TRAPPED BY THE WOLF

By Juno Blake

© 2017

All rights reserved

CHAPTER 1

This was a mistake, Lucy thought grimly as rain battered her helmet.

When she’d set off on her motorbike early in the morning, it had been cloudy, the slightest drizzle softening the air. Lucy had been excited: if the drizzle cleared, the towering clouds would make an incredible backdrop for photos of the rugged Northern European coastline she was exploring.

Instead, the rain had gotten heavier. And heavier. And now…

“Shit!” Lucy yelled as her motorbike skidded on the slick surface. She fought to regain control of the bike and came to a stop at the edge of the road. Panting, she looked around.

She was in the middle of nowhere. The road she was driving on was the only sign of civilization from here to the horizon. The ground fell away on either side of the road in tumbles of rock and windswept grass, down to the rain-lashed sea.

The rain was so heavy it was hard to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. Lucy squinted through her helmet visor, scrubbing at the glass in a vain attempt to keep the rain off long enough for her to look around properly.

Lucy peered through the grey sheets of rain. Is that…?

She wiped her visor clean again, hardly believing her eyes. Out in the rain, seeming to rise up from the ocean itself, was an enormous castle.

But it can’t be, Lucy thought. How could I not have heard about this? An ancient castle, all the way out here on the coast, in the middle of nowhere?

Lucy tried to remember the map she’d pored over when she was planning this trip. She had spent years saving, and reading every travel book and blog she could find, to make this the adventure of a lifetime.

Lucy frowned. She had been focusing on places of great natural beauty to photograph, but there was no way she would have forgotten seeing a castle in the tourist brochures for the area. Seriously… a castle!

Her fingers were itching to photograph it already. Here, from the road, with its tall towers shrouded in rain, the castle looked like some Atlantean fortress rising from the waves. If she could just get a bit closer… What an amazing picture that would be. My best so far.

She dismissed the idea with a rueful shake of her head. Just riding in this rain was difficult enough—she didn’t want to get her photography gear soaked, too. Even the best shot wasn’t worth ruining her gear.

But that didn’t mean she was going to turn her back on the mysterious castle. It had been hours since she saw any buildings, and Lucy had been on the lookout for somewhere to hide from the rain. Maybe she couldn’t photograph the castle, but at least she could take shelter in it. Even if it was derelict, there might be a dry corner in the ruins for Lucy to hide in until the worst of the storm passed.

She started the engine and rode forward slowly, watching out for the road leading out to the castle. There must be a driveway somewhere, she thought. It can’t actually be rising up from the waves… right?

Even though she kept her eyes peeled, she almost missed it.

The turnoff wasn’t signposted, and it was almost invisible behind a tall thicket of wind-swept brambles. Lucy pushed her way past the brambles, glad she’d worn sturdy pants and her leather jacket.

The rain pummeled her helmet and shoulders as she rode carefully up the old road to the castle. The road was paved with large, flat stones, not asphalt like the motorway she’d been driving along before. Some of the stones were cracked, and Lucy had to take care not to get her wheels stuck.

She was so intently focused on the road that she didn’t notice how close she was getting to the castle. When she did finally look up, it was already looming above her.

The sight took her breath away. The local stone here was granite, hard and grey as the sea, but the stone the castle had been built from was darker, almost black.

It wasn’t derelict. This close, she could see the castle was completely intact, a dark, forbidding fortress standing strong behind heavy metal gates. On either side of the gate, tall walls topped with gleaming metal spikes disappeared into the pounding rain, encircling the castle grounds. A shining chain and padlock held the gate closed. It was obviously new… and equally as clearly meant to keep people out.

Lucy chewed her lip. She’d been to plenty of old castles and stately homes while she was traveling around the UK. But this place was different. There were no signs encouraging her to part with painful amounts of money, for a start.

And she was sure there hadn’t been anything about castles in the tourist brochures she’d read in the last town.

Doubt twisted in her stomach. An abandoned castle was one thing. She’d even be happy to camp out in a tourist trap and play the idiot tourist if anyone came along to throw her out.

But if someone lived here?

Normal people don’t live in castles.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She shook herself.

You’re being paranoid. Normal people don’t live in castles, sure, but I bet super-rich humans do. Or… aristocracy? They still have kings and queens around here, don’t they? Some countries, at least.

No. Lucy wasn’t an idiot. She knew what sorts of people lived in places like this. It was a stereotype… because it was true.

She raised one hand to her throat before she remembered she had lost her silver necklace a few countries back. She hadn’t worried about it at the time—she hadn’t planned on being anywhere she would need it—but…

Werewolves. Vampires. Other creatures of the night. They were more common here in the old country than they were back in America—and more dangerous, if you believed the stories. Their culture here was thousands of years old.

And part of that culture was preying on humans.

A droplet of icy rain made its way under Lucy’s collar, making her shiver.

I’m going to freeze out here, she thought. It’s either this, or hiding behind a handy rock until the storm passes. It’s too dangerous for me to keep riding in this weather—I’ll end up spread like jelly over the road.

Lucy stared up at the gates. Even knowing the potential danger, she couldn’t help looking at the castle with longing. Walls. Ceilings. Dryness.

And if someone lived there—someone human—then there would maybe even be a shower. Warm towels.

Lucy bit her lip.

The castle was well-protected. The wall around its grounds was taller than she was, and the gates were a complicated wrought-iron design. They were also held together with a thick iron chain and padlock.

She rattled them experimentally. The dull metal gleamed in the rain, and Lucy’s eyes widened.

Not iron after all. Silver.

This changed everything. She wouldn’t be breaking into a potential supernatural’s lair; she would be breaking into a castle fortified against the dangerous creatures.

Lucy looked back over her shoulder. She could hardly see the main road from here, and the thought of trying to find anywhere else to hide from the storm made her heart sink.

She got off her bike and walked up and down in front of the gate. All that silver fretwork should make for great handholds and footholds, she told herself.

She raised one hand and grabbed a cold metal curl. Her leather biking gloves gave her a secure grip.

I suppose it’s technically trespassing… but I really, really don’t want to ride on that motorway any longer. It’s way too dangerous in this weather. And it’s not like I can stay out here in the storm. Besides, if anyone is in there, I can look after myself.

Lucy stomped her heavy boots on the ground, heaving the reassuring clang, and pinched back a smile. Excuses, excuses. You just hope you’ll be able to find a hot shower.

Lucy raised her other hand, finding another secure handhold. Besides, the place looks empty. No lights or anything. Whoever owns this castle can’t be home.

She made up her mind.

It’s not like I can carry the bike over with me… but there’s no way I’m leaving my gear out here. Lucy carefully secured her camera bag around her neck, and then much less conscientiously slung her rucksack over her shoulders. It was awkward, but she managed to climb over the gate, only slipping the last few feet to the ground.

“That wasn’t so hard,” she said to herself—and regretted it a moment later. There was a cracking sound overhead and the rain upgraded itself from “downpour” to “torrential”.

The path up to the castle was as cracked and broken as the rest of the road. Swearing, Lucy dodged puddles as she hurried up to the big main doors. She was already soaked, and cold, and she didn’t want to add a sprained ankle to the list. She’d been traveling through Europe for six months on her own now, and didn’t want her journey to come to an end—or even a pause—just because she slipped on a stupid paving stone.

She didn’t think to wonder why the gates, and silver lock, were in such better condition than the road.

The castle’s double front doors were black wood with wrought iron—silver?—designs on the handle and knocker. Lucy raised her hand to knock but to her surprise, the moment she touched the door it swung open.

Eyes wide, she eagerly stepped inside out of the rain. A heavy silence struck her, and it took her a second to realize what it was: the absence of the sound of water beating down on her helmet.

She quickly pulled her helmet off, wincing as cold water dripped down the back of her neck.

“Eugh,” she muttered, shaking her hair loose.

Lucy looked around for somewhere to put her helmet, and set it down on a table to one side of the main doors. On a sudden thought, she ran her gloved finger across the tabletop. It came away clean.

No dust, she thought. Is there someone living here after all?

“Hello?” she called. There was no response except the echo of her own voice: Hello? Hello?

Lucy waited a few more minutes before deciding that the house must be empty. I guess they forgot to lock up the front door before they left, she thought. Or whoever comes in to dust left it open. Lucky me.

She shivered. Hopefully they left the linen closet full, as well. I really need to dry off.

She stripped off her gloves and flexed her fingers, which were stiff from the cold and her long ride. After a moment’s thought, she pulled off her boots, as well. The hardwood floor of the entranceway was spotless, and she’d already tracked in mud from the path. There was no reason to make more work for the cleaner, or risk marking the hardwood floors with her nailed boots. She stood them tidily by the door, next to the table where she laid her helmet and rucksack.

Twisting her wet hair back over her shoulders, Lucy began to explore. Even with the rain, it was still light outside, but the windows were so small that it was almost pitch-dark inside the castle. Lucy pulled out her emergency pocket flashlight and switched it on.

What she saw took her breath away. The entrance hall was huge. Its paneled walls stretched far up into the shadows, where she could see only a hint of wooden beams crossing the ceiling. Great brass chandeliers hung from the beams, green with age and heavy with cobwebs.

She walked forward, mouth open, her feet silent on the hardwood floor. An enormous staircase swept up from the far end of the entranceway, leading to a mezzanine floor and walkways that clung to the four outer walls of the hall. Her little flashlight glinted off more brass candelabras, but wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the gloom.

Something skittered in the shadows and she swung around, the thin beam of her flashlight bobbing madly. There was nothing there.

Lucy took a deep breath, willing her pounding heart to slow down. It was probably just a rat, she told herself. I guess I’m not the only one trying to find shelter from the storm.

She turned back to the staircase. She guessed there must be doors leading off the main hall on this level, but that staircase was too much of a temptation to resist.

It was easy to imagine what the hall would look like with the chandeliers lit, dripping golden light down onto the staircase, and more lights burning in the alcoves on every wall. Lucy knew the old candles and torches had probably long since been replaced by electric lights, but in her imagination a thousand tiny flames flickered and danced, filling the hall with warm, romantic light.

Halfway up the stairs, she turned and looked back. The room behind her was thick with shadows, but just for a moment, she thought she saw something moving in them. She shivered.

All the evidence suggested the castle was empty. There were no lights on, no murmurs of distant conversation or a TV, no sign that there was anyone here but herself. So why was she so jumpy?

Get a hold of yourself! Remember that time you spent a whole ten hours clinging to the side of a cliff, waiting for the light to be right so you could get a good shot? You weren’t scared then—why are you freaking out now?

Lucy shook herself and kept walking up the stairs. Once she was at the top, she had to decide which way to go.

What is it people always say—if you’re lost in a maze, keep going left? Well, this isn’t a maze, but it’s as good an idea as any…

Lucy turned left, still marveling at the castle’s interior. The walls up here were bare black stone, with deep alcoves holding empty candlesticks. A few heavy wooden tables looked like they should have held more decorations, but were empty. The place looked abandoned.

At last Lucy came to a closed door. She pushed it open, surprised when it swung smoothly and didn’t creak.

“Oh, this is perfect!” she breathed, hurrying into the room. Unlike the rest of the castle she’d seen so far, this room looked—well, lived-in.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled one wall, and two plush sofas sat in front of a large fireplace. There was even a rug under the sofas. She wriggled her toes, suddenly very aware of how cold her feet were against the wooden floorboards.

“Right,” she said to herself. In this smaller room, her voice didn’t echo like it did in the hall, and speaking aloud didn’t feel so weird. “This must be the part of the castle people actually live in. When they’re here, at least. Which means there’s got to be a bathroom around here somewhere…”

Resisting the urge to curl up on one of the sofas and dig her cold toes into the thick rug, she ventured on into the next room.

Hurrying through the inhabited wing of the castle, she found a kitchen, dining room, bedroom and, finally, the bathroom. Lucy moaned with relief. Her biking leathers had done a good enough job of keeping the wind off, but enough water had trickled down under her collar that she was wet and cold. A hot shower was just what she needed.

Feeling like the world’s strangest burglar, Lucy rifled through the linen closet, grabbing a soft fluffy towel. The bath—and it was a bath, not a shower, not even a shower-over-bath—was a claw-footed monstrosity that came almost up to Lucy’s waist. It was more like a plunge pool than a tub.

She turned on the hot tap and sighed with happiness as steam started to rise from the flowing water. “The hot water’s still on. That’s a blessing,” she murmured, stepping back and stripping off her leather jacket. She draped it over the vanity to drip dry, and pulled the t-shirt she was wearing underneath over her head.

