted him to rub it over her nipples, over every part of her, but it wouldn’t be enough. She needed his touch, his hands, his tongue, every part of him.

Lucy gasped and arched her back as he brushed over one nipple. Ciaran repeated the motion, harder this time, and electric shocks of desire jolted from Lucy’s breast straight to between her legs. She was slick all over, inside and out.

“Please,” Lucy begged. Liquid fire was racing through her veins, hotter than the water rushing over her. If he didn’t touch her soon, she would drown and burn in it at the same time.

Ciaran didn’t reply. Instead, he left Lucy moaning with need and moved lower, barely ghosting past the aching center of need between her legs. He soaped up one thigh, then the other, until Lucy thought she would collapse from desire.

By the time he moved on to her lower legs, carefully following the curves of her calves and the delicate bones in her ankles, Lucy’s body was trembling so violently she didn’t know if she could speak, let alone stay standing with her arms above her head.

The waterfall shower washed the soap from Lucy’s limbs, leaving her clean and dizzy with need.

Ciaran stopped washing her ankles, removing the sponge from her skin for the first time since he’d started. Lucy took a deep breath, steadying herself for what she knew must come next.

Instead of what she’d hoped for, she felt the sponge again, brushing soap over the tops of her feet. Lucy could have screamed. Her knees were shaking.

“Up,” Ciaran ordered, tapping the back of one ankle.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy slowly raised her foot. She could barely keep her balance even before he began to wash the sole of her foot. Her leg twitched involuntarily as he ran the sponge over her skin. She was so sensitive all over that the additional tickling sensation almost pushed her over the edge…

“Next.” She shouldn’t have been able to hear Ciaran’s voice over the rush of water over her head and the throb of her heartbeat in her ears. But somehow his soft instruction cut through all the other noises.

She switched feet. This time, she had to clench her fists to keep her balance. She could feel herself slipping closer and closer to the edge. She just didn’t know what she would find there.

Could Ciaran make her come without even touching her, skin to skin?

Did she want him to?

No.

She wanted him. His touch, his body, not just this teasing, frustrating game. But she could already feel the warning signs that she was too far gone. Her fingers twitched as desire sparked across her skin. Her nerve endings were on fire. The water pouring over her body scalded her, so hot it hurt, coursing over her body like lightning…

The trembling in her legs grew stronger. So did the white-hot need inside her.

“God, Ciaran, please—” she cried out as he released her second foot.

For a moment, the absence of his touch was like being plunged into ice water. Then his hands were on her, pressing and caressing her, digging into her skin.

CHAPTER 3

Ciaran rose to his feet behind her, his hands on her hips. He spread his fingers wide. Every touch sent more thrills down Lucy’s spine. He stepped forward, his chest hot against her back, his skin slick with the water that still poured down on them both.

Ciaran pulled her towards himself and Lucy gasped as his cock pushed into her lower back. He was rock-hard for her.

“God, Lucy.” Ciaran’s voice was thick with desire, his breath hot on her neck. He kissed her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. He was ravenous. “How did I survive without you for so long?”

His hand slid lower, delving between her legs. Lucy jerked in his arms. Her nerves sparked as he slipped one finger, then two, between her folds.

Ciaran’s skin wasn’t calloused, but she could feel the scar tissue on his palm as he played with her. Ciaran’s werewolf healing abilities meant that even terrible injuries would not leave much of a mark on his skin. But no amount of healing would fade the silvery scar on his hand. Lucy had burned it into his flesh the first time they met, attacking him with silver as she fled from him.

An emotion she couldn’t identify shot through her.

“I’ll never leave you again,” she cried out. “Never. I’m yours, forever—ahh-h!”

She cried out as Ciaran plunged his fingers into her. He was still holding her fast against his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat as he pistoned his fingers in and out of her.

Her whole body twitched. Heat was building inside her, a dam ready to burst.

“Please—no—I want—” Her voice failed her. I want you inside me, she thought desperately. I want your thick hard cock fucking me until I can’t breathe.

Ciaran growled low in his throat. He spun Lucy around, crushing her against his chest and kissing her. His tongue ravished her mouth. She was so dizzy she barely noticed him picking her up and striding across the room.

Lucy hissed and arched her back as it came into contact with cool marble. Ciaran was holding her against the wall. His cock was digging into her, just below her belly button.

“Please don’t make me wait any longer,” Lucy begged. “I’m so close—”

Ciaran shifted his grip on her, lifting her higher. He steadied himself and Lucy held her breath. Her whole body tensed, waiting for him.

Ciaran growled and thrust into her, filling her completely. Lucy gasped as all he forced all her breath from her lungs. She scarcely had time to inhale before he pulled out and pounded into her again.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding herself against him. He filled her again—and she lost it.

Lucy flung her head back, crying out as pleasure overtook her. Her cries spurred Ciaran on even more and he thrust faster, every movement forcing more pleasure out of Lucy’s helpless body. She trembled and twitched, her muscles losing control as orgasm crashed over her.

Lucy's grip on Ciaran’s waist loosened, her whole body going limp in the wake of overwhelming pleasure. Her head fell forward onto Ciaran’s shoulder.

Ciaran moved one hand from under her ass to her jaw. He tipped her head back and kissed her fiercely. Lucy’s body responded at once, fire burning through her veins even through her exhaustion. Her muscles tensed as Ciaran’s kiss became more violent. He bit at her lips and then moved downward, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck.

Her pulse fluttered under his teeth. She gasped. Please…

Ciaran’s fingers dug into her ass. He came with a roar, his teeth grazing Lucy’s throat. She moaned as his cock flexed inside her, filling her with his seed.

His grip loosened as he came down from his orgasm, but the ache left by his fingers still lingered on Lucy’s skin. So did the memory of his teeth against her neck.

There was no pain. No rush of blood. He’d teased her—but not broken the skin.

Lucy bit back a sigh, ignoring the way her pulse thrummed as she realized how much she wanted Ciaran’s mark on her. He can protect me in other ways, she told herself.

And pleasure her in other ways, too. She might not bear Ciaran’s bite, but he could still mark her in other ways. Her bruises from this morning would linger for days.

Lucy curled into her mate’s arms, giving herself over to aftershocks of pleasure, and almost convincing herself that everything was going to be all right.

CHAPTER 4

Eventually, they made their way back to the bedroom, clean and exhausted. Ciaran nipped at the back of Lucy’s neck as she rifled through the hangers in her walk-in wardrobe.

Most of them were empty. It wasn’t a reflection of any stinginess on Ciaran’s part—the wardrobe had been fully stocked when he brought Lucy to the safehouse. But clothing did not last long around him at this time of the month.

Or at least, Lucy’s clothing didn’t. As the full moon grew closer, Ciaran’s passions grew hotter, and he was less interested in details like “not literally tearing Lucy’s clothing off”.

She settled on a pair of tailored pants and a luxurious cashmere top that felt like being enveloped in a warm cloud.

Ciaran, already dressed, watched her pull on the cashmere shirt.

“Don’t,” she warned him as he prowled closer. “I like this top. And I’m running out of clothes. Do you want me to walk around here naked?”

“The thought is tempting… but I would have to kill the guards for looking at you. And they are so expensive.” Ciaran plucked an imaginary speck of dust off her shoulder with exaggerated care. “Your wardrobe is rather depleted, isn’t it? We’ll have to do something about that. With the trial ending, and your birthday coming up… it’s time to celebrate.”

Lucy felt as though the ground had moved under her feet. “You know when my birthday is?”

“Of course.” Ciaran’s mouth hooked into a half-smile. “I did, if you recall, steal your passport at one point.”

A hot flush burnt across Lucy’s face. “Oh. Right.”

He had given it back—on the understanding that she would never use it.

“Theft, abduction…” Ciaran’s smile was knife-thin. “So many sins and yet, somehow, they’ve brought me everything I could ever desire.”

He kissed her with an intensity that made Lucy’s bones quake. By the time he released her, she was gasping for breath.

“I have no intention of letting your first birthday as my mate pass without celebration, Lucy Abbotsford,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m going to take you away, somewhere we can forget all about the trial. Somewhere I can have you all to myself again. Under the moon.”

“Yes,” Lucy breathed. Somewhere like the castle, she thought, and a thrill zapped through her. Somewhere she could be completely at Ciaran’s mercy, again.

But this time, she wouldn’t run away.

Ciaran glanced at his wrist, then smiled wryly and grabbed his watch from the bedside table.

“What time is it?” Lucy asked.

Ciaran’s mouth quirked downward. “Time for me to leave. Your guard for the evening should be here soon—ah,” he added as a soft chime cut through the air. “That must be him now. Just on time.”

“Good thing I’m dressed.”

“Mmm.” Ciaran nuzzled her neck on his way past. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Lucy couldn’t help the plaintive note in her voice. She was under no illusions about why she had to stay here under lock and key. It was for her own safety.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t dull as all hell, sitting around in the safehouse day after day, waiting for the day when the three rogue werewolves would be exiled and she would be able to go outside without fearing for her life.

Ciaran looked back at her from the doorway. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. This will all be over soon.”

Lucy heard him greet the guard, and then he was gone. The house fell silent.

Lucy groaned and flopped onto the bed. Just one more night of this, she told herself. One more night of not seeing the outside world. Of no natural light or fresh air. Of no one to talk to except Ciaran and the guards, and they only ever talk in grunts anyway…

She stopped, straining her ears. There it was: the soft, steady tread of the guard making his rounds around the safehouse. Lucy sat up.

I should probably go and say hi, but… ugh.

Lucy didn’t know where Ciaran had found his security team, but they were like highly-trained robots. She knew exactly what would happen if she did go find tonight’s guard and try to make small talk. One polite “Ma’am” and then deathly silence. She might as well have been part of the furniture.

Well, Lucy didn’t feel like being treated like a precious pot-plant today. If the guards insisted on ignoring her, she would give them the same treatment.

It was easier said than done. Lucy put on some music as she made herself a late breakfast, but even with that and the rumble of the coffee machine grinding fresh beans, she found herself on the alert for the sound of the guard’s footsteps.

Tromp, tromp, tromp. Living room. Tromp, tromp. Hallway. Tromp—pause—tromp, tromp, as he stopped outside the kitchen door, looked in at her, and moved on.

Lucy scowled as she cracked an egg into a saucepan. Oh, don’t even bother to say hello, she thought grumpily. I guess I’m not even worth a “Ma’am” today.

She sighed and half-heartedly whisked the egg into the laziest scramble ever. One more night, she told herself, sliding the meal onto a plate and grabbing her coffee. One more night, and then…

And then what? Lucy paused, her coffee mug at her lips. Steam wafted up, clouding her vision. Then her new life would really start.

She still didn’t know what it meant to be a werewolf’s mate, not really. Ciaran had claimed her, and used her, and brought her more pleasure than she had thought possible—but what would happen when she was out of the safehouse?

Lucy closed her eyes. For a moment, the smell of coffee was replaced by the sharp scent of pine needles. Ever since she met Ciaran, her dreams had been haunted by visions of a pine forest. It felt so real, that at first she had thought it must have been a place she had photographed, burned into her mind—but she knew she had never visited this particular forest.

Not in real life. Only in her dreams.

She shivered. Ciaran was going to take her away, he’d said. Maybe she would find her dream-forest, after all.

Her mind wandered on. Would he take her to meet other werewolves? What about his Pack? He’d never mentioned them—but she knew he must have a Pack, somewhere.

A soft tap brought Lucy out of her thoughts. She turned around.

The man assigned to guard her was standing at the door, one hand raised to knock gently on the doorframe. “Morning, miss,” he said, and cleared his throat.

“Uh… hi,” Lucy replied awkwardly. She hadn’t met this guard before; he was in his late forties, with a receding hairline and a grayish complexion, but the same muscular build as the rest of Ciaran’s security team. “Er… do you want some coffee?”

“Thanks.”

Lucy showed him which buttons on the machine made which sorts of complicated coffees, and then retreated to the table, feeling flustered. Somehow, one of the guards actually being friendly put her more off-balance than them ignoring her.

She gulped down the rest of her scrambled eggs and moved into the living room, trying not to feel like she was fleeing the kitchen.

Settling in on one of the huge sofas, she pulled out her laptop and opened her email. Ciaran had bought the computer, which he’d assured her had enough security apps on it to prevent anyone using it to trace her. For the last month, it had been her only connection to the outside world.

The first thing she did was go through her emails. There wasn’t much: a few updates from friends and family back in America, more than a few spam messages from various Nigerian were-princes…

A name caught her eye. “Sibby!” she yelped happily, and clicked on the email.

Sibby Jenkins had been Lucy’s roommate before Lucy was claimed by Ciaran, and had exchanged the damp, draughty flat for the safehouse. While they were living together, they’d both kept secrets from each other. Lucy had never told anyone that she was running from Ciaran… and Sibby had kept very quiet about the fact that she was seeing a werewolf, too, and was about to take the next big step in her relationship.

Sibby had been a guest at the Blackpaw pack-meet the same night that Lucy was attacked. Not staff: a guest. Her werewolf boyfriend had brought her to the pack-meet as the greatest test in their relationship, to find out whether she was truly his mate, or would be claimed by another wolf.

Lucy and Sibby had exchanged a few emails since that night, but Sibby had been… cagey about what had happened that night. Lucy got the feeling things had gotten complicated, and Sibby was trying to spare her the details until the stress of the trial was over.

She quickly read through Sibby’s latest email and surprised herself by laughing aloud. Her previous emails might have been subtle, but this time it was super obvious that Sibby was trying extremely hard not to talk about something so excited, Lucy could almost feel her glee buzzing off the screen.

“After I’m out of here, I’m going to track you down and you’re going to tell me all about it,” Lucy murmured to herself, giggling. She tapped out a reply and sat back, sipping her coffee.

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all, she thought. Music, coffee, a guard who treats me like an actual person… not bad, for my last day under lock and key.

She gulped the last few mouthfuls of coffee and stretched out on the sofa, idly flicking through her favorite photography websites. When she was out of here, she would have to talk to Ciaran about getting another camera. Wherever he was taking her, she was sure there would be some beautiful landscapes worth capturing.

Not to mention Ciaran himself. Lucy had never been very interested in portraits before—but recently, she’d become obsessed with the idea of taking Ciaran’s photo.

Not for an exhibition, of course. No. Just for herself. Something that would capture the changing lights in his eyes. His tender violence. Maybe—maybe he would let her photograph him at the full moon, when the moonlight drew out the most animal part of him…

Something crashed, further away in the house. Lucy spun around on the sofa, instantly alert.

Shit! What’s his name? Lucy licked suddenly dry lips.

“Hey! Uh… guy? Is everything ok back there?”

There was a pause that made every hair on Lucy’s body stand on end. Then:

“It’s fine! Sorry, miss, I knocked something over out here. I’ll fix that right up.”

Lucy relaxed. She sat back down, picking up her coffee cup which had spun out of her hand. Good thing I’d finished drinking that, she told herself, and tried not to notice how much her hand was trembling.

CHAPTER 5

Lucy couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She kept glancing behind herself, on the lookout for—what?

She could hear the guard talking softly on his phone in another room, and tried to tune it out. Everything’s fine, she reminded herself. Delauncey and his two mini-me shits are going to get what’s coming to them, you’re going to go away with Ciaran and have your happily ever after. The end.

She took a deep breath. It’s going to be fine.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Her anxiety was turning into restlessness. Luckily there was a gym in the safehouse, so she could go and sprint on the treadmill until the itchy feeling on the back of her neck went away. She thought she probably had some workout clothes left that Ciaran hadn’t shredded yet…

What was that?

Something in the house had changed. Something in the air, or, or—a noise. Lucy held her breath, focusing. She was familiar with all the sounds the house usually made, the hum of the air-con and appliances, the few floorboards that creaked when she or a guard walked over them—but this was different.

Buzz, buzz.

Lucy groaned as she figured out what it was. “Now you’re freaking out over your phone?” she muttered to herself, hurrying back to the bedroom. “Where is it…?”

She searched the bedside table with no luck, and started rifling through the bedcovers. There was only one person who could be calling her. A warm glow blossomed through her at the thought of hearing his voice. It wouldn’t be as good as being with him, but it was better than nothing… aha!

“Ciaran?” she said, awkwardly bundling a pile of sheets and comforters back onto the bed with one arm. “What’s happening? Is the sentencing over already?”

Static crackled in her ear. “—Lucy—safe—escaped—”

A cold pit opened in her stomach. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

“Ciaran? I can’t hear you, there’s too much interference—where are you?”

Crystals of ice formed around the pit in her stomach. This was meant to be the end of it, she thought desperately. It can’t all go wrong now.

Hand shaking, she spoke into the phone again. “Ciaran, what’s going on?”

She heard him draw in a breath, long and ragged through the static. “It’s Delauncey and the others. They’ve escaped.”

Lucy staggered. No.

“Lucy, listen to me.” Ciaran’s voice was urgent. “We don’t know—gone. You have to—”

His voice cut out in a burst of static. Lucy swore.

“—back to the house. Lucy—hear me? The guard—”

“I hear you.” Lucy’s voice shook. “I’ll wait for you here. The guard will know what to do, right? If—if…”

She tried to speak clearly, knowing the connection was so bad, but she couldn’t stop her voice from cracking. This can’t be happening.

“Ciaran? I love you,” she blurted out as the static grew louder.

“I love you too.”

The call cut out, leaving Lucy breathless. Had she heard him right? Had he really said—

Lucy shook herself and took a deep breath. Focus. If Delauncey and the others had escaped from custody before being sent into exile…

She gritted her teeth. Freaking out wasn’t going to help her. But the tension in Ciaran’s voice…

It had been more than just tension. It was fear. He was afraid for her—and that only made her more scared.

Clutching the phone in her hand, Lucy strode out of the bedroom. She found the guard almost immediately and explained what Ciaran had just told her.

The guard’s eyebrows crunched together. “He’s coming here now?”

“As fast as he can.” Lucy wrapped her arms around herself. “So is there somewhere I should go, or…?”

The guard grabbed her arm. “Follow me.”

Lucy didn’t have a choice. She stumbled behind the guard as he pulled a phone out of his pocket and barked orders into it.

“Wait—why are we going to the front door?” Something inside her went cold. The guard wasn’t leading her to a more defensible position within the house—he was pulling her towards the exit. “What are you doing?”

“Just shut up and let me do my job, ok?” He put his mouth back to the phone. “She’s here. Go.”

The front door burst open. For a moment, Lucy thought Ciaran was about to rush in, or the rest of his security team, sent on ahead to protect her.

Then her mind went white.

“You,” she gasped.

CHAPTER 6

Ciaran’s warning had come too late. Delauncey and his friends had escaped from the werewolves’ justice—and come straight for her.

Imprisonment while awaiting trial hadn’t suited the rogue werewolves. The last time Lucy had seen them, they had been dressed in formal suits, every inch the wealthy, powerful werewolf—except for their flat, soulless eyes.

Now, the civilized veneer was gone. The three men were wearing faded black and gray boiler suits. Their cheeks were sunken, and the tendons of their necks stuck out, tensed almost to snapping point.

Only their eyes were the same. Lucy’s heart thudded as she stared into Delauncey’s cold gaze.

“What are you doing here?” she quavered, then turned to the guard, struggling against his grip on her arm. “What are you doing? Stop them!”

The guard thrust her forward. Lucy staggered, falling onto her hands and knees.

“There. She’s yours. Now where’s my reward?”

The pounding in Lucy’s ears rose into a roar. If Delauncey replied, she didn’t hear him. She jumped to her feet and ran.

The bathroom. Locks on the doors. I have to—

The guard’s arm struck her like a battering ram in the stomach. Lucy doubled over, choking for air.

I have to run—

The second blow came out of nowhere, slamming her to the ground.

“You gonna take her, or what?”

Even through the pain, she could hear the bluff in the guard’s voice. He was trying to act tough, but he was only human. She swore at him.

He scowled down at her. “Pipe down, missy. This is a business transaction. It isn’t personal.”

“Fuck you!”

He growled and swung one foot back, but Delauncey stopped him.

“None of that. We want her pristine for tonight.”

Lucy’s stomach churned. Tonight. The full moon.

How long have they been planning this? she thought, sickened. How many of the guards were in on it?

Ciaran’s out there somewhere. If they escaped from the werewolf courts, he must be close behind. If I can just keep them talking…

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, slowly pushing herself upright against the wall. Her stomach and side ached where the guard had hit her. She didn’t have to fake the fear in her voice.

“That’s for us to know, and you to find out,” Delauncey sneered.

“If I’m going to find out anyway you might as well tell me now,” Lucy retorted through the haze of terror. Inside her, a small voice was screaming at her not to provoke them, but she ignored it. She stuck out her chin. “I want to know what your plans are so when they fail, Ciaran and I can laugh over them together.”

“OH, really?” A dull light gleamed in Delauncey’s gray eyes. “That’s how you think this will work out, is it? Happily ever after?”

He advanced on her and Lucy stumbled back until there was nowhere to go. He reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her towards him.

“News flash, bitch. I’ve had four weeks to plan this. You and that freak of yours want to take me down? You’re coming down with me.”

Lucy strained to pull her head back as his foul breath washed over her. “Fuck you! Let me go!”

“Oh, I’ll let you go. When the time’s right.” Delauncey thrust his head forward and licked Lucy’s face. She almost threw up. “Gyre, Crothers, time to go. Deal with the human.”

Lucy fought back nausea at the sticky wetness on her face. She twisted until she could see the guard over Delauncey’s shoulders.

“Why are you just standing there? Do you really think they’re going to pay you? I know you’ve got silver bullets, just fucking shoot them!”

The guard didn’t meet her eyes. “Where’s my reward?” he demanded, shifting his focus between the three werewolves. “The money, and—hey!”

One of the other werewolves—Gyre—reached him and grabbed him by the jaw. Lucy’s skin crawled at the expression in the guard’s eyes.

“Is this it?” he gasped. “You said you’d turn me, that I could be one of you—”

“Human filth.” Gyre spat. “I wouldn’t dirty my teeth on you, traitor.”

“Traitor? But—” The guard’s eyes went wide. He looked at Delauncey, confused. “You said you’d pay me! You said, if I got you in—”

“Finish it, Gyre,” Delauncey said sharply. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn’t blot out the loud crack and horrible gurgle as Gyre broke the man’s throat.

“Disloyal piece of shit,” Gyre muttered, dropping the body to the ground.

“There’s your first lesson of the day,” Delauncey hissed in Lucy’s ear. “A lesson about real werewolves. To us, loyalty is everything. That piece of shit guard betrayed Ciaran to let us get to you, and that makes him worthless.” He yanked on her hair. “Got that? Good. There’ll be a test later.”

All three werewolves laughed.

CHAPTER 7

“Stay down,” the man with his foot on her throat growled. Lucy could have sobbed. Stay down? She couldn’t have gotten up if she had tried. With his boot pressing into her neck, she could barely swallow, let alone move.

They hadn’t wasted any time bundling her out of the safehouse and taking her to their waiting car. Delauncey had thrown her in the back seat and ordered Gyre to keep her down while Crothers drove.

Lucy still didn’t know where they were. She had got one glimpse of mid-afternoon sun, high clouds, and a general impression of green fields and countryside—and then Gyre’s boot had kicked her into the seat well, and all she could see was the interior of the car and the thinnest sliver of the sky through the window.