“A blessing? Around here, we call them ‘baths’,” said a masculine voice behind her.

CHAPTER 2

Lucy froze. The man’s voice had been amused, with the slightest hint of a Scottish burr… and very, very close.

She spun around, trying to wrench her soaking t-shirt back over her head at the same time, and lost her balance. For a split second she locked eyes with the man leaning against the bathroom door, which she’d left open. He was tall and well built, with tousled dark hair and a sardonic expression on his face.

Then her foot slipped beneath her and she was falling backwards.

A fleeting image of her head cracking on the cast-iron bath flashed through her mind. Then strong arms grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back upright.

Lucy gasped, finding herself face-to-face with the stranger. Heat seemed to pour off him, and his eyes blazed into hers, a burning gold that almost hurt to look at.

He frowned, heavy black eyebrows drawing low, and Lucy was suddenly intensely aware of his hands around her waist. She could feel every finger pressing into her skin.

Not her shirt, her skin. She hadn’t managed to pull her t-shirt back down all the way.

One of his thumbs slid against her side, exploring the curve of her waist. Lucy gasped and pulled away. The feeling that had rushed through her—No, she thought, horrified. Get a hold of yourself!

“Who are you?” she asked, trembling.

“The owner of this property,” the man replied flatly. His nostrils flared. “And you are…”

He leaned forward, towards Lucy, and she gulped, trembling. But he didn’t touch her. Instead, he reached past to turn off the hot tap without so much as brushing against her.

“I’m… stuck,” she admitted, trying to ignore how her body had reacted to the near-touch. “I mean, I was driving, but the storm…”

The man stared coolly at her. Had she thought his eyes were gold? It must have been a trick of the light. They were a deep, cold black, like polished jet.

“You were driving in the storm… and that brought you into my bathroom, half-undressed?” he said coldly.

Lucy flushed. “Yes. It was too dangerous for me to keep going, and this is the only shelter for miles around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of the castle’s isolation. That’s why I chose it. Clearly, I chose poorly, if even living on the edge of a remote peninsula isn’t enough to keep adventurous young women from my door.”

Lucy’s face felt as though it was on fire. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave,” she snapped. “Just let me know if there’s a, a nice friendly cave or something further up the coast and I’ll go—”

“There’s no need for that.” The man caught Lucy’s arm as she pushed indignantly past him. He bent his head down towards her and the hairs on the back of Lucy’s neck trembled as she felt his breath on her skin. “You’re here now. Bathe, and then join me for dinner.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Lucy wanted to pull away from him, but her feet were frozen to the floor. “Look, I’m not going to stick around where I’m not welcome. I’ll go. It’s not late, and the storm might break.”

The man made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “The storm will not break for hours yet, by which time you’re likely to have ridden off the road and broken your neck. Hosting you for dinner, at least, will be less disruptive than calling the authorities to remove your pathetic corpse from my grounds.”

“I—” Lucy began before her throat closed over with rage. How dare he speak to her like that? And how dare he look so, so…

He had sounded as though he resented her very existence, and that the only problem with her dying on the roads would be the inconvenience it would cause him. But his eyes—his eyes were alight with a sort of cold, assessing interest that did strange things to Lucy’s insides.

The man opened his mouth as though he was going to say something else. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, then turned on his heel and marched out of the bathroom, leaving Lucy breathless and frustrated.

Bathe? Join him for dinner? she thought angrily. Who does he think he is?

She looked at the steaming bathtub and shivered. Rubbing her arms, she knew it wasn’t just the cold that was making her tremble. It was the thought of the man’s eyes on her, golden—no, black—and burning, looking her up and down while she undressed.

How long was he standing there watching? Watching her peel off her jacket and pull her t-shirt over her head, cold-stiffened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of her bra? Listening to her ramble on to herself?

How had he even known she was here?

Lucy remembered the feeling of being watched from the moment she entered the castle. Was it possible… had he been following her the entire time?

And now, he knew she was here. Worse, she knew he was here. Lucy wrapped her arms around her soaked t-shirt. When she had thought the castle was empty she’d been perfectly happy to strip off. She would have pranced naked around the halls, if the weather had been a little warmer.

But now… even though the man had closed the door behind him, her skin still prickled with the memory of his eyes on her body.

She shook herself. He’d gone, and the bathroom door had a lock on it, after all. She twisted the latch and put her hand against the solid door.

He’s not watching now, she told herself. So get a grip, and get in that bath before it gets cold.

Despite herself, she looked over her shoulder before pulling off her t-shirt and bra, glancing nervously at the door. There was no one there, of course. She was alone.

Lucy wriggled out of her wet pants and slipped into the bathtub, hissing as the hot water flowed over her cold skin. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “This is just what I needed.”

She lay back in the bath, eyes closed, luxuriating in the heat. The hot water seemed to seep right into her bones, relaxing her muscles and making her whole body sing with relief. She ducked her head under and just lay there, holding her breath, entirely surrounded by warmth.

A soft noise came to her ears, distorted by the water. Lucy surfaced at once, wiping her face and looking around. “Hello?” she called out, and bit her tongue. What was she, stupid? She’d locked the door. No one could get in.

And she couldn’t stay in the bath forever, either. Lucy climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in the fluffy towel, dripping all over the bathmat. She dried off quickly, before the water cooled down and chilled her skin again.

Her own clothes were still wet but there was a neat pile of clothing on top of the vanity: a white cotton shirt, and soft pajama pants. Lucy pulled them on without thinking, glad for something dry to wear. The pants were a bit big, but she could tie the drawstring tight enough to make them sit just on her hips.

Bare-footed, she unlocked the door and poked her head around into the corridor. It was empty, but she could hear noises coming from another room, and the smell of meat cooking. Her stomach rumbled. She’d eaten breakfast before she set off that morning, but only a few protein bars while she was on the road. She was ravenous.

Well, he did say to join him for dinner, Lucy told herself, and followed her nose.

She pushed open the dining room door. Before, the room had been dark and cold, the table and chairs half-hidden in shadows. Now the fireplace beside the dining table was blazing, and the table was set for two.

The man was sitting at the far end of the table, a glass of red wine held lazily in one hand. His eyes were fixed on Lucy as she came in.

“I see everything fits,” he said quietly. Lucy was almost too transfixed by his eyes to hear what he was saying. When his words finally made it to her brain, she gasped.

She hadn’t even thought to wonder where the dry clothes had come from. But they hadn’t been there when she first went into the bathroom, or when the man had confronted her.

Or when he’d left, and she’d locked the door after him.

That only left…

Lucy clutched at her shirt, her heart racing. Did he—did he get in somehow, after all? Was he watching me again?

Across the table, the man smirked at her.

“Sit,” he commanded.

CHAPTER 3

Lucy hesitated, her mind racing. He couldn’t have gotten into the bathroom while she was in the bath—could he?

She hadn’t seen anything. She hadn’t heard—no. She had heard something.

The thought of the man simply being in the castle while she undressed and relaxed in the bath had been bad enough. The thought that he could have been in the room with her…

A shiver went through Lucy’s body, starting at the back of her neck and ending—Oh, no—between her legs. Her knees shook.

He was still looking at her. His eyes caught the light from the fireplace, but she couldn’t read the expression in them. He swirled the wine in his glass, and took a sip.

“I said, sit,” he said quietly, in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Lucy’s neck rise.

She clenched her fists. So, he’s being an asshole. Big deal. You’ve dealt with assholes before.

Lucy raised her chin and marched to the table, ignoring the little voice inside her head that was telling her that none of the assholes she’d met before had made her body react like it was now. She pulled the chair out, letting it scrape on the floor, and threw herself into it.

The smell of perfectly cooked steak rose from the plate in front of her, and smoothed over her angry feelings. She sighed.

Now who’s the asshole?

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said reluctantly, staring at the lit candles between them instead of into the man’s eyes. “You didn’t need to make dinner—I’ve got some travel snacks in my bag…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There are standards of hospitality that must be upheld, even to burglars.” The man lifted his wineglass and sipped. When he set it down again his lips were blood-red. Lucy couldn’t tear her eyes away as he licked them clean.

What’s wrong with you? Every time he insults you, all you can do is stare at him!

She clenched her fists harder, driving her fingernails into her palms. “I’m not a burglar,” she insisted. “Like I told you, I only came here to get out of the rain.”

“Oh, I think we both know what brought you here,” he said contemptuously. “Now, eat. You’ll need it.”

Lucy picked up her knife and fork. The steak in front of her was making her mouth water already. She cut into it, her eyes darting across the table.

The man’s steak was a richer color than hers, a deep, bloody red. Lucy’s eyes widened. Is that… raw?

She looked down at her own plate. Her steak was cooked—cooked perfectly, in fact. She took a bite and moaned aloud.

“Oh, that’s delicious,” she said without thinking.

“I’m glad you approve,” the man said dryly. He ripped a bite from his own steak with an animal ferocity that was at odds with his controlled voice. Lucy watched as he chewed and swallowed, a trickle of red dripping down from the edge of his mouth.

Her stomach churned. Is that blood? Oh, my god. It is raw. Who is he? What is this place?

Lucy knew some humans ate raw steak. She’d even tried a steak tartare once herself, but that had been minced and seasoned, not just a bloody chunk of meat.

She gulped. For some reason, she wasn’t hungry anymore. She picked up her wineglass, hoping the man wouldn’t notice her sudden loss of appetite, but it was too late.

“Is something wrong?” The man’s voice snaked into her ears, and Lucy could feel his eyes on her, even though she kept her own gaze firmly on the table top between them.

“I, uh,” she said, her mind racing. “I was just thinking… I haven’t actually introduced myself. I’m Lucy. Lucy Abbotsford. I’m a photographer, landscapes mostly, which is what brought me here to this part of the world. I’ve been traveling around Europe for months, taking photographs for my portfolio. I’m hoping to do an exhibition back home in the States when I return. I, uh…”

She broke off. Somewhere, in the middle of her rambling, she’d stopped looking at the table and started looking at the man again. His eyes gleamed with hidden amusement, and Lucy squirmed in her seat as heat rushed through her.

“My name is Ciaran,” he said, setting his hands flat on the table. “Ciaran Mallory.”

“You’re not from around here either, are you?” Lucy said quickly. “Um, because of your accent.”

She didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

No. That was a lie. She did like it. She liked it far too much. And that was what she didn’t like. That… and the way her body was reacting to it.

She cleared her throat. “Have you lived here long? I’ve only been here for a few days, but the people are so friendly, and the landscape… the landscape is…”

Her voice trailed away. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Ciaran’s gaze, and suddenly, nothing she was saying mattered.

Lucy gulped. Her throat was dry. She reached for her wineglass to take another sip, but her fingers were too clumsy to pick it up.

Ciaran was still watching her, a strange expression on his face. Throughout the dinner he’d looked amused by her, and frustrated, and now—something else. Something that made Lucy’s insides squirm.

“Lucy,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Lucy Abbotsford. Come here.”

He laid down his knife and fork and sat with his palms flat on the table, pinning her with his eyes. Lucy could hardly breathe. Her own fork fell to the floor.

“Come here”? What for? What does he want? Lucy’s heart hammered as these questions and more flew around her brain. She didn’t even realize she had stood up, but then she was suddenly halfway around the table, drawing closer and closer to those eyes.

What are you doing? the voice inside her head screamed at her. Lucy hesitated, gasping as though she’d been underwater and just fought her way to the surface.

She clutched at the table. She was standing so close to Ciaran that she could have reached out and touched him.

Or he could reach out and touch her. Instead he was sitting there, so still, like a hunter lying in wait.

“What is going on?” she stammered. She had a strange, deep feeling that even asking, even talking, was only delaying the inevitable. The moment she had stepped into this room, she’d started down a path there was no turning back from.

Ciaran tipped his head back, regarding her. “You were admiring my meal,” he said, at last removing his hands from the table. “Come. Try some.”

Ciaran pushed his chair back and somehow Lucy found herself in front of him, caught between him and the table.

He lifted his fork, a bloody, dripping piece of steak on the end of it. Lucy’s stomach twisted. Raw meat? She hadn’t even liked the steak tartare that one time she’d tried it, and this was so much more primal than that.

“Why don’t you eat it cooked?” she asked. Her knees felt weak and she clutched at the table for support.

Ciaran smiled thinly. “Often, I do. But there are times when my needs are different. I’m sure you understand.”

Understand? Lucy thought. She didn’t understand anything, least of all the thick, heavy desire that was weighing down her limbs. All Ciaran had done was talk, and stare at her, and she was wetter than she’d been for any man in her life.