She should have run. She should have been faster, smarter, should have…

Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes. Even without the boot on her throat she doubted she could have done anything. The moment she realized who she was dealing with, ice water had run through her veins, and now every muscle in her body was frozen stiff.

This can’t be happening. But it was.

She had never been afraid of anything the way she feared these three werewolves. Even at his most terrifying, Ciaran had always thrilled her, but these three… there was nothing good in them, only evil.

John Delauncey, the leader, was a brutish-looking werewolf who, Lucy had learned from Ciaran, had once been in line to become the new alpha of the Greyflank Pack. His two permanent offsiders were Adam Crothers and Glenn Gyre, also of the Greyflank Pack. With Delauncey pegged for Alphahood, the other two would have expected a life of privilege and special perks from their connection to him.

Instead, they had been sentenced to exile. All that bright future ripped away from them—because of what they’d tried to do to Lucy.

Werewolf protocol was strict. This had surprised Lucy at first. The popular view of werewolves was that they were violent, ruled by their emotions, little more than vicious animals in human form.

But werewolves had to live in society like everyone else. If they just went around attacking people at random, and stealing women to force them into being their mates, the delicate peace between humans and werewolves would shatter.

So, there were rules. Protocol. Etiquette. Werewolves who attacked humans were judged in either human or werewolf courts, depending on a complicated number of judiciary factors.

But werewolves who attempted to take an unwilling woman as their mate… the werewolf justice system came down hard on them. Delauncey and the others hadn’t succeeded in forcing themselves on Lucy, but they’d tried, even after she told them no. To the Pack judge, that condemned them.

But there’s no way they see it that way, Lucy thought. They’re not going to see this as their fault. They’re going to blame me for taking them to court.

Lucy drew a slow, ragged breath, trying not to scrape the delicate skin of her throat against the werewolf’s boot.

“Keep her out of sight,” barked Delauncey from the front of the car. Lucy closed her eyes and bit back a groan.

“On it, boss,” grunted Gyre. He kicked down harder, apparently just to drive the point home.

Or maybe just to hear me squeal, thought Lucy darkly. She coughed as the pressure let off, and glared up at her captor.

Asshole. I’m not going to let you see me cry. Not again.

Panic rose up in her as she remembered the last time she had crossed path with the rogue werewolves. Her throat closed over and her whole body started to shake.

Lucy balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms.

No. Stop.

Her vision was clouding over. If she inhaled, she was sure she would smell the garden scents that had filled the air the night the three werewolves had attacked her. Wet grass. Cold stone. Leering, contemptuous faces…

No!

She squeezed her eyes shut. Think of Ciaran, she told herself. You’re his mate. You belong to him. He will come and find you.

You just have to stay alive until then.

She took another deep breath, steadier this time. You can’t panic. You can’t shut down.

Ciaran’s going to come find you… but you have to help yourself, as well.

Lucy opened her eyes. She didn’t look up at her captor—she already knew what he looked like. Instead, she strained her eyes to look out the car window above her head.

She could only see a sliver of the outside world as it flashed by. Buildings. Sky. The sudden blinding gleam of the sun. More buildings—stone, brick, glass…

Lucy’s eyes were watering, but she kept her focus. She had to figure out where they were taking her. If only she knew where the safehouse was… But she could figure out what direction they were going, at least. She was a photographer. She knew a thing or two about the angle of the sun.

So. I’m in the back of a car traveling in… some direction. We started off in the countryside—but that could be anywhere. And I don’t know where the trial was being held. Ciaran could be anywhere. He could be—

She must have made a noise. Delauncey laughed and slung one arm over the back of the front passenger seat, looking down at her.

“Worried, bitch? You should be.”

Lucy gritted her teeth, refusing to give him a reaction.

Delauncey was in his thirties, like Ciaran. Apart from that similarity, the two werewolves were completely different. Where Ciaran was dark, Delauncey had dirty blond hair cropped close to his skull. Despite his werewolf healing abilities his nose was broken almost flat against his face, and his eyes were a light, compassionless grey.

Ugly inside and out, Lucy thought.

“You’re going to be in trouble for murdering that guard,” she snarled.

Delauncey scoffed. “There’s nothing the human justice system can do to us that’s worse than what the Pack has in store. Thanks for your concern, but you should be more worried about yourself, bitch.”

Bitch. Lucy hated that word. But the way Delauncey used it wasn’t like the way human men did.

He wasn’t using it as an insult. He meant it descriptively. Delauncey was a wolf—and to him, she was nothing but a bitch.

Ciaran’s bitch.

Her blood went cold. Why had Delauncey chosen now to escape? When she was alone in the safehouse?

And they hadn’t hurt her. They’d barely touched her. What had he said? They wanted her “pristine”… for a lesson.

“This isn’t about me at all, is it? It’s a trap. You’re laying a trap for Ciaran.”

Delauncey laughed again. “Catches on fast, doesn’t she?” he spat at Crothers in the driver’s seat, who grunted in response.

He turned back to Lucy, his eyes cold.

“That’s right, bitch. You’re not the main event tonight, I’m afraid—but I’m sure we’ll find some way to entertain ourselves before the freak arrives.”

CHAPTER 8

Lucy had to blank his words from her mind. If she thought about them, if she even acknowledged them, she would fall into terrified despair.

Crothers still hadn’t let her up. Her muscles were cramped from being trapped in the foot well, but that was nothing compared to the agonies her mind was imagining.

Stop thinking about it. Panicking won't help. You need to concentrate, pay attention, look for a chance to escape…

She opened her eyes and focused fiercely on the sliver of the outside world she could see through the window. They were driving north. Lucy could tell that much by the direction of the sun streaming into the car. The bright sunlight was an ironic contrast to the hopelessness of Lucy’s position.

Look for a chance to escape? That was a joke. All she could see was the same sliver of sky through the back window, the gleaming gray of high clouds darkening the longer they drove.

Hours ticked by, marked only by the fading of the sky. Full moon. Full moon. The words repeated in Lucy’s head in time with her heartbeat. Full moon. And then…

Checkpoints. A matchstick’s worth of hope flared inside Lucy. Some counties still ran them: security checkpoints for travelers caught out after dark. They usually started up in the late afternoon, to make sure anyone caught on the roads had an emergency plan. If one of them hailed Delauncey…

But no one did. The werewolves continued their journey without being interrupted. When Lucy figured out why, she could have hit herself.

Checkpoints wouldn’t stop a werewolf’s car. What would be the point?

Wherever they were going, Lucy couldn’t rely on the usual law enforcement to find her.

She lost track of how long it had been. Hours, definitely, but how many? The three werewolves all but ignored her—the “but” being Gyre’s boot on her neck.

“Right. We’re here.”

Delauncey’s voice shocked Lucy out of her thoughts. The car crunched to a stop on—Lucy’s mind whirred, trying to take in as much information as possible—gravel?

Where are we?

Lucy’s head fell back as someone pulled open the door behind her. She bit back a yelp of pain. Even just moving her neck made her muscles shriek.

“Get her out here.”

Run. The thought electrified her body. Lucy kicked out, levering herself out of the car and past Gyre’s grabbing hands. She twisted, banging her knees on the doorway and then scraping them over gravel.

The moment her feet hit the ground she struck out again. Her muscles screamed as she forced herself to sprint. She didn’t even know where she was going. Just run. Figure it out later. All those hours on the treadmill must have been good for something.

Someone shouted, guttural with rage. Lucy’s eyes strained to see after being stuck in the car’s foot well for so long. She thought she saw trees, the outline of a building—No time. Just run. Lucy picked a point between the trees and aimed at it, legs and arms pumping.

She never saw Delauncey coming. Something slammed into her, catching her on her collarbones. She crashed to the ground, gasping for breath.

Delauncey stood over her, scowling. “That’s enough of that,” he growled. “Gyre. Pick her up. Crothers—you know what to do.”

Crothers grabbed her by the waist and lifted her upright, crushing her against his torso. Lucy got a noseful of thick, disgusting BO that make her cough.

“Let go of me!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gyre approach. She struggled more desperately. “Let me go!”

Gyre grabbed her collar and for a moment, Lucy’s mind went white. All she could think of was the last time they’d attacked her.

Lucy screamed and twisted as Gyre yanked at her clothes. If she could just get out of Crothers’ grip before—before—

Suddenly, Gyre was gone. Cold air slid across Lucy’s skin and she realized he had ripped off her cashmere top, leaving her in nothing but her bra and pants. No. Please, no—

But no one attacked her. Crothers grunted and slung her over his shoulder, apparently not noticing or caring about her half-undressed state. Lucy watched, confused, as Gyre stalked off toward the shadowy building she’d noticed earlier.

Crothers walked in the opposite direction, following a dirt path. Only the occasional broken flat stone suggested it had ever been anything but a hidden track through the trees.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. Crothers and Delauncey ignored her. “Hey! You can at least tell me—”

A low growl filled the air. It seemed to hit Lucy’s bones before it reached her ears, the threat vibrating through her skull. She fell silent, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Animals. Werewolf society had laws. Protocols. Ways to stop the beast from taking over. But these three were taking her to the middle of some godforsaken forest, the night of the full moon.

They weren’t interested in caging the monsters inside them. They were only interested in setting the creatures free.

They want to hurt Ciaran. But they don’t care if I end up hurt, or dead, either.

In fact, they’d probably consider it a bonus.

Acid ran cold through her stomach. One of those Alpha perks.

Lucy kept silent as they walked on. The farther they went into the forest, the thicker the trees became, until Lucy couldn’t tell whether the darkness was just shadows, or if night had fallen. Dread made her breath raspy.

How long do I have?

It was still light enough to see, at least. The path became more defined, until the werewolves’ boots were ringing on stone cobbles. Old ruins seemed to sprout up among the trees, broken walls and columns thick with moss and fallen pine needles.

Gyre joined them after a few minutes, his hands empty.

Delauncey nodded at him. “Is everything ready?”

“Just like you said.” Gyre grinned. The expression made him even uglier than normal. “That stupid prick isn’t going to know what hit him.”

They’re talking about Ciaran. Cold dread poured down Lucy’s spine. What are they planning? Some sort of trap?

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the images that her brain pulled up. Ciaran hurt. Ciaran burned by silver and unable to heal. Ciaran dying…

Her heart clenched, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Ciaran had always feared that his inability to mark her as his mate would put her in danger. Had he ever considered that someone might use their connection to harm him?

Lucy bit back a sob. She wasn’t just weak in herself. She was Ciaran’s weak point, too. And now these assholes were using her as bait to trap her mate.

She whimpered, and the next thing she knew, Delauncey was glaring back at her. “Shut her up,” he barked to Crothers—and everything went black.

CHAPTER 9

Lucy woke up so cold her bones ached, with a throbbing pain at the back of her head. She was lying slung over something warm, and her body automatically clung to it, seeking life-giving heat.

Rough cloth rubbed against her cheek, and under it, thick ropy muscles. She inhaled—and froze as the rank smell of stale BO filled her nose.

“Want to snuggle up closer, bitch?” Gyre squeezed her thigh.

Bile rose in the back of Lucy’s throat. “Let go of me!”

She kicked, but wasn’t strong enough to break Gyre’s grip. He was holding her slung over both shoulders, one hand grasping her legs, the other wrapped painfully tight around her wrists.

“I said let me go!”

“Save your voice, bitch. You’ll need it later.”

Lucy froze as Delauncey’s voice cut through the icy air. She raised her head to look for him, and her vision swam.

“I—oh, god. You’ve got to let me down. My head—it really hurts…”

Her voice trailed off. How long was I unconscious for?