Ciaran smiled and for one horrifying moment she wondered if he could smell her arousal. She was standing right in front of him, her aching core an arm’s length from his chest.

But he just lifted the fork higher. “Eat,” he commanded.

Lucy opened her mouth without thinking and Ciaran pushed the morsel of meat inside. She bit down automatically and her mouth was flooded with the coppery tang of blood.

“Is it everything you expected?” Ciaran asked, raising one eyebrow.

Lucy covered her mouth as she coughed, and forced herself to swallow. There was no way she was going to spit it out in front of him.

“Everything I expected from a chunk of raw meat?” she said, sputtering slightly. Her mouth still tasted of blood. “Sure.”

“Good.” Ciaran smiled, baring his teeth. “Now open your legs.”

CHAPTER 4

“Excuse me?!” Lucy would have jumped back in shock, but there was nowhere to go. Just the hard edge of the table behind her, and in front of her, Ciaran Mallory with his predatory smile.

A smile that made her body betray her.

Knees weak, Lucy braced herself against the table.

“You heard me,” Ciaran said slowly. “Spread your legs for me.”

Despite herself, a shiver of arousal coursed through Lucy’s body at the cool, masterful tone of his voice. A part of her she’d never known existed before wanted to obey him. No questions, no doubts, just instant, melting submission to this man whose body seemed to hum with controlled power.

Her hands clenched on the edge of the table.

“No,” she snapped, so loud she surprised herself. “I don’t know what sort of a girl you think I am, but I’m not going to let you do what you like to me just because you let me stay here tonight. I’m not a whore. I’d rather go back out into the storm!”

“Liar. We both know why you’re here.” Ciaran rose slowly from his seat, planting one hand on the table either side of Lucy. “Despite what you may have heard, believe me, this way is preferable to the alternative.”

“What I may have heard…?” Lucy felt weak. Heard about what? She had no idea what Ciaran was talking about.

But the look in his eyes… that, she understood. The strength in his body as he held himself with his face just inches from hers. So close to touching. To being touched. And more.

Ciaran’s eyes drew her in, his pupils so huge they almost swallowed the shining jet of his irises.

She felt as though she was drowning. This close, she could see the small movements of muscles in his face: the twitch of his eyelashes, the slight flaring of his nostrils as he inhaled, breathing her in.

“It’s your choice, he murmured, his breath hot on her face. “But I suggest you make it quickly. It may be the last you ever make.”

For just a moment, his eyes flared gold, blazing and inhuman. Then they were black again, smoldering like coals.

Lucy’s chest was tight, her breaths coming in pants. What she’d told Ciaran was true. She wasn’t the sort of girl who had one-night stands. She didn’t sleep with men the same day she met them, and she certainly didn’t offer her body in exchange for a place to stay.

The thought of Ciaran touching her should have made her feel sick. Dirty. Instead, it turned her on more than anything ever had before.

Ciaran’s eyes were like dark pits, drawing her in. Lucy took a deep breath, and let herself fall. She leaned forward, hands still clutching the table, and her lips met his.

Ciaran’s lips were softer than she had expected but for the first second after she kissed him he stiffened, not responding to her touch. She felt him tremble with tension, felt the fierce control he had over his body begin to crack.

Lucy gasped as he grasped her upper arms, holding her in place as he explored her mouth. Her breath came in ragged gasps as his hands moved to her breasts, squeezing and stroking them through the thin cotton of her shirt. His shirt. The shirt he must have known he’d tear off her only minutes after lending it to her.

Her nipples were rock-hard, stiffening under Ciaran’s determined hands until they ached. Desperate for more, Lucy pressed herself against him until she could feel the hard muscles of Ciaran’s chest against her breasts.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “I never—I don’t know—”

Ciaran groaned something into her lips and pulled his hands away. Lucy broke away from his kiss, confused, just in time to see him grab the collar of her shirt and rip it apart.

Lucy’s chest heaved as cool air flowed across her skin. Ciaran left the remains of her shirt draped over her shoulders and attacked her breasts again. He knelt down and took one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened nub.

Lucy arched her back, gasping with pleasure as Ciaran’s relentless attentions to her nipple sent shocks of arousal through her. Her clit throbbed, aching for the same treatment.

“Please,” she begged, pushing down on his shoulders.

He shoved her hand away. His own hands were roving all over her body, circling her waist, squeezing her ass. Suddenly he wrapped one arm around her and pulled her away from the table, just long enough to drag her pants down. The edge of the table bit into the backs of her thighs as he shoved her back onto it.

Lucy’s blood felt like it was on fire. She was completely naked, vulnerable and exposed. The air was cool on her skin, but she could also feel the flickering heat of the fire on her bare back, and in front of her, the hot need pouring off Ciaran.

He was still entirely clothed. The sight of him in his black suit pants and button-down shirt somehow aroused Lucy even more. Especially when she raised her eyes to his tousled hair and burning, lust-filled eyes.

He cupped her jaw in one hand and leaned in close, tipping her head back.

“What did I tell you?” he whispered in her ear, his voice rough with desire.

Lucy was confused, until she felt his other hand on her thigh. She obediently spread her legs.

Ciaran stared into her eyes, still holding her face as he tugged at his fly. She wanted to look, to see what she was dealing with, but she couldn’t with his hand holding her in place.

A quiver of anticipation struck Lucy as he returned his other hand to her waist. Ciaran stepped forward. First she felt the fabric of his trousers against her inner thighs, then the head of his cock nestling against her entrance.

How big is he? She had no way of knowing. No way of preparing herself. She should have looked, earlier, tried to get an idea of his size through his pants—but that was before she knew what the night would turn into.

Ciaran tightened his grip on her waist and pushed into her. She tensed with nerves as she felt him press past her entrance, but she was so slick her tightened muscles were no barrier. The head of his cock slid easily past her folds, and then he thrust in, burying himself completely.

Lucy felt every inch of his cock inside her. It was big, thick, but her body was adjusting. Stretching to fit him.

He ground against her, groaning deep in his throat, and Lucy felt the zipper of his fly dig into the soft skin at the top of her leg. The slight pain sent darts of pleasure shooting through her.

Ciaran moved his hand from her chin to the back of her neck, gripping her tightly. Holding her just where he wanted her.

Lucy stared into his eyes as he pulled out of her. She couldn’t help the soft mew of disappointment as he left her empty. Ciaran’s eyes flared.

Only the slightest tightening of his grip warned Lucy of his next thrust. She flung her head back, gasping aloud as he buried himself inside her, pounding her into the table.

She tried to find words, tried to tell him he had to slow down, that she was too close. Then it was too late. Ciaran pushed her down onto the table, forcing himself on top of her. He raised both hands to her head, burying his fingers in her hair.

Lucy wrapped her legs around his waist. He was bucking against her, into her, so hard and relentlessly that he was pushing her farther up the table. His cock thrust against her g-spot again and again, pressure building each time until her whole body rocked with orgasm.

Lucy cried out, lost on waves of pleasure. Above her, Ciaran’s tempo increased, until he suddenly stilled, groaning into her hair as he came inside her.

For a moment Lucy didn’t hear anything except the roar of her blood in her ears, her panting breaths mingling with Ciaran’s, and the crackle of the fire behind them. Ciaran’s body covered hers, heavy and hot.

He pushed himself up on his elbows. His dark eyes drilled into hers, searching for—for what? Lucy was dazed with pleasure, hardly able to put two thoughts together.

Ciaran’s eyebrows drew together. “Very well,” he muttered under his breath. He pushed himself back off the table.

Lucy sat up, watching him. Her heart was still pounding from their vigorous lovemaking, and her head—she didn’t know what her head was doing. Not thinking, that was for sure.

What have you done? she asked herself faintly.

Ciaran fastened his fly, his eyes foggy. As Lucy watched he smoothed his hair back, still with that distracted look on his face. A glint at his wrist caught his attention and he checked the time.

Did Lucy imagine the fleeting, tense look that passed across his face as he glanced at his watch?

She definitely didn’t imagine his expression as he looked back at her. She was still sitting on the edge of the table, her ripped shirt open to expose her breasts. Ciaran’s eyes slid appreciatively down her body.

“So… what now?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Ciaran inhaled deeply. Lucy could see the effort it took him to tear his eyes away from her body. To her disappointment, he managed it.

“You will sleep in my room,” he said. “And you must—you must stay there until I fetch you in the morning.”

Lucy bit her lip. The way he’d just looked at her—she wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but it sent new shoots of desire darting through her. What had just happened—it had been too fast. Over too soon.

She wanted more.

Until he comes and fetches me? Does he seriously mean…

“You’re not going to sleep in your room, too?” she said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“No.” Ciaran shook his head sharply. “I don’t think that would be advisable.”

Despite Lucy’s confused questions, Ciaran didn’t elaborate as he led her to his bedroom. It was a large, medieval-style bedchamber, with stone walls and thick fur rugs covering the floor. A massive fireplace blazed merrily along one wall. On the wall opposite, three narrow leadlight windows looked out into darkness.

The bed was in the center of the room, in the middle of a pile of thick rugs. It was a four-poster, with heavy curtains tied back at each corner.

Lucy wrapped her arms around herself and stared up at Ciaran. She hoped her eyes didn’t look too pleading.

Or do you? that tiny voice inside her asked. Are you sure you don’t want to beg him?

“You’re sure you won’t stay?” she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

Ciaran shook his head, regret clear on his face. “We both know that wouldn’t be safe,” he said shortly, and marched to the door. He stopped with his hand on the door handle. “Remember, don’t leave this room until I come to fetch you. And keep this door locked until morning.”

Lock the door? Lucy stared after him. What is he talking about?

CHAPTER 5

The forest extended in every direction as far as she could see. The air was full of the scent of pine, and frost crackled on the ground beneath her feet.

Lucy breathed deep, the forest filling her lungs, and looked up through the trees. The moon stared back, huge and round and gleaming silver.

She wanted to run. To feel the ground fly away beneath her feet, the cold snap of the air in her lungs. But there was something missing.

She opened her eyes and gasped.

Lucy was lying in bed, blankets twisted around her naked body. She sat up, panting, and ran a hand over her forehead. It came away damp.

“That was some dream,” she muttered, kicking her legs free of the tangled sheets. Her muscles ached, and she felt hot as she remembered why.

Maybe that was why she was feeling so frustrated. She’d been frustrated in the dream, too, she realized. Plagued by the feeling that something was missing. Something she had to find.

Or someone.

Her mind flew back to Ciaran. She took a deep breath, remembering the way he’d looked at her—and how she’d felt, feeling his eyes on her. And his hands. And his cock, pushing its way inside her…

She groaned and flung herself back down on the bed. It was no good. There was no way she was going to get back to sleep now. Her mind was buzzing, and her body was… also buzzing. Sure, that was one word for it.

Maybe a walk will help, she thought, and slung her legs over the side of the bed.

It didn’t take her long to find something to wear, rifling through Ciaran’s wardrobe. She didn’t bother with trousers; Ciaran was so much taller than she was that his shirts were basically like a short tunic on her, anyway.

Besides, she thought, It’s not like there’s anyone except him here to see me. And he’s seen plenty already.

She selected a soft grey shirt from his wardrobe and pulled it on, buttoning it up to the collar. It came to halfway down her thighs. Lucy twirled around in front of the windows, since Ciaran didn’t have a mirror in his room. It was so dark outside that the dying firelight reflected on the glass.

Maybe I’ll find Ciaran, she mused. Screw all that “Wait here until I come fetch you” bullcrap. I might be willing to let him—well, do things to me—but I’m not going to let him lock me up like some damsel in a tower.

She unlocked the door and poked her head out into the corridor. It was pitch black. Of course. I don’t think I’ve seen an electric light all the time I’ve been in here. And I must have left my flashlight in the bathroom, damn it.

She looked around, thinking, and her eyes fell on a candlestick in an alcove.

Lucy held the candle out over the dying embers of the fire until it lit. If she held it in front of her, it made a small circle of warm light that lit her way.

She had meant to go straight to the bathroom to pick up her flashlight and see if her clothes had dried yet, but instead she found herself wandering the corridors.

Lucy crept through the dining room and kitchen. She went the whole way around the walkway at the edge of the main hall, poking her nose into every unlocked door she could find. But it was all hopeless. There was no sign of Ciaran anywhere.

Not that she was looking for him.

Lucy tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed, but it was a lie. Her restlessness, the frustration itching in her veins… if she found Ciaran, she knew they would be able to come up with some way to cure it.

And maybe she could ask him about his strange behavior, as well. The things he’d mentioned, telling her they both knew why she was here… his dominance had been hot, but she was worried he thought she was someone she wasn’t. The more she thought about it, the more she thought she must have walked into the middle of some sort of pre-arranged blind date… or blind hook-up, maybe. Ciaran had seemed resigned to see her, but not surprised.

I hope there isn’t some other poor girl out there shivering in the rain, she thought guiltily.

Still, it wasn’t like she regretted what had happened. It was strange, and unexpected, and definitely not the sort of thing she would normally do… but it had been the sexiest thing that had happened to her in her life. Giving in to pure, simple desire. Letting him take what he wanted from her.

She was heating up just thinking about it.

“Well, this is pointless,” she muttered, stopping by a narrow window. She peered outside. The rain had stopped, and the night was still and cool.

Cool. Cold. A cold, brisk walk.

“Sounds like just what I need,” Lucy grumbled.

She hurried down the main staircase to the front door, where she’d left her boots. They were still there, lying beside her rucksack and camera bag.

Lucy pulled one boot on and grimaced. Rain had dripped down inside it, making it wet and cold. She carefully arranged both boots upside-down against the wall so they would have a chance to drip-dry. Going barefoot would be more comfortable that getting blisters from wearing wet boots with no socks.

On a whim, she slung her camera bag over her shoulder before slipping out through the heavy doors.

The cold night air struck her face and her legs, making her gasp. It was lighter out here than it was indoors, the sky full of bright stars. Lucy knelt and left the candlestick flickering in front of the doors.

She walked slowly down the steps to the path. The night was so still, even the puddles were like mirrors laid face-up on the ground, reflecting the stars.

Lucy pulled out her camera, settling it on a travel tripod and aiming it at the long path with its scattering of stars. In darkness this deep, she needed to set a long exposure to have any chance of accurately capturing the scene. Even pressing the shutter on the camera itself could jolt the lens, making the photo blur.

Lucy pulled out a remote and stood back. She clicked the button and knelt on her haunches, looking around as she waited for the long exposure to finish.

The night was hushed. The only noise was the distant shush, shush of waves on the shore, and even that was muted, as though the darkness was pressing down all around. The night seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for—what?

An LED flashed on the back of Lucy’s camera and she picked it up. She didn’t bother checking the image. There would be time to look at it later, when turning on the bright viewscreen wouldn’t completely ruin her night vision.

Where to now?

The peninsula stretched out around her, full of possibilities. She knew that the main road was some way in front of her, down the end of the pitted path, beyond the silver walls and gate. She didn’t have any interest in that. Climbing the gate once in one day was enough for her. Besides, there was the rest of the land this side of the gate to explore.

She looked back, up at the castle. It was silhouetted against the sky, the merest flickers of light at the windows the only sign that it was inhabited. She thought she could identify the few rooms with light at the windows: the dining room, Ciaran’s bedroom…

The sky behind the castle was brighter than Lucy had expected. Was there a moon tonight? Lucy tried to remember what time moonrise and moonset were at the moment, and gave up. She hadn’t paid any attention to the phases of the moon recently, because she hadn’t planned on being out and about at night until she started her Northern Lights cruise.

Maybe that had been a mistake. There hadn’t been any reports of supernatural attacks in this part of the world recently. Lucy had made a habit of checking reports, since she was traveling so much. She might have lost track of the moon, but she wasn’t entirely reckless.

She shook herself. The gates were silver, weren’t they? So even if it was a full moon, no supernaturals could get onto the castle grounds. She was safe here.

Safe to explore. How many people got an opportunity like this? To wander the grounds of an ancient castle, under the silver moonlight. A thrill of excitement darted up Lucy’s spine. Even if her photos didn’t turn out, it would be worth it just for the experience of exploring this beautiful landscape.

She walked around the castle, sure of what she would see on the other side. And she was right. The full moon, staring down from the heavens and filling the world with silver light.

The moon from her dream.

Lucy gazed up at it. She’d only ever seen the full moon through a window, before. Even in the cities, only the very brave or foolhardy went out at night during full moon.

It was… magical.

Lucy raised her camera again, half-hypnotized by the moon with its beautiful, pure silver light. It leached the color out of the landscape, making it look like a black-and-white photograph. It should have looked eerie, dangerous, but…

Crunch.

Lucy spun around, following the noise. It had sounded like—what? Like someone stepping on a stick?

“Ciaran?” she called tentatively. Who else could it be? He had to be out here somewhere, since she hadn’t found him in the castle.

There was no reply. Lucy sighed and dropped her hands.

Don’t be disappointed, she told herself. More time to explore, and enjoy the moonlight.

The ground around the castle must have been gardens, once. A few paths still survived, broken and pitted, but most had been swallowed up by overgrown brush and grass. Lucy found one that was less overgrown than the others and followed it away from the castle.

It brought her to a low rise, looking out over the sea. The ancient gardens faded away, replaced by boulders and rocky scree and, finally, the deep dark of waves breaking against the coast.

And something else.

Lucy caught her breath. There was a creature, standing down where the land met the waves. She thought for a moment that it was human, but then it moved. It was taller than any human, with a long, loping gait.

What is that? Lucy wondered, creeping forward despite herself. Almost automatically, she raised the camera and depressed the shutter button. The photo might be blurry, but it would be… something. Something to prove that what she was seeing was real.

It wasn’t a werewolf. She hadn’t seen a werewolf in the flesh before, but she knew what they looked like. Everyone did. Either fully human, or fully wolf—except the wolf was huge, bigger than a normal animal.

They weren’t like this.

Unthinking, Lucy stepped forward, and dislodged a loose stone. It clattered down the slope, and she watched it, swearing silently at it to stop.

When she looked up, the creature was gone.

Lucy squinted into the night, her heart hammering in her chest. Where did it go?

It must have heard her. There was no other explanation.

Oh, shit. Cold sweat broke out on Lucy’s forehead as she shoved her camera back in its bag. She needed to get back to the castle. She might not know what the creature was, but it was clearly supernatural. And everyone knew the supernatural was dangerous.

Lucy had wanted to return to America with a hard drive full of photographs, ready to exhibit haunting, beautiful photographs of European landscapes. She’d imagined being featured in a few local papers.

She hadn’t imagined being featured under the headline Local Girl Discovers New Supernatural—Found Dead.

She turned to run back up the path and stopped dead, her heart in her throat.

The creature was there, right in front of her.

This close, she could see more details. The creature was at least seven feet tall. It was human-shaped, but hugely muscular, and thick hair covered its chest and limbs. Its ears were pointed like a wolf’s.

But it wasn’t a wolf. It was human—or close enough to human.

Sharp cheekbones jutted out from a predatory face, and golden eyes glittered at her from under heavy black eyebrows.

“Hello, Lucy,” he growled.

CHAPTER 6

“Wh-what are you?” Lucy stammered.

The wolf-man snarled. “What am I? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, Lucy. You’ve come a long way to back out now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy snapped with a bravery she didn’t feel. She stared at the wolf-man, her eyes wide.

It—he—had golden eyes.

Oh, God.

“Ciaran?” she ventured, hardly daring to say it out loud. “Oh, no. This can’t be happening.”

The wolf-man’s lips curled back, revealing a row of vicious-looking fangs. “What’s the matter, Lucy? Am I not everything you dreamed of?”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Lucy insisted, backing away. “I know you have this idea in your head that I came here on purpose, but that’s not true. I only came here because of the storm. I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what? That you were chasing a werewolf who can’t even properly transform?” The wolf-man’s—Ciaran’s—voice was bitter. He stepped forward, closer to Lucy. “You seemed pleased enough by my human form, sweetheart. And didn’t I try to keep you safe, after that? Didn’t I warn you to stay in my room?”

“Safe?” Lucy quavered.

The wolf-man stepped closer again, licking his lips. “Don’t bother lying, Lucy. We both know that little escapade on the dining table wasn’t enough to satiate you. I could smell your desire still burning, afterwards.” He took a long sniff. “It’s no wonder you didn’t sleep well, with your body still craving more.”

Lucy gaped at him. This was Ciaran. Ciaran Mallory. Ciaran Mallory, who hadn’t even taken his pants off to fuck her, who’d practically trembled with the force of his self-control.

Well, now she knew what he’d been controlling. The wolf-man wore nothing but his own wiry hair, revealing everything to the moonlight.

But she could still see traces of the man who’d bewitched her, even through his part-transformation. The wolf-man’s cheekbones were impossibly sharp, but Ciaran’s had been prominent, too. Those golden eyes were the same color Ciaran’s eyes had flashed when he looked at her.

His body… she had no way of knowing whether his body resembled Ciaran’s. Ciaran had been muscular beneath his formal shirt, she knew, but she had no idea whether he had chest hair, or if he waxed it off. Surely there was no way he could be as hairy as the wolf-man? As he was in this form?

And as for what he was saying about her craving more…

She flushed. How had he known she’d ventured out here looking for Ciaran—for him—wanting to rekindle their activities from the evening before?

“Well?” the wolf-man growled, stepping closer again. He was within arm’s reach, now, and Lucy realized with a jolt that she had been within his arm’s reach even before he’d stepped forward. His reach was far longer than hers.

She trembled as she considered what he was saying. And not just saying. His eyes were alight with carnal lust, raking up and down her body. And his body…

Lucy bit her lip as she looked between Ciaran’s legs. He’d filled her in his human form, but this… this was something different. Hugely different.

“What are you saying?” she asked, trembling. She licked her lips and saw Ciaran notice the gesture, his golden eyes glinting.

Please, she wanted to scream. Please, you’ve got it all wrong. I came here by accident. All of this, it’s a mistake. I don’t know who or what you are, but I don’t want to… to mate with you.

But the words died in her throat. Even though they were the truth.

…Weren’t they?

Lucy gulped, and Ciaran chuckled.

“It’s true, isn’t it? You pack-chasers are all alike. Once you see what you’ve really been chasing, you’re frightened—but you still want it.” He loomed over Lucy, the moonlight reflecting off his eyes and teeth. “Don’t deny it. I can smell your desire. It’s so strong, I can almost taste you already.”

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. How can he—oh god, it’s true, she realized with a dawning sense of horror. Like this, Ciaran was terrifying, but her body was still responding to him. Her skin was tingling, small sparks of lightning that all led to one place. The one place she needed him to fill.

“Please,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him. “I don’t know…”

Ciaran grinned, sharp fangs gleaming. “Liar.”

His voice sent a shiver up Lucy’s spine that left her trembling. She gave in. What else could she do?

Didn’t you want an adventure?

“Wh-what do you want?” she quavered, her voice barely a whisper.

“What does any hunter want?” Ciaran grinned wolfishly. “Run.”

Lucy ran. She ducked around the wolf-man and fled back along the path to the castle, Ciaran’s laughter echoing in her ears.

Branches whipped at her bare legs as she ran. The hem of her shirt—his shirt—flapped against her hips. Why hadn’t she worn pants? If Ciaran caught her, all he would have to do was flip her over—

Lucy shook her head. Don’t think about that. Don’t, because if she did, she might lose her concentration. She might lose her footing…

The sound of heavy footsteps behind her sent an electric thrill down Lucy’s spine. The chase was on. Part of her wanted to fall, she admitted that now, but something kept her going. Some stubborn streak that refused to simply lie down and submit to Ciaran. To the werewolf.

She raced around a corner of the garden and the castle’s exterior walls appeared in front of her. She was almost home clear. All she had to do was run around to the front of the castle. Get in the front doors. And then—then—

The ground was rough, stones jutting up from the broken path and holes waiting to catch unwary feet. Lucy placed her feet carefully, but the moonlight betrayed her. In the cold silver light a loose stone looked solid; she stepped on it, slipped, and fell to the ground with a force that knocked the breath out of her.

She scrambled to her hands and knees, ready to launch herself back onto her feet, but it was too late.

There was a roar of triumph from behind her and then Ciaran was on top of her, his breath hot against the back of her neck. Lucy cried out.

She wasn’t ready. She was interested, aroused, yes, her blood still itching with the frustration that had plagued her since she woke.

But she wasn’t ready. She’d seen the size of the thing between Ciaran’s legs. She didn’t think anything could make her ready for that.

The wolf-man flipped her over. She landed on her back, the cold stone of the path biting through her flimsy shirt. Ciaran leered down at her, a fever of lust in his eyes.

“I knew you wouldn’t put up much of a fight, pack-chaser,” he snarled, his red tongue running over his fangs.