Delauncey laughed. “Don’t worry, bitch. You’ll have something worse to cry about soon.”

Lucy bit her tongue on her automatic response: Just wait until Ciaran gets here. Instead, she tried to focus through the pounding in her skull.

She licked her lips. Even they felt cold, although the skin around them was salty with fear-sweat. Her bones ached. Everything ached.

But apart from the bump on her head, she didn’t think she was injured. Not badly, at least. Her muscles were screaming, but that was probably from being cramped in the car so long, and now being slung over Gyre’s shoulder like a sack of flour.

She could still run. If she got the chance, if Gyre let go of her for one second—she could run.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. Every step Gyre took made her head throb. But she could put that worry aside for now.

It was getting dark, and the next light to rise in the sky would be the full moon. There was no point fretting over a potential concussion when she might be torn apart by wild werewolves before sunrise.

They walked for what seemed like hours. Lucy tried to concentrate on the twists and turns the werewolves’ path took, but it was useless. The trees blended into one another, and as the night drew in, disappeared in the darkness. None of the werewolves carried a flashlight; like Ciaran, they could see in the dark.

Where are we? Lucy asked herself silently. They had driven for so long, and now all this walking… she had never seen forest like this in England. Not that there weren’t wolf-woods in England, but the ones she had seen were relatively small, and kept free of undergrowth and dead wood.

This forest was wild. The trees grew close together, branches stretching up to cover the sky, twisting together like lovers desperate not to be separated. Ferns and moss covered the ground.

In the distance, Lucy heard an owl screech, and then nothing. No rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth. No flap of wings or warning calls from birds nesting in the trees. For hundreds of yards around the werewolves, there was only silence.

Soon it was so dark, Lucy couldn’t tell if she would be able to see the moon through the trees when it eventually did rise. The thought made ice run through her veins. If the moon was already in the sky by the time they left the forest…

The trees began to thin out. Lucy’s breaths became shallower and her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, waiting for the moment when silver light would break through the branches.

Between one step and the next, the world was suddenly lit with grey light.

Lucy’s eyes rose to the sky as though pulled by magnets. Her breath caught in her throat. Full night had fallen. The night was a solid black, thick clouds shrouding the sky. She didn’t know what time it was, but…

Late enough for no sunset light to be breaking through the clouds.

Cold sweat sprang out all over her skin.

Late enough that there’s no way I can get out of here before moonrise.

The werewolves had walked into a sort of clearing between the trees. They spread out, Gyre still carrying Lucy. Lucy glanced around, trying to get her bearings. In front of her, grass grew through the broken stones of an ancient courtyard. The remains of a crumbling wall huddled between trees and shrubs.

Gyre stomped through the undergrowth towards what Lucy had thought was a bare tree trunk. As they got closer she realized it was a stone post, seven or eight feet tall, at the end of the wall. An ancient gate post?

There were more ruins beyond the wall and the gate post. Lucy could just make them out. More walls rising like ghosts from the ground, and behind them—

She bit back a shriek as Gyre dropped her. For a moment as she fell, she thought, This is my chance—but he kept hold of her wrists, twisting her arms behind her as he caught a coiled rope Crothers threw at him.

Before Lucy could even try to pull out of Gyre’s grasp, he shoved her against the column. He tied her wrists together, then wrapped the rope around her waist and neck, binding her to the stone post.

“Delauncey wants you alive,” he snarled, pushing his face into Lucy’s. She twisted away as much as she could, but there was no escaping his foul reek. “Me, I don’t know why he’s bothering.”

He spat on the ground in front of her and stalked off into the shadows.

Lucy took a deep, shaky breath. The rope around her neck was tight, but not so tight it was cutting off her air. And she could turn her head.

Gyre had tied her so she was facing the opposite gatepost. To her right was the courtyard and the forest, with the overgrown path disappearing under the trees. To her left were the ruins she had glimpsed from Gyre’s shoulders.

The three werewolves were all in the courtyard. She could just make out their shadowy figures, ten or twenty yards away. The men were almost invisible in the darkness, blending into strange shapes and shadows caused by the surrounding trees and stone ruins.

Lucy clenched her fists. It was cloudy, but she was sure the moon hadn’t risen yet—otherwise, the three hulking men lurking in the shadows would be wolves. And she would be dead.

She shivered. This time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

The last time she had met Delauncey and his two gorilla-like minions, they had violently attacked her. If Ciaran hadn’t arrived in time, they would have forced themselves on her and left her for dead.

But that was during the waxing moon. Not full moon.

Tonight, the three werewolves weren’t interested in using her. If they had been…

Lucy shuddered, but forced herself to finish the thought. They had threatened her, but if they did want to use her, they would have started already.

No. They must have brought her here for another reason. To lure Ciaran out, and kill them both.

Red-hot certainty burned through Lucy’s veins. That’s not going to happen, she told herself. I’m not going to let them use me as bait to get to Ciaran.

Suddenly, Delauncey strode out of the darkness towards her. Lucy braced herself as he grabbed hold of her, but all he did was haul on the rope around the column, yanking her until she was standing on tip-toes. Lucy’s bare shoulders and arms screamed as they scraped against the rough stone.

“That hurts!” she yelped.

Delauncey ignored her. There was a cold, yellow light in his eyes that made her insides turn to ice. Ciaran’s eyes changed near the full moon, too, but to a blazing gold, not this sickly hue.

“Do you know what time it is?” he sneered. “Probably not. Your freak boyfriend doesn’t even wait for the moon to turn into a monster, does he?”

Lucy’s face twisted with rage. “You’re the only monster I know of,” she snarled back.

Delauncey slapped her. Lucy’s head snapped to the side, but she hardly felt the pain in her cheek. Stars spun in her vision as the back of her head clipped against the stone behind her.

Dazed, Lucy slumped against the column. She could see Delauncey out of the corner of her eye, staring at her assessingly.

“Wind's coming up. I give it five minutes,” Crothers called from the darkness.

Five minutes. He could only be talking about one thing. Moonrise. Or—Lucy glanced at the cloudy-laden sky—maybe the moon had already risen, and they were waiting for the clouds to clear so that its light would fall down on them.

Fear flooded Lucy’s veins. There has to be something I can do…

Voices echoed around the clearing. “Is everything in place?”

“Ready, boss.”

“Good. Let that freak chase his bitch into the forest. We’ll be ready for him.”

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. They were relying on Ciaran being so blind with rage as he chased after her that he didn’t see that trap he was running into.

“Hey!” she shouted, struggling to stand upright against the post. The rope scraped against her neck, making her cough, but she kept her voice as loud as she could make it. If Ciaran was nearby, then maybe if he heard her talking, if she could give him some hint of what was happening…

“It’ll never work!” she spat out, pretending a confidence she didn’t feel. “You really think you’re going to get the better of Ciaran? He’s smarter than all three of you put together. Whatever trap you have planned for him, he’ll see through it—”

Delauncey snarled and grabbed her jaw. Lucy cried out, remembering the guard’s fate. He wants you alive, she told herself. Whatever he has in store, he wants you alive, he’s not going to break your neck now…

“Shut. Up,” Delauncey growled, his face an inch away from hers. “You’re only here for one reason, bitch, and after you’ve fulfilled your purpose I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

He stalked away, leaving Lucy feeling as though she had been punched in the stomach.

She drew in a ragged breath. If all you can do is scream, then that’s what you do.

A cold wind shivered through the trees, and something made her look up. No!

The clouds were clearing. Tiny pin-prick stars peeked out from a jet-black sky. And just above the tree line, a pale glow lightened the sky.

Lucy struggled against the ropes. If she could loosen the knots around her wrists… She wrenched her hands back and forth, ignoring the pain as the rope burned her delicate skin.

“Moon’s coming,” Crothers barked from across the clearing. “Boss, if it comes out before he gets here—”

It was light enough now that Lucy could see Delauncey shrug. “Then I guess we’ll just have to kill her, won’t we?”

Crothers turned to face Lucy. “Sounds good to me. Why waste time?”

He started forward, a violent leer on his face. His expression turned to shock and he cried out as something struck him in the shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound and he wheeled towards where the shot had come from.

“Get away from my mate.” Ciaran’s voice cut through the darkness like a knife, threat and rage in every syllable.

Lucy’s heart was in her throat, her chest so tight that for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The werewolves were still looking around the courtyard, but her eyes turned to the ruins behind the walls.

She remembered his words from—had it only been this morning?

The best hunter doesn’t need to chase his prey. He waits where he knows it will come to him.

Ciaran was magnificent. Even in the darkness, she could see the burn of gold in his eyes.

And soon the moon would appear. The rogue werewolves would transform—but so would Ciaran. Delauncey had walked straight into Ciaran’s trap. He would save her. Lucy knew he would.

She was his mate. She trusted him. And—her skin burned as she remembered their last phone conversation—she loved him.

And he loved her.

The rogue werewolves had frozen when Ciaran appeared. Now Delauncey thrust his chest out, his hands fisted at his sides.

“Your mate?” he spat. “We’ll see about that.”

A sliver of silver light emerged from above the canopy of trees, where the clouds were dissolving. It hit Delauncey first, and his body shuddered, bones cracking as the transformation took hold of him.

Moonlight spread across the clearing, striking Crothers and Gyre in turn. Lucy twisted, trying to keep an eye on all three werewolves at once. The few heartbeats between the start of the transformation and its completion were perhaps the only time the wolves were truly vulnerable. There was nothing she could do, but Ciaran—

Goosebumps rose on Lucy’s bare skin. Ciaran was still standing in the shadows in front of the ruins. The moonlight hadn’t touched him yet.

He ran forward, but it was too late. Delauncey’s front paws hit the ground. His wolf form was massive. Even on all fours, he was almost as tall as Lucy.

She wrung her wrists against the ropes. If she could pull them even an inch looser…

Delauncey turned on her. Ciaran was still halfway across the clearing, the moonlight a cold silver on his black hair and white shirt, glinting on the gun he was aiming at Delauncey. He shot once, twice, the noise echoing around the ruins.

Delauncey’s claws scraped on stone. He covered the distance between himself and Lucy in one leap, landing with his front paws on the gatepost.

Lucy shrunk back against the column. The wolf smelled like stale sweat and old blood. Like other people’s fear. Sweat broke out on her forehead.

The wolf swung its huge head around, snarling at Ciaran. Then it lowered its jaws to Lucy’s neck and bit down.

CHAPTER 10

Lucy screamed.

Delauncey’s teeth sank into her skin like knives. Pain seared through her. Blood-red lightning lanced across her vision.

A fang scraped past her collarbone, razor-sharp. Lucy couldn’t breathe. She could feel her blood leaving her body, pouring out into the wolf’s mouth, over her skin.

“No!”

Ciaran’s shout of pain seared into Lucy’s heart. Delauncey released her and she sagged against the gatepost, weak from shock.

Her vision wavered. Blood was still pumping from her neck and shoulder where Delauncey had bitten her.

Ciaran screamed, a wordless cry of rage. Delauncey twitched and stumbled as another bullet bit into his side, but it was too late.

Too late.

Delauncey’s bite burned in Lucy’s flesh. She felt it sear into her veins, deep into her bones as the mark took hold of her.

Ciaran roared as the moonlight struck him. The gun fell from his fingers as he began to transform. Lucy stared at him, pleas dying on her lips.

Delauncey hauled himself to his feet. His lips were pulled back over blood-stained fangs and the expression in his flat gold eyes made Lucy sob.

He darted forward, licking at the blood coagulating on her chest.

Mine, the look in his eyes said.

“No,” Lucy sobbed. “No, this can’t be happening…”

But it was happening. She could feel his power in her veins, changing her. The flow of blood from her neck slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. She was healing.

“No, stop—” Lucy moaned senselessly, twisting her head back and forth to force the wounds open again.