“No, I’m not—” I’m not a pack-chaser, she meant to say. I don’t even know what one is!

“No?” Ciaran repeated, mocking her. He grabbed hold of her by one ankle and lifted it high, parting her legs. Lucy bit back a moan as cold air struck her bare pussy. She was throbbing, and wet, which only made the cold bite deeper. “This doesn’t look like ‘No’ to me, pack-chaser.”

He bent forward before Lucy could so much as draw breath and ran his tongue along Lucy’s slick entrance. She gasped, her protestations dying on her lips. Whatever he was about to do to her…

I want it. Oh, god, I want it so much.

Ciaran took her gasp for consent. He drove his tongue deeper inside her, invading her with quick, harsh licks. Lucy moaned. Her legs thrashed as his tongue brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside her.

He chuckled. She felt him chuckle, his fangs sliding against her slick nether lips. Then he probed his tongue into her again, swirling the tip deep inside her until she screamed.

Lucy’s legs bucked. If Ciaran hadn’t been holding her ankle she would have fallen to the ground, helpless, her whole body convulsing from the orgasm he forced out of her.

Ciaran’s eyes blazed as he ran them up her body, finally coming to rest on her own wide eyes.

“You really like it, don’t you?” he growled, his voice low with menace. “Even when I look like this. I could do anything, and you’d still beg for more.”

“No, I wouldn’t!” Lucy retorted, still desperate to keep hold of some of her dignity.

Ciaran raised one thick eyebrow. The expression gave his wolf-man face an oddly sinister look. “No?”

He leaned over her, bending her leg back against her stomach.

“Say it again,” he commanded.

Lucy gulped. She could feel—something—pressing against her entrance.

Don’t lie to herself. You know what it is. His cock. His giant, werewolf cock. He’d going to fuck you, here, on the ground. He’s going to destroy you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Ciaran bared his fangs in a grin. “Say it!” he repeated.

“N-no,” she stammered.

“This is a funny game you’re playing, you pack-chasing slut,” Ciaran snarled. “Is this what turns you on? Me forcing you, in this form?”

His fingers tightened on Lucy’s ankle and her eyes widened as she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance again.

She couldn’t help but compare this to what had happened earlier, in the dining room. Ciaran had been forceful in his human form, too, but it had been… different. He’d seethed with self-control, as though reluctant to take her. To put them both on the journey that led them to this path in the moonlight.

The wolf-man had no such control. If he was holding himself back, it was only to taunt Lucy more.

And… she was enjoying it. The longer he tormented her, the wetter she became.

With a grunt, Ciaran pressed forward. Lucy’s free foot found purchase on the ground and she pushed herself back, just far enough to avoid his thrust.

“W-wait, please!” she cried out. “You’re too big—can’t you see, you won’t—”

Ciaran bared his fangs at her in a silent laugh. “Fit? You forget, pack-chaser, I’ve already ploughed you once. I know what your human cunt can handle, especially when you’re dripping wet like now.” He ran his teeth along her cheek. “I’m not saying it won’t hurt—but that’s what you’re here for, aren’t you?”

To her horror, Lucy’s body thrilled at his words. It was disgusting, violent, feral—but every filthy word turned her on more.

And Ciaran knew it. She could tell by the gleam in his eyes.

“Say it,” he whispered, his eyes inches from hers. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

Lucy stared into his eyes, pinned down by the ferocious lust she saw burning there. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

“I—I—” she stammered. The wolf-man shifted his weight and she felt his cock pressing against her again. Hungry. The same hunger that burned in his eyes.

The same hunger that burned inside her.

“I want—” she began again, and Ciaran laughed.

“Too slow!” he crowed, and thrust his cock inside her.

Lucy screamed. She was dripping wet, but Ciaran’s werewolf cock was huge, thicker and longer than any she’d ever seen. She couldn’t believe it would ever fit it her. She couldn’t believe it had.

Like before, her body adjusted around Ciaran’s cock, easing to fit it. Lucy drew in breath, grateful that Ciaran was holding still above her, giving her time to get used to the feeling of him inside her.

He was still holding her leg up. Eyelids fluttering, Lucy looked down her body, to where their bodies were joined. What she saw made her eyes go wide with shock.

Ciaran’s cock wasn’t buried inside of her. There were still four or five inches of thick cock outside of Lucy’s entrance, waiting for him to thrust again.

The filled, stretched feeling inside of Lucy… that was nothing compared to what was to come.

She met Ciaran’s eyes, already knowing what she would find there. Dark, lustful amusement, and excitement as he saw the shock on her face.

“Please…” she managed to gasp out. She didn’t even know what she was begging for.

More. All of it. Fill me, fuck me, destroy me—

Ciaran’s hand closed around the back of her head. It was almost a caress, until he pulled her head forward, forcing her to look back down at his cock.

“Watch,” he commanded, his voice breathy with lust. “Watch what I do to you, pack-chaser.”

He forced himself further inside her, inch by inch, holding her head so she couldn’t look away. Her fingers scrabbled against the rocky path. Her whole body burned, but it was worst inside her, deep inside, where the pain was so intense it turned into pleasure again.

Lucy was moaning through gritted teeth by the time the wolf-man lodged himself fully inside her, violating her deeper than any lover had before. He gave one final, grinding thrust, making nerves deep inside of Lucy scream.

“Say it,” he growled.

Déjà vu made Lucy’s head spin, but this time, she knew what he wanted. “Fuck me,” she cried obediently.

“Beg me,” Ciaran insisted, tightening his grip on her ankle and the back of her skull. Lucy almost sobbed with need.

“Please, fuck me—please, I w-want you to fuck me, please—”

She screamed as he pulled out of her and pistoned back in, hard and fast. The pressure of his cock inside her seemed to extend to her lungs. She could barely draw breath, and every pounding thrust of his cock drove more air out of her, making her scream in gulping sobs.

He lifted her ankle higher, opening her even more, changing the angle from which he was assaulting her core. The bulbous head of his cock struck at her deepest point and stars burst at the edges of her vision.

Again. And again. Stars filled her eyes until there was nothing but blinding light and the sight of Ciaran’s thick cock pounding into her frail human body.

Lucy came with a scream that left her throat raw. This was nothing like the tidal wave of pleasure that had struck her with Ciaran in his human form. It was raw, primal and bloody, and she was powerless to stop it or stop Ciaran from seeing it.

“See, slut? See how much you like it?” He pushed his face close to hers. “I could rip your throat out now, and you wouldn’t even try to stop me.”

Lucy’s whole body shuddered with aftershocks. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even speak.

She felt his teeth close around her throat. His cock was still pistoning in and out of her, and his whole body tensed. His hot tongue lapped against her throat as she gulped back a scream and then he raised his head, howling at the moon as he came, filling her with his seed.

CHAPTER 7

Lucy wished she could have passed out. Instead she was awake, and hideously aware of what she’d just done.

Of what she’d just allowed the werewolf to do to her.

Of what she had wanted.

Her insides ached as Ciaran pulled his cock out of her. Even half-flaccid, it was monstrously huge, and the thought that it had been inside her made her whole body quiver.

“Was it everything you dreamed of, pack-chaser?” Ciaran growled. His golden eyes were narrowed as he glared down at her.

What’s your problem? she wanted to say. You’re the one who did it—you enjoyed it, too—so why are you looking at me like that? With such bitterness?

She tried to speak, but couldn’t form words. Her throat was too raw from screaming.

Ciaran grunted. He stared at her a moment longer, considering, then with one smooth movement knelt and tore Lucy’s shirt from her body.

Lucy gasped with shock, then again as Ciaran twisted the ripped fabric into a rope and looped it around her neck. He tied a knot in the rope and pulled Lucy to her feet, leashed.

Lucy’s legs wobbled, but held her up—barely. Every muscle in her body cried out with pain.

She grabbed the collar. “What are you—” she began, her voice little more than a croak, and coughed.

Ciaran drew her close. “Isn’t it obvious, pack-chaser? You chased me, I chased you. I caught you—so now you belong to me.” He tugged on her leash and Lucy stumbled, falling against him.

His body was strong, hard muscles shifting under the thick black hair that covered him. But Lucy already knew that. She’d felt what those muscles could do.

“I… belong to you?” she repeated slowly. Yes, part of her said.

No, she insisted, forcing back the treacherous voice, No. Bed play is one thing, but ownership? No, I’m not signing up for this.

She rolled her eyes up at the massive wolf-man who held her leash. If she said no now, what would that achieve? Nothing. He would overpower her and do whatever he wanted, regardless.

So instead, she let her head drop. That was close enough to a nod of consent for Ciaran. He chuckled, and grabbed her chin, pulling it up until she met his eyes.

“You chased me a long way, Lucy Abbotsford,” he said, his voice strangely soft. “I may not be everything you imagined, but I’m going to make sure it was worth the trip.”

Lucy stared up at him through her eyelashes, her lips slightly parted. The cotton shirt around her neck was soft, but that didn’t change what it was: a collar.

“Time to go,” Ciaran said, tugging on the leash.

Lucy held her ground, although her legs wobbled with the effort. “Where?”

Ciaran raised one thick, black eyebrow. “Where do you think? Just where I left you. Perhaps this time, you’ll obey my instructions to stay there.” He grinned. “And if you don’t… well, I’m sure I can think of some way to remind you of why you should obey me.”

He led Lucy by the neck back along the broken stone path, up to the castle doors. A pang went through Lucy as she saw her rucksack just inside the entranceway. The pack, with her helmet placed neatly beside it, was a reminder of a more innocent time. A more innocent her.

Was it really less than a day since she’d first set foot here? In Lucy’s heart, it felt like longer. In her soul…

She felt different. She was different. Twenty-four hours ago, Lucy would never have believed she could survive what had just happened to her.

Or that she would enjoy it.

Shame curled inside her, black and cold. She had enjoyed it. Every moment of it. Every filthy thing Ciaran had spat at her. The feeling of him inside her, violating her, pinning her helpless body to the ground with his cock. Filling her with the seed that was still dripping out of her.

Every ache in her body was his. And she wanted more.

The collar tightened around her neck as Ciaran led her upstairs. She made a small noise as they passed the bathroom, and Ciaran chuckled.

“Don’t think you can wash it off, pack-chaser. I want to smell myself on you when I take you again.”

Again? Lucy clenched her legs together automatically, and Ciaran laughed out loud. He dropped the leash, and for one moment, Lucy had a crazy thought of running away—but before the thought was even fully formed in her mind, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder.

He sprinted to his room and tossed her onto the bed. Winded, Lucy barely had time to push herself up on her elbows before Ciaran was on her again. He flipped her over, winding her leash around one thick wrist and pulling it tight.

Lucy’s hands flew to the twisted-shirt collar as it pressed against her throat. “Stop!” she cried.

Ciaran knelt over her, a mocking look in his golden eyes. He tied the end of the leash to the carved wooden headboard, tight enough that Lucy gasped.

Ciaran ran his hands down her body, squeezing her breasts and kneading her ass. His hands were so big each one covered a whole cheek, and his fingertips groped between them. Lucy gasped and bucked away from his exploring fingers.

“Don’t like that, do you? But I know what you do want.” Ciaran slid one hand between her legs, running the pad of his thumb along her slick folds. Lucy trembled, moaning despite herself as his touch sent tendrils of desire twisting through her center.

The collar pressed against her neck and Lucy realized she had slid down the bed, leaning into Ciaran’s teasing strokes. If she went any further, she’d choke.

Lucy turned pleading eyes on Ciaran. He touched her cheek, the expression on his inhuman face fierce with lust.

“Look at yourself. I’m barely even touching you, and you’re choking yourself. Literally gagging for it.” He grabbed her and rolled sideways, pulling Lucy on top of himself.

For a moment, the collar twisted cruelly around her neck, cutting off her air completely. Then Lucy was lying spread-eagled on top of the naked wolf-man, the pressure on her throat easing.

Panting, Lucy followed the line of the leash to where it was tied to the headboard. Ciaran had the rope looped loosely around his hand—loosely enough that Lucy could breath. Could move.

He was sitting back against the intricately carved wooden headboard, smug expectation glowing from his eyes. As she felt the hard thickness of his cock between her legs, Lucy understood why.

He expected her to mount him. She could see it in his eyes. She was dripping wet, Ciaran’s seed mixing with her own juices, and even though every part of her hurt… the press of his cock against her folds was making her throb with desire.

“Go on,” Ciaran murmured. “You know you want it. Give in.”

Ciaran thought he had tamed her. Broken her with lust, until she stopped asking questions, stopped resisting. Until she begged him to let her take him into herself again.

What has he done to you? she asked herself. He tricked you. Lied to you. And back in the garden, he could have ripped out your throat. He’s a werewolf, and he’s dangerous. how can you still desire him?

Lucy gave a gasp that was almost a sob. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, but her body moved as though she was in a dream. She lifted herself up—and lowered herself, every muscle in her body aching with need, onto Ciaran’s cock.

She moaned as he filled her. Straddling him like this, she could control the speed of penetration and she lowered herself slowly, slowly, savoring the pressure that grew inside her. She shut her eyes, focusing on keeping control.

Lucy rested her hands on Ciaran’s hairy chest. His heartbeat thudded against her palms as she took him fully inside herself.

A tear squeezed itself out through her closed eyes. What are you doing? she berated herself, even as her whole body thrilled for Ciaran’s touch. You can’t even pretend you don’t like it. He was right. You are a slut. A pack-chaser, whatever that means.

She opened her eyes and stared at Ciaran. He was watching her with his eyes hooded and his mouth slightly open, revealing a hint of fang. He was primal, a coiled spring of violent animal passion who could destroy her with one snap of his sharp white teeth.

Lucy wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

“Oh, Lucy,” Ciaran murmured, stroking one clawed finger down her cheek, wiping way her tear of shame. “It’s just not as fun when you stop fighting, is it?”

With a deep sigh, he let his head rest back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

Lucy gaped at him, her shameful desire twisting into horrified frustration. He couldn’t just leave her like this. He couldn’t.

But he was. He was asleep—and she was trapped.

She waited, but he didn’t move. She bit back a sob. She was still tied to the bed—tied to Ciaran, it was the same thing. The leash wasn’t long enough for her to roll off him. He had her exactly where he wanted her: begging, humiliated, and unable to move from his body.

New tears joined the one that had already trickled down her cheek. She felt hollow with shame. She had finally given in, and what had he done?

Refused her. Rejected her. And collared her, so she couldn’t even go and lick her wounded pride in peace.

CHAPTER 8

Lucy slept, eventually. She didn’t remember lying down against Ciaran’s chest, or the slow rise and fall of his breathing lulling her to unconsciousness, but it must have happened.

She dreamed of the forest again, tall pines silhouetted black against the silver full moon. In her dream, she was still hunting, but this time she knew what it was she was trying to find. A fierce joy filled her, bright and hot, as she raced through the trees.

Until she woke up, and all her certainty vanished like mist in the dawn.

Lucy drifted slowly from sleep back into consciousness. She felt the sun on her face, and the twist of blankets around her legs and hips. The warm dent in the mattress where she’d curled up in sleep.

She stretched, and hissed as her body cried out in pain. Every inch of her skin seemed to hurt, and every muscle under her skin ached.

Lucy pushed herself slowly upright, teeth gritted. As she sat back against the carved headboard, she pushed the blankets out of the way and looked down at her body.

Her skin was marked with dozens of small cuts and grazes. Bruises ringed both her wrists and ankles, where the werewolf had held her down. There were dark marks around her waist, too—fingerprints, edged with scratches where his claw-like nails had raked her skin.

Lucy caught her breath. It was horrific… but she’d never been so turned on by the sight of her own body before.

She ran her hands down her sides, seeing how small they were compared to the marks from the werewolf’s hands. Her pussy ached, too, but it was a heavy, satisfied ache, not the pain of damage. Lucy bit her lip.

How was that possible? The werewolf’s cock had been so huge, and he’d been so relentless, that she was sure he would have hurt her. But this morning, the only evidence he’d left of his rough treatment were those bruises, this satisfied ache…

…and a need for more that left Lucy breathless.

“Hello, Lucy Abbotsford.”

The sound of Ciaran’s Scottish burr made Lucy jump. Her hands reached automatically to the blanket, to cover herself—but what would the point of that be? Ciaran had seen her naked body already.

Seen it, and marked you as his own. The thought burnt through Lucy’s mind like wildfire, searing everything in its path… and leaving Lucy almost panting with desire.

She held herself still, trying to pull herself together before she looked up at Ciaran. She shouldn’t have bothered. Whatever calm she managed to gather around herself went up in smoke the moment she looked into his eyes.

He was human again, sitting in a heavy armchair in front of the fireplace. A thick bar of sunlight from the leadlight windows fell across his bare chest and face. In the light, it should have been easy to read his expression, but Lucy couldn’t decipher the emotion that flickered across his face as their eyes met.

She had thought that werewolves were like two sides of a coin: one human, one animal. But Ciaran was different. When he was human, his eyes flashed wolf-gold, and when he was transformed… he’d still been so human. Like he was now. Smooth, sophisticated… but with danger lurking beneath the surface.

“Good morning,” she said quietly.

“Is it?” Ciaran’s voice was reserved. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest, his eyebrows drawing together as he stared at Lucy. “Well. Perhaps you’re right. You are alive, after all.”

His eyes slid sideways, and this time Lucy did recognize the expression that passed over his face. Bitterness.

Her stomach twisted. Is he upset that I’m alive? Is that it?

“Did… did you think you would kill me, last night? Is that why you told me to stay in this room after dark?”

Ciaran sat back and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Yes. Yes, I thought I would kill you,” he admitted, his voice harsh. “That’s why I bedded you in the first place. I hoped it would… slake my lust enough to keep you safe. You may be a naïve fool, but you didn’t deserve to die for it.”

Lucy raised one eyebrow. “And… I didn’t,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“No.” Ciaran didn’t return her smile. “No, for once, my… condition seems to have a silver lining. Hah.” He laughed mirthlessly.

“Your condition? You mean, being a werewolf?” Lucy leaned forward, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She knew so little about werewolves, really. Oh, everyone knew the stories, but it was impossible to tell what was rumor, and what was real. Before last night, she’d thought werewolves transformed completely into wolves—but maybe that was just another myth?

Ciaran frowned at her. “I know that last night cannot have been what you were expecting, but surely the wolf who broke you in explained some things, at least?” When Lucy didn’t reply, he shook his head. “I… I am not a true werewolf. If I had been, then when I caught you last night…” He expelled his breath sharply.

“What do you mean, you’re not a true werewolf?” Lucy spoke without thinking. When Ciaran stared at her at though he couldn’t believe what she was saying, she waved her hands. “Okay, okay, can we start at the beginning? Like you said, I’ve got no idea.” Even if you didn’t believe that last night.

Ciaran gave her a slow, considering stare that made her toes curl. “Very well. If you insist I treat you like a complete incompetent…” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “This really should not be my responsibility. Whoever broke you in should have explained… I came here to get away from all of that.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Very well. From the beginning. I am unable to complete my shift into a werewolf form, therefore, I am not a true werewolf. Had I been, the wolf would have torn you limb from limb when you ventured out of the castle last night.”

“So last night—that wasn’t the wolf?”

“I told you. I am not like other werewolves. The balance of wolf and man—I’ve never known it. Never felt the cleansing freedom of my wolf form, simple and free in the moonlight.” Ciaran’s eyes darkened.

“But—you did transform,” Lucy said, confused. “Last night, you weren’t—you weren’t human.”

“I wasn’t a wolf.” Ciaran’s expression darkened. “Make no mistake, Lucy, every time I claimed you last night, it was me doing it to you. Human cruelty and human lust, but in a stronger body. More powerful. Less… restricted.” He laughed bitterly. “Perhaps that is my balance, after all. The moon brings out the monster in me, as it brings out the simple beast in others of my kind.”

“Then that was… you,” Lucy said slowly. “You told me to stay in the room because you wanted to keep me safe… from yourself. You thought that you would hurt me.”

Ciaran met her eyes. “I did not know what I would do.”

Lucy gulped. Neither did I. But I threw myself at you, regardless.

She stared over her knees at Ciaran. When he’d caught her in the bathroom, he’d been cold, sarcastic—but now she could see the danger lurking behind his handsome face.

If the wolf-man with the sharp fangs and claw-like nails was him, and not the wolf—then that primal, violent passion he’d forced on her the night before was his. Not the wolf’s.

Somewhere behind Ciaran’s smooth exterior burned the fierce, single-minded desire that had wanted her, and taken her, only thinking of his own pleasure.

Lucy felt light-headed.

Ciaran took a long, slow breath. “I’ve always thought my full-moon form was unsafe… that’s why I stayed away from the pack-chaser parties. I feared what I would do to the women who threw themselves at my kind. But you…” His eyes smoldered. “I want to hurt you. I want to make you scream.”

“You did make me scream,” Lucy breathed, trapped in his eyes.

“Yes.” Ciaran stood up, slowly, his predator’s eyes locked on to Lucy. “I did make you scream. And tremble, and shake beneath me. I could have done anything to you…”

Lucy blinked, and he was next to the bed. She jerked backward. How had he moved so fast?

“I could have forced myself on you while you slept. Watched you scream as you woke up and saw me violating you.”

He got onto the bed, crawling towards Lucy as he described the disgusting things he could have done to her. He talked as though she was a toy. Something he could use for his pleasure, picking up and discarding as he liked.

Lucy moaned as he drew closer to her, his eyes as black as night. It was filthy, disgusting, degrading… and it was making her wet.

Ciaran stopped inches from her. He was on his hands and knees, his face the same height as hers—but he wasn’t touching her. All she could feel was his breath on her neck, and the piercing, thrilling pressure of his gaze on her body.

“I could do anything I want,” he murmured. “Hurt you. Break you. And you would beg for more, wouldn’t you? I took you on the dining table last night because I thought it would keep you safe, but instead, it’s only made my lust stronger.”

Lucy’s lips parted. She leaned towards him, desperate for his touch. “Yes,” she breathed.

“You naïve, foolish…”

Suddenly, he grabbed her, throwing her against the headboard and pinning her in place, his hands on her shoulders. The carved wood dug into her back and Lucy wriggle to free herself, but it was no use.

“Lucy—” Ciaran lowered his head to her breasts, groaning as he took her nipple in her mouth and sucked it hard. Lucy arched her back, shocked by the sudden assault on her body—and enjoying it. Wanting more.

Ciaran moved slowly upwards, sucking and licking at Lucy’s skin from her breasts to her neck, where he paused, his tongue flickering over the pulse under her jaw. His stance shifted and she felt his teeth—Human teeth, she told herself, human teeth—rasping against her skin.

Lucy’s pulse grew faster under Ciaran’s mouth, frantic, desperate, like a bird trapped under a cat’s claws. Human teeth, she thought, repeating it like a mantra, as though human teeth couldn’t draw blood just as easily as a wolf’s. Or a wolf-man’s.

What time does the moon rise here? Lucy thought, her heart thrumming in her ears. How long do I have until…

“You’re frightened,” Ciaran purred, his voice vibrating against Lucy’s neck. “Good girl.”

One of his hands pushed between her legs, and Lucy whimpered as he dipped two fingers into her dripping center.

“Oh, very good. Who broke you in, pack-chaser? Wait. Don’t tell me.” He drove his fingers deeper, making Lucy gasp. “We’re still pretending you know nothing, after all… Dear, naïve Lucy… I’m your first, aren’t I?”

His voice was acid with sarcasm as he reminded Lucy he thought her ignorance was a façade.

Broke me in? Lucy’s mind reeled at the implications of that term.

There was so much Ciaran said that she still didn’t understand. Breaking in, pack-chasers, whatever these parties he mentioned were… She needed to spend at least a week at her computer researching. Instead, she was stuck here with Ciaran. And every time she thought she was getting a handle on what was going on, he did something like…

“O-o-ohh,” she moaned, flinging her head back as he curled his fingers inside her.

Then, suddenly, pain blossomed on her throat. Lucy’s eyes snapped open.

“Oh God—” she cried out, backing into the headboard, twisting her head away from Ciaran’s teeth.

He didn’t stop her. As she stared at him in shock Ciaran’s eyes flared gold, and he looked away, rubbing a hand over his face.

When he turned back to Lucy, his eyes were black again. Human. Except that nothing about him was human. Lucy was beginning to understand that now.

Beginning to understand what it really meant.

Cold blossomed at the base of her spine and rose through her, making her lungs constrict and her skin prickle.

I can’t do this, she though suddenly. This is all like some crazy dream—and I have to wake up. He’s a werewolf. This isn’t safe. I’m not safe.

I need to get out of here.

She gulped, feeling the pressure of her collar around her neck. It had loosened while she slept… but it was still there.