Not this. Please no. I would rather die.

“Get away from her.” Ciaran’s wolf-man voice was deeper, more animal than his human tone. He stood seven feet tall in the moonlight, the shredded remains of his clothing draped over powerful muscles. His eyes blazed gold with rage. “I said get away from her!”

Delauncey growled, placing himself between Ciaran and Lucy. His hackles rose as he stared Ciaran down.

The meaning was clear. She’s mine. Keep your distance.

“You monster,” Ciaran snarled. “What have you done?”

His eyes slid past Delauncey, meeting Lucy’s horrified stare. Tears were streaming down her face, but through them, she could see the expression in Ciaran’s golden gaze.

Anger. Rage. And disgust.

Dread rose up in her. Delauncey put his mark on me. But that can’t mean—Ciaran wouldn’t—

“Bastard,” Ciaran spat, turning his searing gaze on the wolf again. “You’ll pay for this!”

He leapt at the wolf, claws outstretched. Delauncey rose up to meet the blow and the two werewolves clashed, filling the air with snarls and the rip of teeth and claws on flesh.

A flash of movement at the corner of Lucy’s eye made her whip her head around in time to see one of the other wolves bearing down on her. She screamed, twisting away from it as far as her bond would let her. The wolf’s massive jaws struck the stone column where her head had been a moment before and its body snapped around, crashing into her.

The thick musky odor of unwashed fur filled Lucy’s nostrils. Her shoulders screamed as the force of the wolf’s blow almost yanked her arms out of their sockets.

“Help me!” she shrieked as the wolf got to its feet, baring yellowed fangs. One of its incisors was broken off and the creature licked the stump, murder in its eyes.

A gray flash barreled into it. Lucy’s heart sank as she realized who it was.

Delauncey.

Not Ciaran.

She sobbed as Delauncey ripped at the other wolf’s throat, his claws leaving bloody streaks on its flanks and belly. Lucy didn’t know whether it was Gyre or Crothers who had attacked her. Whoever it was, they hadn’t expected their leader to turn on them.

The fight was over quickly. The wolf was no match for his alpha.

Delauncey stood panting over the body of his former packmate. Blood covered his muzzle and dripped down from his jaw.

“No,” Lucy whispered. He can’t—he just saved my life. Oh, god. “Ciaran…”

Ciaran didn’t even glance at her. Snarling, he threw himself on Delauncey again. The wolf threw him off and they circled one another, stalking further into the clearing.

Ciaran was bleeding from a dozen gashes on his chest and arms. Lucy’s heart twisted as she looked at him.

You are my mate, she wanted to scream. Kill him—take me back—

She flinched as Delauncey opened another vicious wound on Ciaran’s side. Ciaran snarled and leapt, burying his teeth deep in the wolf’s flank—and Lucy’s blood ran cold.

Ghostly pain seared into her side, where Ciaran had wounded Delauncey. No. Please no.

She was Ciaran’s mate. Their bodies burned for each other, desire weaving their lives together with silken ropes.

But Ciaran had never claimed her. And now that she bore Delauncey’s mark… she was changing. Her body was changing.

But not my soul, she begged silently, sobbing. Not my mind. Not my love…

The mark didn’t have that much power, did it? It couldn’t force her to bond with Delauncey.

Like the werewolf fever forced you to mate with Ciaran? a treacherous voice whispered in her head.

CHAPTER 11

Lucy gritted her teeth. No. She loved Ciaran. It was more than just the mate-bond that kept them together. He had shown her a new way to live; things about herself she never knew existed. She would never betray him.

She sat up. Crothers, or Gyre, or whatever wolf it was who had bled out his life under the moonlight, had snapped the rope around her neck when he attacked her. She pulled it off, freeing herself from the column. Now she only had to free her hands, and she would—what?

Her eyes caught on the greasy glimmer of the gun Ciaran had dropped. Grim certainty steadied her heart. I’ll free my hands, get that gun—and finish this.

The column was made of square blocks of stone. Most of its edges were smooth with age—except where the wolf had smashed against them. 

The broken stone was pale in the moonlight. Lucy knelt in front of it, raking her wrists back and forth over the sharp edges.

The rope frayed, then gave so fast that Lucy toppled forward. She steadied herself on the gate post, and turned around, putting the post between herself and the fight.

The knowledge that there was still another wolf out there in the shadows was like ice in her veins. Whichever one of Crothers and Gyre that Delauncey hadn’t just killed. They would be watching the fight—they would have seen what Delauncey did to their packmate.

Lucy stilled herself. They would wait to see who won the fight, and then jump in and finish off the survivor.

She didn’t have any time to waste. One more glance around the clearing—no sign of the missing wolf—and then she darted out from behind the column, eyes fixed on the gun.

Her leg muscles creaked from being still and cold so long, but she couldn’t let herself fail. The gun was six feet away. Four. Two—

Lucy scooped up the handgun just as her foot skidded on a mossy stone. Her legs shot out from under her and she rolled, the gun knocking against her ribs.

She rolled onto her knees, fumbling with the gun. It was slick with water. Or blood. Lucy didn’t look closely enough to find out. She slid her finger onto the trigger.

The gun was heavier than she had expected. Her hand was shaking and she had to support it with the other one. She blinked cold sweat out of her eyes.

Lucy raised the gun just as Delauncey threw Ciaran into a crumbling wall. The wolf reared up, ready to descend on the wolf-man and deliver a crushing blow. Lucy took aim.

She squeezed the trigger once, and then something slammed into her back.

The gun skittered away across the cobblestones. Lucy watched it, winded and half-stunned. Get it back. She reached out.

Claws dug into her back and the world spun. The wolf flipped her over. It was a ragged, dull tan color, like rotten wood. Saliva dripped from its fangs as it snarled at her.

Lucy thrust herself backwards, feet scrambling against the mossy ground. Her arm was still outstretched—she strafed her hand across the stony ground—there!

Her fingers closed around cold metal. She grasped the gun and swung her arm viciously, cracking the gun across the werewolf’s muzzle as it snapped at her. The wolf yelped, hesitating—and that was all the time Lucy needed to shift her grip on the gun and squeeze the trigger again.

The gun bucked in her hands. She had aimed at the werewolf’s throat; she didn’t wait to see what would happen. Lucy threw herself backwards, away from the creature.

Her heart drew her into the courtyard, to the fighting werewolves. To Ciaran, she told herself. She struggled to her feet. There were no noises from behind her, for which she was glad. She didn’t want to look at what she had done.

Ciaran and Delauncey were at each other’s throats. The ruins around them had been shattered by the violence of their battle. Claw-marks crisscrossed the paving stones, huge swathes torn from the ancient moss growth.

Ciaran was covered in blood. He held himself carefully, favoring his left side where a gruesome bite wound dripped blood. Lucy’s heart twisted, sending icy shards into her chest.

“Delauncey!” she screamed, raising the gun.

On all fours, Delauncey swung his massive head to face her. His grey fur was black in the moonlight, like some twisted perversion of what Ciaran’s wolf form might have looked like—except Delauncey’s pelt was black with blood. But his eyes were still the same soulless, pale gold she remembered.

Her finger tightened on the trigger. “You’re never going to hurt anyone ever again,” she said, and—

No. No, this can’t be happening—

Her aim wavered. A battle was raging inside her, a burning fire that threatened to consume her. Delauncey’s mark.

It’s trying to take me over. Trying to make me his. I won’t let it!

She scratched frantically at the fresh scar on her neck with one hand, as though she could scrape the mark from her skin. Her hand holding the gun trembled. It moved as though it had a mind of its own, trying to turn the gun away from Delauncey, trying to aim it at—

“No!” Lucy screamed, and squeezed the trigger for the last time.

She was aiming directly at Delauncey’s head. A silver bullet would cut through his flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter, leaving a wound no amount of healing could fix.

But nothing happened.

She stared down her arm at the gun. Her finger was tight around the trigger. Wasn’t it? Didn’t she want to shoot Delauncey, kill him for what he’d done to her, and what he’d done to Ciaran?

She tried to pull the trigger again, but her hand was paralyzed.

“Why won’t you die?” she sobbed through gritted teeth. “Why can’t I kill you?”

Delauncey raised his face to the moon and howled, a spine-chilling cry of victory. Lucy fell to her knees. No. I want to kill him. I can’t be like his—I can’t lose myself, not like this—

I’d rather die.

Delauncey wanted to kill her, didn’t he? He’d told her so. That was part of him plan. Mark her, take her from Ciaran—and then murder her.

Lucy threw down the useless handgun. Maybe that’s still his plan.

"Kill me, then!" she cried out, and broke into a run. Delauncey bared his fangs at her in a vicious lupine smile.

Behind him, Ciaran roared.

The wolf-man rushed Delauncey, catching him off-guard. Ciaran slammed the wolf to the ground, tearing at him with renewed fury. Delauncey’s faded gold eyes rolled to fix themselves on Lucy at the same moment Ciaran wrapped his claws around his throat.

Ciaran threw the wolf across the clearing. Delauncey slammed into the same gate post Lucy had been tied to, so hard she heard his spine crack. The wolf-man bounded after him, leaping onto the top of the gate post. He surveyed the fallen wolf, and slowly, almost casually, reached down to strip a rusted length of metal from the ancient wall.

Lucy’s eyes widened. The ruined walls around the crumbling ruins—walls topped with metal—it was all so familiar.

She had wondered why Delauncey had brought her here. But she hadn’t questioned why Ciaran had known to come here, too.

Now, things were starting to fall into place.

Ciaran brandished the tarnished length of silver, holding it like a spear.

Delauncey’s eyes found Lucy’s again. She tried to look away, but her whole body was frozen, paralyzed on the cold stony ground. Delauncey kept her pinned under his pale gaze even as Ciaran drove the silver spear through his heart.

Lucy sagged. A tension that had been growing in every atom of her body since Delauncey bit her was suddenly gone, released—she was free. Free.

Her heart no longer had to protect itself from the invasive mark. It unfurled like a flower welcoming the spring.

Everyone who had ever threatened her and Ciaran’s happiness was dead. Lucy almost sobbed with relief. She watched as Ciaran descended from the wall, his head low as he inspected Delauncey’s body.

Then he raised his eyes.

“Lucy.”

His voice was rough, uncertain. His eyes went straight to the scar on her neck and narrowed with pain.

“Ciaran,” Lucy breathed. She walked towards him, feeling as though she was floating through thick mist. All she could see was Ciaran. Her mate.

“Lucy,” Ciaran said again, his voice tinged with desperation. “Lucy, you have to leave.”

Lucy’s stride faltered. The mist crept in at the edges of her vision, cloying and cold. “What?”

“Go,” Ciaran barked. His eyes were still locked on to the mark on her neck.

“Ciaran, look at me. Look me in the eyes. Tell me what’s going on—”

“Lucy!” Ciaran’s voice was a ragged roar, half-animal. “Get out of my sight! I can feel it—already—what Delauncey did—leave now, or I’ll kill you myself!”

Ice caught hold of Lucy’s lungs. The sky was clear, now, and silver moonlight poured down on Ciaran. His wolf-man form was magnificent in the silver light, powerful and ferocious—but this was the first time Lucy had felt real terror when she looked at him.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I—oh, god…”

Ciaran was hunched over, protecting his injured side. But as Lucy watched, his posture changed. His spine bent, his shoulders becoming heavier—and wider.

His whole body was transforming. Lucy stood frozen, eyes wide.

Black hair sprouted from the wolf-man’s skin and his face cracked and stretched, his jaw growing into a fang-filled muzzle. Ciaran’s back legs snapped, the knees turning backwards, and he fell to all fours.

In less than a minute, he was a true wolf.