Last night, the wolf-man had said she belonged to him. But that was the wolf-man. Surely Ciaran wouldn’t…

No. She was being a fool, just like Ciaran had said. Ciaran was the wolf-man, and she had to assume that everything he said then, he still meant now.

“So,” she said, suddenly feeling very sober. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but… What happens now?”

“Now?” Ciaran threw the question back at her.

“Yes.” Lucy’s thoughts were flying in a thousand directions at once, and she struggled to pull them together. She took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s say that I’m… happy with what’s happened here already. But what happens next? I’ve got work to get back to, people expecting me home—”

She stopped. Ciaran was staring at her. The mocking superiority in his eyes faded, replaced by something harder.

“Stop playing, Lucy,” he growled. “I looked through your bag last night. You came to Europe on a one-way ticket. You never expected to go back home once you found me. And now that you have, I have no intention of letting you go.”

Lucy’s insides turned to ice. She licked her suddenly dry lips, opened her mouth to protest—but what would be the point?

She’d tried to tell him already that this was all an accident, a mistake. That she hadn’t deliberately sought out a werewolf, presenting herself like some sort of depraved sexual sacrifice.

He hadn’t believed her then. Why would he believe her now? To him, she must look nothing but a—what had he called her? A pack-chaser, seeking out a werewolf to dominate her.

He had asked her who had broken her in. He had. Utterly and completely.

And it terrified her.

Lucy made up her mind.

“Then my question stays the same,” she said, only the slightest tremble in her voice betraying her. “What happens next?”

Ciaran smiled at her, his teeth gleaming. “You tell me to stop,” he growled.

CHAPTER 9

“I… what?” Lucy asked, confused.

“You heard me.” Ciaran’s eyes flashed. “You fought me last night. Fight me again, now.”

Lucy felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of her.

Ciaran narrowed his eyes. “Or if you’d prefer… I could wait. The moon will be up soon, you know. I can control the force with which I take you now, but under the moonlight, with no earlier release to temper my desires…”

Ciaran pressed her legs open, and stopped. Lucy could feel every one of his fingers pressing into her flesh.

And that was all he did. He knelt there, his whole body poised to attack—and waited.

Lucy forced herself to breathe. He’s waiting for you to fight back, she thought, watching his eyes. That’s what he likes. That’s—oh, hell—it’s what you like, as well. He must know that now.

And if you don’t… It will be worse than last night. Way worse.

She gritted her teeth, and slapped him.

Ciaran’s eyes lit up. His grip on Lucy’s legs tightened—and then he flipped her over and pulled her back down the bed in one movement, throwing her onto her stomach.

Lucy gasped as the breath was knocked out of her. She tried to wriggle away but Ciaran planted one firm hand on her lower back, pinning her in place.

Lucy lay with one cheek pressed against the mattress as Ciaran stroked her. With one hand still holding her down, his other one was free to explore her.

He was gentler than he’d been before, either in human or wolf-man form. His fingers brushed against Lucy’s ass, her thighs, circling around her hips. She moaned. His touch was painfully, tantalizingly light.

She wanted him. Her whole body was screaming out for more, wet and hot and willing, desperate for him to stop playing and fuck her hard from behind.

You have to stop this. The little voice in her head was back, quieter than before, almost completely silenced by her lust. Before you’re lost forever. You have to save yourself—now!

Lucy clenched the bedsheets in her fists, frustrated tears squeezing from her eyes. She made up her mind.

The next time Ciaran’s fingers slipped between her legs, she kicked back, twisting her body around at the same time. She wrapped one hand around her collar, stopping it from pulling against her neck.

Ciaran glared at her, his eyes golden and wild. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

Lucy stuck out her chin, hoping her expression showed a confidence she didn’t feel. Her heart quailed, but she didn’t back down.

“You want me to fight?” she challenged him, pulling at the collar. “How much of a fight is it, when I’m tied down?”

Ciaran’s eyes narrowed, but not before she saw gold flare deep inside them. Excitement kindled inside Lucy, despite herself.

She knew what the gold meant, now. Ciaran’s wolfish, domineering side. The part of him that wanted to hurt her until she screamed with pleasure.

Lucy took a deep breath that did nothing to cool the fire inside her. Focus.

“Very well, pack-chaser,” Ciaran growled. “Have you at last decided to give up your pretense of ignorance? If you’re the expert, tell me what it is you think I want.”

Lucy licked her lips. She had one shot at this. If it didn’t work, she would be trapped here forever—or worse. Maybe Ciaran would decide she wasn’t worth the trouble, and kill her.

“I th-think you should take this collar off me, for a start,” she said, wincing at the tremble in her voice. “There’s no point hunting something you already own, is there?”

“Ah,” Ciaran murmured, his eyes lighting up. “A hunt… just before moonrise. You have dangerous ideas, pack-chaser. Tell me more.”

Lucy swallowed. “I still have all the clothes I was wearing when I came here. The shirts and pajamas you gave me, they’re too easy for you to pull off. If I wore my own clothes while you were hunting me, you’d have to—to tear them off me. Leather’s more of a challenge than cotton, isn’t it?”

“You want me to destroy your belongings? Your last connection to the world outside?” Ciaran smiled coldly. “I admit, the thought is… appealing.” He stroked Lucy’s breast, his fingers leaving goosebumps on her skin. “A collar is one thing, but ruining everything you own, knowing that you’ll rely on me even to clothe your body… yes, you do know what you’re talking about, don’t you? Your first trained you well.”

Lucy’s heart thundered in her chest, as though she was already running. “So—you want to do it? And you’ll give me a head start, to make it more of a challenge?” she asked.

Ciaran shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He lifted his hand from Lucy’s breast to her neck and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

When he pulled his hands away, Lucy’s collar was dangling from his fingers.

Lucy stood up slowly, relishing her freedom of movement. But she still had to make sure Ciaran wouldn’t follow her too soon.

“It won’t be much fun for you if you catch me before I’m even out the front door,” she argued, mentally crossing her fingers. “Before I’m even dressed.”

“True.” Ciaran tipped his head back, and Lucy thought she glimpsed a flash of gold in his eyes. Shameful desire flared inside her. “Very well. You have until I’ve finished my breakfast.”

He stood up and marched out of the room. Lucy exhaled, as though Ciaran, leaving the room had taken her breath with him.

She trailed after him, anxious that he would keep his word. He had gone straight to the kitchen, and she found him dropping a steak onto a plate.

He caught her eye, and licked a drop of blood from one finger.

“I’m sure you’ll appreciate me slaking my hunger for bloody flesh before I drive my claws into you, sweetheart,” he said sardonically.

Lucy inhaled, a sharp hiss of breath. She wished it was horror she was feeling, but it wasn’t. It was excitement.

What’s wrong with you?

Ciaran dropped his plate on the kitchen bench and picked up a knife and fork. “You’re wasting time,” he murmured, not looking at her, and sliced into the steak.

Lucy fled.

She managed to keep control of herself as she darted into the bathroom, gathering up her clothing from the day before. Pants, underwear, shirt, and her trusty leather jacket. She pulled them on, fingers trembling

Then her nerve broke. She sprinted down the corridor, bursting out into the main hall. It took all the control she had to slow down as she approached the stairs. Breaking her neck wasn’t part of the plan.

She stopped just inside the front doors. Her eyes flicked to her rucksack. The bag was lying where she’d left it the night before, but now, the top flap hung open.

Didn’t Ciaran say he found my papers? My passport. Shit.

Lucy rifled through the valuables pocket in her rucksack, but it was empty. Her papers, wallet—gone.

She pulled on her boots, but left the bag. It would only slow her down. And if Ciaran saw that she’d taken it, and guessed…

Lucy hauled on the heavy doors, pushing outside as soon as there was space for her to squeeze through. It was bright outside, and she squinted in the sunlight.

There was the path. All she had to do was run.

Muscles aching, Lucy forced herself to sprint. Every step seemed to awaken some new pain in her body. Her ankles throbbed. Her abs burnt, as though the whole middle of her body was caught in a red-hot vice.

This is what he did to you, she reminded herself as she dodged pot-holes. Just one night. Her feet slammed against broken paving stones. Imagine what he might do with more time.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. A howl? A roar? Instead, when Ciaran slipped from the castle and began his hunt, he was silent.

Lucy didn’t know how she knew when the hunt began. She just felt it, deep in her bones, and in the hairs that rose on the back of her neck.

Her foot slipped on a wet stone and she stumbled forward onto all fours, just managing to push herself back upright before she lost momentum or, worse, fell. Gasping, she pressed on.

She could see the gates. Only a few glints of silver broke through the tarnished black metal, gleaming in the sunlight.

Lucy’s heart leapt into her throat. I must have made those marks when I climbed over. Was it really only last night?

Yesterday, she’d thought the gates stood between her and shelter. Now, she knew they were the only thing between her and her freedom.

Silver gates, to keep werewolves out—or to keep one in.

Why would he live here, trapped inside the gates? Lucy shook her head. Too many questions. Stop asking them. The answers aren’t worth the risk.

A hundred yards. Seventy. Fifty. Ten.

Lucy reached out as she sprinted the last few steps. She was so close she could almost taste it. Metal, like the hot tang of fresh blood on her tongue…

“No!”

Ciaran appeared out of nowhere, an impassioned roar on his lips. He struck her from the side, tackling her to the ground.

Lucy hit the ground hard. All the air left her body and she rolled, gasping.

Ciaran flipped her over. He wrapped his strong hands around her waist, making her hiss as his fingers found the bruises he’d left there the night before.

She glared up at him. His face was alight with a fierce, violent joy that twisted into pain as she drew her legs back and kicked him square in the stomach.

He fell back, doubled over. Lucy draw in a shaking breath. She scrambled to her feet, knowing she should run, but still in shock at what she’d done.

Ciaran lunged at her and she jumped back, light on her feet. He was slower, stumbling, one hand held to his ribs, a look of astonished delight on his face.

“Silver?” he choked out.

“Silver,” Lucy replied, her voice flat. Silver nails embedded in the soles of her boots. Her mother hadn’t let her leave the country without them: her totally illegal lucky charm.

“You—it hurts,” he grunted. His eyes widened. “My God—I think you might have actually broken something. A broken bone. I didn’t even think that was possible.” He winced, and growled, “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“You’re the one who called this a game,” Lucy reminded him, backing away. At last she felt the bars of the gate at her back. Solid. Cold. Silver. “Besides, I thought you said it was more fun when I fought back?”

“You—”

Lucy saw Ciaran’s intention in his eyes. She spun around and threw herself up at the gate just as he sprang for her. She grasped for handholds, slipped, and pulled herself up.

“No!” Ciaran’s roar filled the air. She felt him move behind her, and climbed higher—but she wasn’t fast enough. His hand closed over her ankle.

Lucy kicked, swearing, but Ciaran’s grip was strong. She twisted, glaring down at him. “Let. Me. Go!”

“You’re mine!” Ciaran snarled. Gold rose up in his eyes, swallowing the black. His bared teeth lengthened, turning into fangs.

Real terror curled inside Lucy, chilling her bones. She tightened her grip on the gate, knowing it would only be so long until Ciaran regained his full strength and hauled her down.

The silver. He was standing away from it, keeping a careful distance between himself and the powerful metal. Except for the hand grasping Lucy’s ankle.

She gritted her teeth and twisted, rotating her ankle so that Ciaran’s hand was between her foot and the silver gate.

Ciaran screamed, but didn’t let her go. Lucy gathered every ounce of strength she had and ground his hand against the silver. The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils and suddenly, she was free, toppling over the top of the gate and falling to the ground on the other side.

The other side. Safety.

Lucy rolled onto her back, panting. There it was. Her motorbike, just where she’d left it, leaning by the side of the road.

She crawled over to it, and flung herself over the seat, her panting breaths dissolving into helpless sobs.

She was free. Free. She could forget all about last night, and just treat it like—like it was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

She could leave it all behind her.

Leave him behind her.

A low moan brought her attention back to Ciaran on the other side of the gate. He was kneeling on the ground, cradling his burnt hand. Trapped in his silver prison.

And Lucy was free.

She leaned back against her motorbike, staring through the silver gate at Ciaran. She’d won. Escaped.

She’d expected victory to feel more, well… victorious.

Instead, as she watched Ciaran stumble to his feet, she felt empty.

Lucy reached up and grabbed the bike’s handlebars. She hoped its solid presence would anchor her, but instead, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was spinning out of control. Lost.

“Lucy Abbotsford.” Ciaran’s voice was ragged. “Was this your plan all along, then? Hunt me down, offer me your whole self—and then take it away?”

The expression on his face was like nothing Lucy had seen before. He looked hurt. Betrayed.

“I told you,” she said, not sure why her voice was cracking. “I told you I didn’t come here on purpose. I didn’t have any plan.”

“But you were so perfect,” he breathed. “Everything you did… Who taught you? Tell me that, at least. Who broke you in?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Lucy said, slowly standing up. “But if it means who was the first werewolf I ever slept with… it’s you.”

“You’re lying.” Ciaran’s voice was hoarse. “If that’s true, then…”

He groaned and closed his eyes, as though his head was pounding. Lucy’s eyes widened as she saw what was happening.

Ciaran was doubled over, his muscles jerking. Black hair sprouted from his arms and chest. Lucy stared at the sky, searching for a moon that was nowhere to be seen.

He’s not a true werewolf. What if he doesn’t even need the moon to transform?

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. If her plan had failed—if she hadn’t gotten away from Ciaran—who knows what he might have done to her in his wolf-man form, when he knew she’d tried to run away?

Lucy’s blood was like ice in her veins. She turned the key on her motorbike, and her knees went weak with relief when the engine roared.

She didn’t have her wallet, her passport, or her helmet. But, by God, she was getting out of here.

“Wait!” Ciaran shouted as she turned the bike around.

Lucy looked back over her shoulder. Ciaran was standing close to the silver gate, his part-transformation all but complete. His eyes burned gold, blazing into hers, straight to her heart.

“Where will you go?” he choked out. Lucy could see the effort it took him to form the words, fighting back against the burning rage and violence of his transformed self.

“Why would I tell you? So you can come find me?” Inside Lucy, a treacherous voice asked: Would that be so bad?

She shook her head. Ciaran might have been happy to toy with her before, but now? After she’d escaped from him, and wounded him with silver? She’d be lucky to get out of their next meeting alive.

But somehow, she found herself telling him. “I don’t know where I’ll go. Somewhere safe, I hope.” She paused, and a memory flickered through her mind. “Somewhere with a forest. Pines, so thick it’s like being in an ocean of trees, and everything in shadows except for the moon above.”

Lucy’s voice trailed away as she looked at Ciaran. Her words had a strange effect on him. All his violent rage seemed to melt away, leaving only a dawning expression of horror mingled with hope.

“The forest? Please—Lucy—you must stay, you have to listen to me—”

Lucy knew that if she waited a moment later, she would. All her self-control would dissolve, and she would lose herself to the wolf.

She couldn’t risk that. She had a whole life outside of these walls, and she wanted to live it to the full.

But despite the fact she knew she was making the right decision, the sensible decision, tears sprung from her eyes as she rode away.

Behind her, the werewolf howled his misery to the moon.

***

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!

Please consider reviewing Trapped by the Wolf. I love to hear from readers and appreciate all reviews, even if you only write a line or two.

***

But wait—Ciaran isn’t finished with Lucy yet…

Lucy and Ciaran’s painfully pleasurable relationship deepens in Claimed by the Wolf, Book 2 in the Werewolf Fever series.

Lucy won her freedom after her painfully pleasurable night with Ciaran—but will she be able to leave what happened at the castle behind? And what does Ciaran really want from her?

Read on for a sample chapter from Claimed by the Wolf.

Sample Chapter

CLAIMED BY THE WOLF

By Juno Blake

CHAPTER 1

All the world was forest, and the forest was the world. Lucy ran through the trees on a carpet of fallen pine needles, her heart singing.

Above her, the moon blazed silver. Shafts of white light cut through the branches, crosshatching the forest floor.

Lucy ran—and the wolf followed.

She ran, the cold night air whipping past her face, and the wolf chased her, as it did every night.

It was a dream. Even now, driving her toes into the damp forest floor with every stride, she knew it was a dream.

And she knew who the wolf was. His name was already on her lips. Ciaran.

Ciaran Mallory, the coldly passionate Scottish werewolf. She’d spent one single night in his castle as his captive, prey to his every sexual whim.

He’d tormented her, forcing pleasure from her body in ways she never thought possible. And every night since she had escaped his castle, she’d found herself here: in the forest, running from the wolf.

Running from Ciaran.

Lucy’s breath burned in her lungs, but her dreaming body thrilled at the hunt. She could feel him behind her, his golden eyes raking over her body as he chased her.

He was getting closer. With every step, he gained on her, his powerful strides longer and faster than Lucy’s. He was bigger than her. Stronger than her. He could overpower her as easily as swatting a fly.

All he had to do was catch her.

And when he did…

Lucy groaned. For six weeks she’d had this dream. Each night, she’d run until her lungs burned and her feet were cut and bleeding. Ciaran had gotten closer, and closer—but she’d always woken up before he caught her.

She had sworn to herself that she would never let Ciaran dominate her again.

But this isn’t real life. It’s a dream. It’s not real…

But her feelings were. Why else would I dream about this every night?

Lucy’s whole body throbbed with desire as she heard Ciaran’s heavy footsteps on the forest floor grow closer. She could keep running. Do the same thing she’d done every night since she escaped, and run until she woke up, hot and sweating and frustrated. Or…

She could give in to him.

Her breath caught in her throat. Give in—and give up her body to the werewolf.

Her brain rebelled at the thought, but her body thrilled at it. Give in to his strength, his rough, violent passion. Lose herself in her own body’s shameful pleasure.

Lucy’s foot caught on a root and she stumbled, throwing her hands out to stop her fall. She rolled over, scrambling in the needle-covered dirt.

A shadow moved through the trees, so fast she only got glimpses of it: long, hairy arms tipped with claws. A muscular torso. Sharp fangs gleaming in the moonlight.

Lucy pushed herself up onto her elbows, heart in her throat. He was so close, there was no chance she would be able to get up before he was on top of her.

Is this what I want? Time seemed to slow down. Is this what I’ve always wanted? To be completely in Ciaran’s power?

Lucy told herself it couldn’t be true. She had been terrified and confused every moment of her captivity in the castle. In all her life she’d never been so helpless—or so aroused.

Maybe that was what had terrified her so much. Everything Ciaran had done to her… she’d enjoyed it. And she wanted more. Even if she could only admit it in her dreams.

Ciaran bust out from the trees. He was in his full-moon form, his body still human-shaped but over seven feet tall with rippling muscles. His hands were huge, with a claw-like nail at the end of each long finger. His face was fierce, inhuman, fangs bursting through his lips and heavy brows shadowing his eyes.

And his eyes…

Lucy went limp, drowning in the golden blaze of Ciaran’s wolf eyes.

“Hello, Lucy,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. She whimpered as he tore her shirt from her body, exposing her bare skin to the cold night air and his lustful gaze. He reached for her…

…And Lucy woke up.

She stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, panting. Bedsheets were strewn around her, knotted around her legs. Her whole body was slick with cold sweat.

For a moment, Lucy couldn’t remember where she was. The forest still pressed in on her mind, long branches stretching like arms towards the moon. She closed her eyes, desperate to bring it back. Just one more moment, she begged. Just to feel his touch…

It was no use. She was awake, in her cramped, damp London flat.

Safe.

Hundreds of miles from Ciaran Mallory in his silver-walled castle.

She should have been glad. Instead, she was so frustrated she could feel tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

Lucy couldn’t hide the truth from herself any longer. Ciaran Mallory terrified her. If she hadn’t escaped, he might have ended up killing her. At the very least, he would have used her, again and again, forcing himself on her regardless of her cries for mercy.

And Lucy wanted more. Her dreams, the thrill of desire that rushed through her whenever she remembered Ciaran’s assaults on her body… It made her sick, but she couldn’t deny it any longer. Ciaran Mallory had taken her, body and soul, and she would never be satisfied by another man.

Tears squeezed out of Lucy’s eyes as she shut them tight. She had thought she could leave what happened in the castle behind her, like a nightmare that would disappear in the light of day.

Instead, it was going to haunt her forever.

She groaned and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the narrow single bed. Haunted or not, I have to get on with my life, she thought, gritting her teeth. What’s left of it, at least.

Before she met Ciaran Mallory, Lucy had her life all figured out. Her career as a photographer was just taking off. She had saved for years to fund her travels through Europe, excited by the prospect of adventure and life on the road—and the chance to take more of the sorts of atmospheric landscape photos she’d made her name with.

All that had changed in one night. Lucy had been forced to leave behind most of her belongings when she fled from Ciaran and his brutal demands—including her passport and wallet.

No passport. Barely any money. Worst of all, no camera. All that work, lost.

Lucy had fled on her motorbike as far as she could, begging and stealing food and fuel until she found herself in London. She’d sold her bike, planning to hide in the city until she could raise the money for a ticket back home to America.

Today was an important day. The process of getting her passport replaced had been long and aggravating, but today the Embassy was finally going to hand it over. By this evening, she would be one step closer to putting an ocean between herself and Ciaran Mallory.

But first… she needed a cold shower.

Lucy hurried through to the flat’s cramped bathroom. Luckily, none of the other people who were living in the over-crowded house were using it. She stepped into the shower, hissing at the cold water.

The house was so run-down, it didn’t have hot water. Most of Lucy’s housemates grumbled about it, but Lucy was grateful. Nothing else helped to dampen down her body’s shameful lust for the werewolf whose clutches she’d fled from.

She stood under the icy water, shivering as it trickled over her breasts and belly. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still see Ciaran’s gaze, pinning her to the ground.

The bruises from her night in the castle had faded weeks ago, but sometimes, Lucy still thought she could feel Ciaran’s hands on her body. His firm, entitled touch as he squeezed her breasts and raked his claws across her sides. The pressure of his fingers on her waist as he pulled her towards him…

Someone knocked on the bathroom door, shocking Lucy out of her memories. She gasped and splashed cold water over her face.

“What?” she yelled over the sound of the shower.

“Can you hurry up? I’ve got to get to work!”

Lucy recognized the voice as that of Sibby, one of her housemates. Sighing, she turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a threadbare towel.

“It’s all yours,” she told Sibby as she pushed past her and scurried back to her bedroom.

“Thanks!” Sibby called over her shoulder. Lucy smiled at her as she wedged her bedroom door shut. Sibby was the same age as Lucy, although sometimes Lucy felt a lot older than her. She was a fresh-faced new graduate who’d only just moved from her small village to London. Everything in the city seemed to amaze and delight her… even the rats that crept into their flat’s poky kitchen at night.

Some days, Lucy wished she was still as innocent about the world as Sibby was.

The door to her bedroom was skewed, and only closed properly if Lucy threw her whole weight against it. Whoever had installed it couldn’t have been a real builder. In fact, Lucy suspected that the landlord had just nailed new doorways in front of every nook and cranny in the building, creating new “bedrooms” in spaces that had previously been closets, pantries, the ends of corridors and anywhere else he could fit in an extra closet-sized room.

As a result, Lucy’s room was just big enough to fit her single bed and a small cupboard where she kept the few possessions she’d been able to gather together since she made her way to London. The most important of these were her second-hand laptop and camera.

She’d spent most of the money from selling her motorbike on these two items. It was foolish and frivolous, but Lucy didn’t really feel whole without a camera, even a cheap second-hand one. It was nothing compared to the DSLR she had lost at Ciaran’s castle, but it was something, at least.

Besides, it was a practical purchase. Lucy had made a living as a photographer before, and she intended to do so again. She’d already done a few small jobs since she arrived in London, mainly taking cutesy photos of people’s children and pets. It wasn’t much money—but it was a start.

And it was less humiliating than waiting tables. At least puppies didn’t try to pinch her ass as she walked by.

Lucy dried herself off quickly and got dressed. Her appointment at the Embassy wasn’t for another few hours, and she needed to find some way to keep her mind occupied. Work would distract her from the glowing golden eyes in her imagination.

She grabbed her laptop and sat back on her bed, waiting for it to boot up.

Her eyes roamed around the bare walls as she waited, lingering on the mysterious stain that had started getting bigger ever since the last big downpour.

Ew. At least the castle didn’t have black mold…

Lucy shook herself. Don’t even joke about that. Focus on what you need to do to get home. And fast.

She still found it difficult to accept that everything she owned fit in this tiny room. Just a few changes of clothes, a pair of boots, and her laptop, camera and phone.

Not for long, she told herself firmly. Today, you’ll get your passport back. After that, all you need to do is save another few hundred pounds to get a ticket back home.

At last her laptop finished booting. Lucy logged onto her email, idling scrolling past spam messages and social media notifications to find any new work emails. She wasn’t expecting anything, but something caught her eye:

Blackpaw Pack: An Exclusive Invitation.

Click here to keep reading!