Lucy was breathless with wonder. Ciaran’s wolf form was incredible. His pelt was midnight black, like a sky that had never seen the sun or stars. Muscles rippled under it, a promise of power that made Lucy tremble.

My mate, she thought, proud tears pricking at her eyes. This is everything he ever wanted. To be a true werewolf. To find his wolf at last.

The wolf-Ciaran raised his head. His eyes blazed gold. They were the same eyes Lucy had seen so many times before—but this time, they were different.

The wolf bared its teeth in a snarl. Lucy stepped backward, as though the noise was a solid force driving her away.

She searched the golden eyes for any trace of the man she loved, but found nothing. Only the animal. Only the wolf.

Lucy’s breaths became shallow. Panicked. She realized her mistake.

The wolf was not the man. The wolf was never the man. Ciaran had been clear about that. Even mated wolves avoided their human partners during the full moon, until they had given them the mark.

The mark made a human mate safe—to the wolf who gave it to them.

Not to any other wolf.

Lucy bore Delauncey’s mark. Ciaran’s wolf wouldn’t recognize her as Ciaran’s mate.

He only saw her as prey.

CHAPTER 12

There was no love in the wolf’s golden eyes. Only a predator’s cold assessment of its next victim.

Lucy ran.

Her feet slapped again the cold paving stones. She raced across the courtyard, over the scratched and broken remnants of Ciaran’s battle with Delauncey.

The clearing was too open. A deep, primitive part of her brain shrieked at her to get under cover. She was too vulnerable with nothing at her back, nothing to stop the wolf from catching her.

She wheeled to the left, putting a crumbling wall between herself and the wolf, and aimed for the trees.

The stones under her feet turned into thick leaf mold and the crackle of fallen needles and branches. Lucy adjusted her stride, driving her toes into the earth and pushing off.

Run. Run. Run. Ciaran’s final command thudded in her heartbeat. Run.

Lucy sprinted blindly through the forest. Low branches whipped against her arms and face, spurring her to move faster. Run.

A crashing noise behind her made her heart almost stop in her chest. She leapt forward, fear electrifying her limbs. Her mind was flat with terror.

Somewhere deep inside her, a tiny voice fought to be heard over her terrified heartbeat.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Focus.

You don’t want to die. Not now that Delauncey is gone.

Not at Ciaran’s hands.

Lucy’s lungs constricted, a keening sob squeezing out. Ciaran. What would he do when he woke up in the morning, human again, and found all his fears had come true?

Delauncey might be dead, but he could still win. Maybe that had been his plan all along. If he thought being exiled was as good as being dead…

He wanted to destroy Ciaran. And this will destroy him.

Her lungs were burning. The trees were getting thicker, growing more closely together. Lucy darted between two towering trunks and almost tripped over a protruding root. She recovered and pushed off another tree, changing direction but keeping her momentum.

Behind her, branches snapped.

Lucy felt like a deer on a nature program, fleeing her inevitable doom. The wolf would chase her until she was exhausted. He would catch her long before the moon set. He would—

No!

Lucy gritted her teeth, breathing hard. She needed a plan.

The house. The car—

Which way was the path? Lucy tracked back in her head. Turn right. The car, or the house, if she could get to them, might not keep the wolf out forever, but maybe for long enough. She only needed a few hours. Ciaran only needed a few hours. Then they would both be safe.

Bright, cold moonlight cut through the canopy. It painted the forest in black and white, a sharp, merciless landscape. Cold air burned in Lucy’s lungs. There was nothing in the world but the next step ahead of her, the wolf behind, and all around, the intense, resinous scent of pine.

And the moon. The moon, gazing through the canopy like a lidless, dispassionate eye, regarding the violent results of its power.

Lucy jumped over a fallen log, darted around a tree and found herself in open space. She whipped her head around. The path. She’d made it.

She lengthened her stride, no longer having to worry about crashing into a tree that might loom out of the darkness. The canopy was thinner, here, letting in more moonlight. The silver light poured down onto the path, like a river through the forest, leading her to safety.

The moonlight seemed to grow brighter as Lucy ran. Her heart leapt. Her lungs were no longer burning—they welcomed the freezing air, exhilarated by the chase.

The wound in her neck no longer hurt. Nor did the back of her skull, where the werewolves had cracked her head against the stone. She was strong, wild and free —

Marked.

Lucy stumbled. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t free—the only reason she had healed so quickly, that she could even run now, was because Delauncey had forced his claim on her. Was she even human anymore?

Her heart felt as though it was trying to rip itself out of her chest. She slowed, almost tripping over her own feet, and found herself at the end of the path. In front of her, moonlight pooled on open ground, on the shadowy building Crothers had taken her shirt into all those hours ago, on the abandoned car—and on the wolf.

Lucy shuddered to a halt. Her legs collapsed under her and she was on the ground, eyes wide, her chest an aching chasm of loss.

“Ciaran,” she gasped, her voice cracking.

The wolf stood up. It had been sitting on the road, waiting; now it prowled closer, its body low to the ground. Ready to attack.

Lucy tried to get away, but her legs wouldn’t move. The wolf got closer. Its golden eyes blazed. The moonlight was silver-cold but the wolf’s eyes were like the core of the sun, fierce and inhuman and just as merciless.

The wolf’s claws clicked on the stony ground as it stalked closer. It lowered its head. This close, Lucy could see its nostrils flare as it sniffed, taking her scent.

“Ciaran,” Lucy tried again, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Ciaran, it’s me. Lucy. You know me—you know you don’t want to hurt me…”

Her voice broke on a sob. There was no flicker of familiarity in the wolf’s eyes. Not the slightest hint of the man behind the beast.

The wolf lunged forward and Lucy jerked away, electrified. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she threw herself out of the wolf’s path. It spun around, snarling, as she clambered to her feet.

The car was less than twenty feet away. If it was unlocked—

Lucy flung herself towards the vehicle, her skin crawling at the snarls that followed her. She heard the scrape of claws on gravel and rolled sideways. The wolf’s leap took it over top of where she had just been and it twisted in mid-air, landing between her and the car.

Lucy panted. Everything seemed brighter than before, colors and outlines clearer than she had ever known. It couldn’t just be the moonlight. It was her. Changed.

Her lips curled back in a snarl of defiance. She hated what Delauncey had done to her, but she didn’t deserve to die for it.

She darted towards the wolf, feinting left and then launching herself to the right. The wolf’s jaws snapped shut inches from her elbow and she ran, toes digging into the gravel, arms pumping.

Lucy crashed into the front door, fumbling for the handle. Locked. No. Back door. Locked. Sobbing, she stumbled around the back of the car, pulling on the trunk release. Nothing gave. The car was locked up tight.

The wolf was following her. It moved slowly, muscles shifting under its gleaming pelt. It didn’t need to hurry. There was nowhere left for her to run.

Even knowing it was pointless, Lucy’s gaze anchored on towards the ruined building. There was no way she could reach it before the wolf got to her, let alone find a way inside.

But she couldn’t just wait here to die.

She pushed off from the car and sprinted. The wolf was behind her at once, snapping at her heels.

The building rose up in front of her, blotting out the moonlight. It was an old, wooden structure, long since abandoned to the elements. Broken windows caught the light. A tree had grown through the roof, cracking tiles and making the front of the building sag. The front door was gone, nothing left but a black hole gaping in the wall. Lucy stared at it, willing herself to run faster.

The empty doorway filled her vision. The gravel under her feet turned into overgrown grass, with the solid thud of paving stones beneath. She leapt up to the front step, leaning forward, reaching—

The wolf caught her by the leg, closing its jaws around her calf. It dragged her back and shook her, pulling her to the ground.

Lucy grabbed at the stone steps and tried to pull herself free, but it was no use. She screamed in pain as the wolf shook her like a terrier with a rat, driving its teeth deeper into her leg. It dragged her down the steps and stood over her, panting.

Lucy stared up at it in horror. Blood, her blood, dripped from its razor-sharp teeth. It lowered its head towards her again and she cried out in terror, scrambling to get away, but the wolf planted one massive paw on her chest and held her in place.

Lucy’s heart was thundering in her ears, so fast that one beat merged into the next. Her lungs were screaming for air but she couldn’t fill them, not with the weight of the wolf on her chest. She could do nothing but watch as it lowered its muzzle to sniff at her, bloody teeth bared.

It shoved its nose against her bleeding leg and Lucy jerked, the pain overriding her survival instincts. The wolf growled and licked at her blood, then swung around to stare into her eyes.

Lucy lay transfixed. The beast’s eyes seemed to grow until they filled the world. She couldn’t think of running anymore, or her death, or anything except the blazing golden depths of the wolf’s gaze.

The cold of the earth below her, the bite of the icy air, even the pain in her leg faded away. She was floating in silver mist, and the wolf’s eyes were drawing her in.

She barely noticed as the wolf took its leg off her chest. As it crouched over her, jaw open wide, and bit down on her throat.

Lucy screamed. Pain ripped through her, worse than anything she’d ever experienced. Worse than Delauncey’s bite.

Ciaran, no! she cried out in her mind. Ciaran…

Her heart broke. She was about to die—but Ciaran would have to live with what he had done.

The wolf bit harder. Lucy couldn’t breathe. Blood spurted from her neck, steaming in the icy night air. The wolf growled and bit down again, deeper, until Lucy was convinced its teeth were about to meet inside her.

Her vision was fading, the silver light going black and blood-red. A coppery tang filled her nose and mouth as her life’s blood fled her body. Her lips moved one last time.

“Ciaran…”

Her head fell back. The ground felt soft. Everything felt soft, and warm, and very far away. She was dimly aware of movement above her. Light fading into darkness. The ground moved under her, or was she the one moving? Floating…

Hot breath on her skin as something, someone, nuzzled against her wounds. A warm tongue lapping at the blood and then rough fur against her skin, the comforting heat of a huge body curling around hers.

Lucy’s heartbeat faded to a whisper, then nothing.

CHAPTER 13

Golden light woke Lucy. It seeped under her eyelids, tempting her back into the world.

Her eyelids fluttered. One eye cracked open, then the other, and she blinked, willing the world back into focus.

Where am I?

She was lying on a wooden floor. It was thick with dust, except for a swathe in front of her where the dust had been swept away. Lucy followed the clean-swept floorboards back to the gaping doorway, frowning.

Black stains stretched across the boards. No, not black—red. Blood.

Lucy trembled. She remembered now. Blood. Her blood. So much of it…

She raised one hand to her neck. Dried blood flaked away under her fingers. Under it, she found new ridges of scar tissue. She traced the edges of one puncture wound. It was an inch across.

How did I survive that?

A low noise caught her attention. She turned her eyes towards it, still too enmeshed in sleep to sit up. Ciaran was lying across the room, his back to her.

He was human, his pale skin burnished gold by the early-morning sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The floorboards around him were smeared with blood and dust; Lucy could almost see his movements, how he had twisted across the floor in the grip of his transformation.

Now he was waking up. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his head hanging. Lucy saw his brow furrow in pain—then his eyes shot open.

He looked down. His hands were covered in her blood. His arms and chest were drenched in it. His face…

Lucy watched horror dawn in his dark eyes.

“Oh, god,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “What have I done?”

Lucy sat up. “Ciaran,” she cried out, before her throat closed over with emotion.

Ciaran stared at her. His whole body turned to her, like a flower reaching for the sun, and then he was crawling across the filthy floor to her, gathering her into his arms. He fell over her, covering her body with his own.

Lucy lay in his embrace, feeling his heartbeat thrum against her skin. “I’m fine,” she said, pulling him closer to her. She pressed her face under his jaw, wound her fingers in his hair, touched as much of him as she could. Her Ciaran. Her mate. “I’m fine. I’m fine…”

“How…” Ciaran’s fingers found the scars on her neck. “I remember—I thought I had killed you…” Horror filled his voice. “The wolf—oh, god, Lucy. I was there, behind its eyes, but I couldn’t stop it. It smelled Delauncey on you. I couldn’t…”

His arms tightened around her and he nuzzled against her face, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. Their breath mingled.

“I thought I had lost you,” Lucy whispered.

Ciaran opened his eyes. “If I had killed you last night… there would be nothing of me left. I am nothing without you. My heart. My life.” He let out a ragged breath. “My mate.”

Lucy stroked his cheek. “But you didn’t kill me. I thought you were going to, but you…” Her hand fell to the curved line of scars across her neck and shoulder, and her eyes widened.

She remembered every puncture wound from Ciaran’s fangs. They were seared into her memory. And each of the scars on her skin lined up with one of those fangs…

“Delauncey’s mark,” she said, her voice tripping over the monster’s name, “it’s gone.”

Ciaran pulled her hand away, rubbing his thumb over the line of scars. “There’s only one set of teeth-marks here. The wolf…”

“You stole me back.” Happy tears filled Lucy’s eyes. “You took me from him. You saved me, just like I knew you would.”

Ciaran fell on her scars, covering them with kisses. He scraped his teeth against the ridged marks, and Lucy’s heart beat faster. Electricity danced across her skin. Ciaran’s gentle caresses felt like a careful reenactment of his bite the night before, a loving reinforcement of his claim.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice light with wonder. “Mine. I never thought it would be possible.”

His kisses grew more forceful. He wound his fingers deeper into Lucy’s hair and turned her face to meet his. “Mine,” he growled again. His free hand stroked down her side as he kissed her, hard and insistent.

Lucy’s body responded immediately, but her stomach rebelled. The room was full of the stink of blood, and as her body heated up, the scent seemed to increase, a sickly, coppery tang of fear and pain.

Ciaran seemed to sense her hesitation. He ran one hand up her chest, scratching off rivulets of dried blood. Arms around her waist, he stood, pulling her with him.

“Come,” he said, holding her close. “There is a pump outside.”

He picked her up and Lucy relaxed into the curve of his chest, dropping her head to rest on his shoulder. Something inside her quailed at the thought of being apart from him now. She craved his touch, his solid, reassuring presence against her body, under her hands.

Her fingers brushed against more dried blood, and she shivered.

Ciaran walked confidently across the room, shoving aside a broken door and stepping out into the sunlight. Lucy blinked. They were in an overgrown yard. Knee-high grass filled a square space between low stone walls, growing highest and thickest around an old-fashioned water pump in the center of the yard.

“How did you know there was a pump out here?” she asked as Ciaran set her gently on her feet. She moved with him as he stepped towards the water pump, keeping one hand glued to his back. She didn’t want to let him go, even for a moment.

The vibration of his voice thrummed against her palm as he spoke.

“I grew up here.”

Lucy’s fingers twitched involuntarily. She wouldn’t have thought anyone had lived here in many years. The house was derelict, all but destroyed by the elements.

Ciaran chuckled at her surprise.

“My family lived here for generations. In the manor hall, originally, but that fell into disrepair a hundred years ago. My parents and I lived in the smaller house, here at the edge of the forest. I can’t say I’ve kept the place in good shape…” His back muscles tensed. “Come here.”

Lucy obediently stood in front of him, and watched as Ciaran worked the pump. Metal screeched against metal, but eventually a stream of fresh clear water splashed down into the grass.

“Kneel,” commanded Ciaran, his voice warm with passion. Lucy knelt, hissing as icy water splashed over the back of her neck.

Ciaran knelt in front of her, sluicing water over her neck and shoulders. He twisted a handful of grass into a rope and scrubbed the blood from her skin.

The water was so cold it hurt, but Lucy wouldn’t have moved for all the world. Her skin thrilled at Ciaran’s touch and her heart—her heart felt as though it might burst from love.

She looked up at Ciaran. His face was tense with concentration—but there was something else, too. Something that stiffened his jaw and locked his lips in a thin straight line.

He was still covered in Lucy’s blood. It had dried in tracks down his neck and chest, and darkened the stubble around his mouth.

Lucy shivered, not from the cold, but from the knowledge that the scent of dried blood would be so much stronger to his enhanced werewolf senses.

Without taking her eyes from his face, Lucy reached out blindly and tore away a handful of grass. She wetted it under the pump and ran it across Ciaran’s chest, washing him clean as he washed her.

When Ciaran’s chest and neck were free of blood she dropped the grass and used her hands to clean his face. Ciaran’s hands slipped behind her and he pulled off her bra and dipped his head to suck on her nipple.

Desire flared red-hot deep inside Lucy. She arched her back, gasping as Ciaran bit down lightly. His fingers tugged at her pants and then cold air was flowing over more of her skin as he pulled them down.

He pushed her, gently, and she fell, landing on her back in the grass. Ciaran pulled on the pump again and ice-cold water streamed over her belly and between her legs, making her squeal. She was so hot, she was surprised the water didn’t explode into steam as it struck her.

Ciaran removed her blood- and water-soaked pants in one smooth motion. He sluiced clean water over her legs, removing the last of the blood.

Lucy lay before him, naked, wearing nothing but his mark. Her body, and Ciaran’s were glistening with water. She stared at him shamelessly. She was his—and that meant he was hers. This man, this werewolf, was bound to her forever. Her mate. Her own.

He was glorious. Muscles rippled under his skin, a silent promise of the power contained even in his human form. Dark stubble gave his face a dangerous look, one his eyes echoed, black as jet and fathomless as the ocean.

Water trickled down over his collarbone, down his pecs and abs, collecting in the sharply defined V that led between his legs. His cock jutted out from a thatch of black hair, thick and ready.

The grass was soft under Lucy’s back. She spread her legs. “Please,” she begged. “I need you. I need to know—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. Between one heartbeat and the next he was on her, his body hot and wet against hers. His cock plunged between her legs and Lucy’s whole bod tensed with sensation. Pleasure rolled through her.

Ciaran held her hands to the ground above her head, staring down at her with blazing passion in his eyes. He thrust forward, pinning her to the ground.

“Know that you are mine,” he growled, finishing her sentence for her. “Mine to keep. Mine to use and pleasure. My mate.”

He thrust into her again and Lucy screamed. The closeness of death, the terror of the night before—her body craved touch, connection, proof that they had both survived.

“My mate,” she agreed, her voice hitching as he filled her again. Sparks danced deep inside her, tantalizing, ready to ignite. “You saved me—”

“I’ll always protect you.”

Lucy gasped, drowning in Ciaran’s eyes as pleasure burst inside her. She keened out loud, her whole body arching, and Ciaran groaned above her, emptying himself inside her.

He stayed on top of her, the weight and heat of his body more reassuring than any words could be. Lucy nestled her head under his chin, breathing in his scent.

“What happens next?” she asked. “You killed the others…”

She trailed off. Ciaran slipped one hand under her head, the other around her waist. He was still inside her. This was the closeness she needed, the carnal connection her heart and body craved. But her mind still feared for the future.

Ciaran sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. “I was not the only one seeking the escapees, sweetheart. Soon, one of the pack officers will realize what I did, and track them to ground here on my family lands. Don’t worry. There is no punishment for doing what I did. Delauncey and the other signed their death warrants the moment they took you.”

He rolled over, pulling Lucy on top of him.

“Until they arrive, I have you all to myself.”

Gold flared in the black depths of his eyes, and he pulled Lucy into another kiss.

CHAPTER 14

The Pack officials arrived that afternoon and left soon after, three body-bags piled in the back of their reinforced van. Lucy was impressed. She was still naked when they turned up, but none of them so much as glanced below her collarbones.

Probably because Ciaran would have ripped them limb from limb.

The officials had brought clothing for her, but she ignored it. With Ciaran, she felt more comfortable naked than clothed. She still craved his touch, and clothing would only get in the way.

More importantly, the officials had left food. Ciaran ate his steaks raw, but built a fire in the courtyard and seared slices of meat for Lucy.

Lucy sat on his lap as he fed her. The afternoon was cool, and the sun would set soon, but the fire warmed her bare skin. As was Ciaran.

She leaned into him, glorying in his closeness. He had been all gentleness since they bathed that morning, careful of her every need.

But soon, night would fall. And the moon would rise.

Lucy looked up. The sky had been clear all day, no sign of the previous day’s clouds. When the moon rose, there would be nothing for it to hide behind.

Ciaran felt her tense with trepidation. He ran his hand down her side, resting it on her hip. “Frightened, sweetheart?”

She looked up into his eyes. They reflected the firelight—and glowed gold, deep below the surface.

“A little,” she admitted.

He pulled her closer. “Perhaps you should be,” he murmured. “Because I need you to do something for me, Lucy, something I do not think you will like.” He bent his lips to her ear. “I need to you run for me.”

The hairs on Lucy’s arms stood on end. “Do you mean…”

“Yes, Lucy.” Ciaran nibbled at the side of her neck, above the mark. “Like last night.”

Lucy shivered. The world seemed to creep away, darkness closing in at the edges of her vision.

Ciaran had marked her. She was his. But what had happened the night before still terrified her. She could barely stand to think about it: Ciaran chasing her, crippling her. Trying to kill her.

There was no point lying to herself. Even Ciaran admitted it: she could see it in the shadows that passed over his face when he looked at the pockmarked scars on her leg. The wound had healed fast, as the mate-bond increased her body’s ability to recover from injuries, but the scars would remain.

The wolf, Ciaran, had meant to kill her. Whatever instinct had led it to mark her instead of rip out her throat, it had been a last-minute thing. Maybe it had been the taste of her blood; maybe the wolf sensed Ciaran’s claim on her, beneath Delauncey’s mark.

 Lucy’s fate had balanced on a knife-point that only by chance tipped the right way.

She gulped. “You’ll transform again tonight?”

“Yes. Fully, I think. Now that I have taken my wolf form once, I can feel it inside me, waiting. The moon will call it out.”

“And you want to chase me.”

“Yes. We will start before moonrise.” He murmured in her ear again. “I need this from you, Lucy.”

She took a deep breath. “Then I’ll do it.”

Even though just thinking about it made her heart freeze with terror.

***

She stood at the edge of the pine forest, her skin alight with fear.

Ciaran was behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I know this is difficult for you. But I know you, Lucy. You were strong enough for this even before the mark.”

“I’m not imagining it, am I? The mark has changed me.”

Ciaran chuckled. “It hasn’t turned you into a werewolf, if that’s what you’re wondering. Just made you stronger, faster, and increased your body’s ability to heal itself.” He swept her hair aside and nuzzled her neck. “It will make the chase so much more exciting.”

Lucy shivered despite herself, and Ciaran bit down gently.

“I can smell your fear, sweetheart.”

“I am afraid,” Lucy admitted. She looked up above the tree line, where the sky was already darkening. “This isn’t like one of our games. It’s too much—too much like last night.”

“I know.” Ciaran nipped her again, sharper this time, and she gasped. “But you must do it. For me.”

Lucy bowed her head. Ciaran’s voice was tight with some hidden emotion. She knew part of what he was not saying: that she needed to write over the horrific events of the night before, replace them with the joy of the hunt.

It terrified her, but it had to be done. She was Ciaran’s mate; she couldn’t live in fear of his wolf.

But there was something else, as well. Something else Ciaran wasn’t saying. She took a deep breath, and the scent of pines sank into her lungs.

I have to do this for him.

Ciaran stepped back. For a moment, his touch lingered on the back of Lucy’s neck, and then he released her. “Run,” he commanded.

Lucy ran.

The air was cool, not yet as bitingly cold as it had been the night before. Her heart hammered in her chest, beating faster from fear, not exertion. Every step brought her closer to the terror of the previous night. Of Ciaran, her Ciaran, hunting her down.

This is a game, she told herself, her lungs constricting. The hunt. The chase. You’ve played it before. Don’t be afraid.

But she was. Visions of the wolf bearing down on her filled her mind. The memory of his teeth clamping down on her leg made her almost stumble, phantom pain shooting through her limb.

Just run. Just run.

She concentrated on her breathing, forcing control into her panicked gasps. Just run. She was on the track, but the forest was all around her, pressing against her sides and covering the sky. She was half-convinced that if she looked back, she would see trees growing over the path in her wake, boxing her in.

Trapping her in the forest forever.

She felt the moment Ciaran started to chase her. He made no noise, but somehow her heart knew. Her pulse fluttered and she looked up through the canopy, to the darkening sky.

Not even the stars were out yet.

A sudden burst of adrenaline drove Lucy on. Ciaran was chasing her. Not the wolf, not Delauncey, not some monster from her nightmares—Ciaran. Her mate.

Fire burned through her veins with every stride. She blazed through the forest, barely feeling the stones and pine needles under her feet.

She increased her pace. Her arms and legs were pumping, but not tired—she felt like she could run for hours. For miles.

There was a rustle in the brush beside her. Lucy glanced sideways, glimpsing gold eyes staring back at her from the shadows. Her heart tripped over itself, but her feet kept their pace.

Ciaran was a flicker at the corner of her eye, a wildfire licking at the edges of her mind. If he caught her, he would consume her. Not kill her, not harm her—but claim her, take her, use her completely. Here, in the cold night, where the air was rich with the scent of pine.

Lucy’s terror washed away and she laughed out loud, flinging her head back to the sky. Now she understood what was happening. Now she remembered.

The pine forest, the sharp chill of the air, even the moon that would soon hang like a silver eye above her—it was all from her dream. The dream that had haunted her every night since Ciaran first took her as his own.

This was what she had been waiting for. And somehow, it had been waiting for her. This forest. This night.

Her body sang with exhilaration. She remembered the first time she’d had this dream. She had been frightened, then, confused by her body’s response to Ciaran’s violent passion.

Not now. Oh, she would run. There was so much more pleasure in submission when it was truly won. But when Ciaran caught her…

Excitement pulsed between her legs. Part of her, a very large part, wanted to fall, to lie down and give in—but that would be no fun.

A twig cracked to her left and Lucy spun away, leaping off the path and into the forest.

She darted through a gap in the trees and fled deeper into the woods, ducking under low-hanging branches and around thick patches of undergrowth.

Ciaran was gaining on her. She could hear him. He moved quietly for a man of his size, but not silently. There was always some evidence of his presence. A broken twig. The creak of a branch as he pushed past it. The soft brush of pine needles against his skin.

Or maybe he could have been silent, and these small noises were for her. Warnings. Temptations. So she would know how close he was to taking her.

She grabbed hold of a trunk and used it to swing herself around, changing direction again. Away from her pursuer.

She ran. In her mind, the moon was already overhead, full and shining white. She didn’t fear the creature behind her. She loved him. Her body, her soul—everything that she was, was his.

Her foot caught under a stray root, and she fell.

CHAPTER 15

Lucy hit the ground and rolled, clambering to her feet again. Too late. Ciaran burst out of the forest beside her, slamming her into the ground.

His weight forced the air from her lungs. Lucy gasped, fighting for air, as he flipped her over. The ground was a deep cold that went straight to her bones, and pine needles dug into her flesh.

Ciaran knelt over her, an animal grin on his face. He put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her down, until pine needles cut into her like knifes.

Lucy cried out, arching away from the ground. Ciaran pounced, ravaging her exposed nipples with ferocious passion. He bit down, and Lucy screamed, delicious pain burning a path from her breast directly to her core.

She writhed, kicking up leaf mold and spiky needles, but Ciaran didn’t let her move. He ran one hand down her side, scraping his nails against her skin. Lucy moaned and then gasped as his hand dove between her legs.

He teased her, rubbing his thumb over her clit so tantalizingly slowly she didn’t notice his other hand moving. He slid one finger between her folds and closed his hand around her neck at the same moment, stifling her gasp of pleasure.

Lucy choked, her lover’s name on her lips. She moved her mouth silently and Ciaran gazed down at her, his dark eyes hooded with lust.

“My beautiful mate,” he growled. “Do you remember the first time we met, when I asked you who broke you in?”

Lucy tried to answer, but he was still cutting off her air. She nodded, and he shifted his thumb, stroking it over the pulse in her neck.

“I wondered who had broken you in,” Ciaran murmured, answering his own question. He tightened his grip on Lucy’s neck and her mouth opened automatically, gasping for air. “These last few months have been difficult, I know. But now that’s all going to change. I can break you in properly, the way you deserve.”

Lucy’s eyes widened as he lowered his head, claiming her mouth with a wild kiss. He bit savagely down on her lower lip and she whimpered, breathless, her world narrowing until there was nothing but his touch and the burning pain it left on her body.

Her pulse beat under his thumb and he pressed down harder, holding her life in his hand. Lucy’s mind began to spin apart. Darkness threatened to overwhelm her.

Ciaran kicked her legs apart and she succumbed, weak in his grasp. He positioned himself at her entrance. Lucy’s world was dissolving. She felt him press against her, into her, and then he thrust and she screamed.

She was slick with desire already but Ciaran managed to draw pain with his assault on her nonetheless. He thrust into her again, brutally fast and hard, and she drew breath to scream again, to cry out—

Too late, she realized he had released her neck. But only for a moment. She stared up at him, eyes wide. He let her breathe long enough that the shadows at the edges of her vision drew back, and then choked her again, cutting off her moans of pleasure.

The night was darkening around them, but Lucy couldn’t tear her eyes off Ciaran. His dark eyes flashed as he watched her fight for breath, her chest jerking as her lungs desperately sought life-giving oxygen.

Lucy’s frame shuddered under Ciaran’s powerful body. Sensation flooded through her, body and soul, a wildfire that whited out her mind. The vice-like grip on her throat loosened and she sucked in air. For one moment, the world seemed lighter, and then her whole body bucked as Ciaran closed off her throat again. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he fucked her harder.

And all the time he was kissing her, biting her lips, and ravaging her with his cock. He pulled out and thrust in all the way, and this time Lucy screamed even through his choke-hold on her throat.

She couldn’t be imagining it. His cock felt larger, thicker, forcing itself even deeper inside of her. Her eyes flew open.

Ciaran was changing above her. Gold kindled in the depths of his jet-black eyes and blazed until the only black left was his pupils, wide with lust. His face seemed to flex in the moonlight, cheekbones becoming sharper, a hint of the animal behind the man.

His body became heavier. He crushed Lucy into the ground, helpless under the powerful muscles of his wolf-man form.

Lucy’s eyes were locked on his. Hypnotized. He grinned, fangs flashing in the moonlight that was just starting to peek through the canopy, and thrust into her again.

He was at least twice as thick as before. Lucy’s body ached as she stretched to fit him in. He pulled back and she inhaled raggedly, but he barely gave her time to recover before pistoning into her again.

Lucy kicked out, instinctively trying to push herself away from the brutal invasion. But there was nowhere to go. Ciaran held her in place by her neck, claws springing from the ends of his fingers and digging into her throat.

He lowered his head and hissed in her ear, “Worried you’re going to break, sweetheart? Try that again and we’ll see how delicate your body really is.”

Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. She could feel the pulse in her neck, battering frantically against Ciaran’s clawed grip. He wouldn’t need to choke her to end her life. One swipe of those claws and her life would bleed out on the forest floor.

Ciaran gripped her hip with his other hand, his claws digging deep into her flesh. Lucy whined as he punctured her skin, drawing blood. The pain sent white flashes of heat through her body, so intense she was caught unawares when he buried his full length inside her.

Lucy screamed. Ciaran’s cock stretched her so tight, she was sure she would break. Every nerve inside her cried out for mercy as he plunged in again and again, assaulting her so violently she thought she would split in half.

She gasped, every breath a ragged plea for mercy, but all that came out was Please, please—and her begging only made Ciaran more brutal. He slammed into her, and as she cried out he tightened his clawed fingers around her throat.

Lucy was helpless beneath him. He slammed into her, again and again, bone-crushingly powerful. His cock drove mercilessly into Lucy, deeper than should have been possible. Her legs began to twitch as she lost control of her muscles.

Her whole body writhed under Ciaran’s assault. Pleasure surged inside her, but the swell of pain was just as powerful. She was slick with desire, dripping wet for her monstrous mate, and he took advantage of it, thrusting faster, harder, grinning down at her as he choked her—

White light burst behind Lucy’s eyes as her insides melted in magma-hot orgasm. Pleasure burnt its way through her core, so sharp it hurt. Lucy cried out and Ciaran roared above her, his yell of victory transforming into a howl.

His massive cock flexed as he came, one final assault on Lucy’s sensitized core. Tears sprang from her eyes as he released her throat and she gulped in air, losing all control of her body as Ciaran filled her with his seed.

He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her face up to his. “Do you feel that, my precious mate?” He jerked his hips against hers, locking his cock inside her. “Now that you’re mine, your body will welcome my seed. We will build a Pack together.”

Lucy’s eyelids fluttered. She felt wrung out, overwhelmed by sensation. “A Pack?”

Ciaran rolled onto his side, holding her to his chest. Now that he was sated, he was all gentleness again. “Yes, my love.”

Lucy pressed her face into his chest, inhaling his scent. The fresh smell of his sweat filled her mind, and something deep inside her relaxed. This is home, she thought. This is where I belong.

Ciaran stroked her hair. “I told you back at the safehouse, didn’t I, how damaging the loss of Pack can be to a werewolf?”

“I remember.” Lucy wound her arms around her mate’s chest. He was still buried deep inside her, and she clung to him, knowing he was entrusting her with one of his deepest secrets.

“My Pack used to be a strong one. We owned all this land, split between many branches of the family. Some packs live all in one great manor hall, but we built our own homes, sharing the land.”

He sighed. “That was a hundred years ago, or more. I was the only child born of my parents’ generation. My father had two sisters, but they both died young. And then my parents…”

Lucy held Ciaran as tension shook his muscles. She kissed his chest, and pulled herself further up, laying a trail of kisses along his collarbone and up along his jaw. “Oh, Ciaran. I’m so sorry.”

He had told her he grew up in the ruined house, the same one his wolf had dragged her into the night before. It clearly hadn’t been lived in for decades. There could only be one reason for that.

“They died when I was young,” Ciaran explained, his voice tense with hidden grief. “Oh, they left me well provided for, but without my own Pack… I think that was why I could never find my wolf form. Not until you.”

He tipped her head back and kissed her, deep and long.

“My mate,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Mine. Forever. And we will build a Pack together.”

“Yes,” Lucy replied, lost in his eyes. Her life unfurled in her mind. Mate to the Alpha of an ancient Pack, bringing new life and power to the bloodline.

Ciaran drew away from her, separating their bodies as the moon emerged fully above the canopy. His wolf-man form stretched and cracked, flowing into the full wolf.

Lucy sat up carefully. Her heart still quailed at the sight of Ciaran’s wolf; its rage, its bloody violence, was still too close for her to forget.

But there was no cruelty in its eyes tonight. The wolf-Ciaran turned to look at her, and licked her face gently. Lucy flung her arms around him.

“Oh, Ciaran, my darling,” she murmured. “Take me home.”

She climbed up onto his back, resting her head on his neck. He would carry her back to the ruined house, she knew; and in time, they would rebuild it. But really, she was already home. With her mate.

Forever.

A note from Juno Blake

Thank you for buying my book! I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like me to email you when I have a new book out, please click here to sign up for my newsletter. You can also find me on Facebook!

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