Sorcha's Wolf (4 page)

He jerked away.

Hurt, but hiding it, she hoped, she muffled a yell through the gag about being freezing cold and barefoot.

Finally seeming to understand, he cursed under his breath something vile about witches and stomped around her to the back of the SUV, opened the hatch and rummaged around in it for a while. She followed and considered hitting him again, when he turned with a stack of neatly folded jeans, a sweater and a T-shirt in his hands.

“Here, you’ll wear these from now on, and not such clothing.”

She froze and glared at him with her hands out to take the pile from him. He made that sound as if she dressed like a prostitute. She couldn’t wait to get the bindings off her mouth to tell him he’d have to die before he saw her in
such clothing
again.

He placed the bundle on top of a red and white cooler and turned to her with his knife out. He sliced through the bindings on her wrists, ignored her face and planted the blade into the top of the ice chest with a hard look that she thought meant he was stabbing the poor defenceless ice chest instead of her. He looked so angry, she worried he’d piss her off too and then where would she be? Hog-tied probably.

“If you try to run again, I will catch you. Know that.”

She refused to let him see how truly painful his treatment was to her. It felt like he was peeling open a wound that had never healed. The lust rushing her system was raw enough, but to know she disgusted him, while he was everything she’d ever wanted? The hurt rocked her so badly she turned from him to hide the fresh wash of tears stinging her eyes.

She heard him stalk back to his map. She waited a second, then two before gathering the clothing in her arms, and headed to the line of pine trees. She wasn’t dressing in the open like this, not a chance. She began to head towards the grove of trees. Alex stopped her before she had got two feet. He turned her and planted her butt against the bumper.

He pointed to the ground under their feet. “Here. You change here. I will be at the front, but if you as much as move a step from this spot, I will know.”

She dumped the clothing inside the packed SUV and tore at the gag unsuccessfully until she ripped some of her own hair out. “I can’t change here! You complete—”

“That will go back verra easily.”

His mocking tone made her madder. If that was humanly possible.

“Oh, I just bet it will, you over—”

She swallowed the rest when he casually lifted the cooler lid, grabbed a water bottle then drank a long, long, long gulp. Her mouth was dry. She licked her chapped lips watching him drink the entire contents. He tossed the empty plastic in the back of the SUV.

“Just remember who’s in charge here, witch.”

So many ways to hurt him rushed through her mind that she couldn’t decide on which one to try first. Then he was gone, his arrogant back straight as he strutted to the front of the truck as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Oh, the overgrown goat-herding swine…

With an angry breath out her nose, she considered getting a water bottle, but decided to change first. She was shivering from the cold and the sooner she changed, the better. She slipped the straps off over her shoulders and shimmied the thin material down her body as quickly as possible. Folding it in a square, she set it down then found folded in the pile of clothing, a surprisingly lacy, but comfortable bra. Under it, she spotted cream-coloured matching bikini bottom panties.

Confused, she tilted her head, and examined them. Who knew the man could buy sexy but serviceable lingerie? They were soft, silky smooth and obviously expensive. Still confused, she slipped into the bra, clipped the front closed and adjusted her breasts and found it fit her perfectly. Panties went on next, then the soft baby-blue jeans. Her hands trembled and it took her longer than she liked, but she got them on and turned to the shirt, already feeling the buzz along her hands that warned pain was on its way to her long neglected fingers.

How did he do this? Find clothes that fitted. Her butt was rounded, but she figured if J.Lo could rock the world, then she wouldn’t worry about it. But most jeans just didn’t fit right. These felt made for her. Only they weren’t. Were they? She peeked at the tag and frowned at the Lucky trademark. Annoying man. He’d bought her favourite jeans.

The cold air made her hurry into the black v-necked T-shirt and shove her arms into the roughly woven brown sweater. Still freezing, she leaned against the tailgate and brushed the dirt off her feet, slipped on the wool socks then hurried to put on the hiking boots. Her hair had gone wild. The masses of red curling into ringlets would take hours with her hot iron to straighten. She tugged it loose from her sweater and gave up trying to make it behave after only a second. Why bother? It wasn’t as if Alex was looking at her.

She almost felt normal, except her hands. It felt as if someone stabbed her fingers with a million sharp pins. The wool of the sweater rubbed her raw wrists and she rolled the material above the cuts, grimacing at the abrasions along both arms. Unlike other immortals, a witch given the gift—or curse—of immortality didn’t heal quickly. She’d have to shake the life back in her hands. First, she needed to tie her boots and confront the angry wolf for answers.

The sting in her fingers made the laces into a torture of sorts. Tears sprang up in her eyes as the sleeve slipped again, rubbing against the sores. Her butt hurt from her fall, her ribs were painful, her forehead still felt tender and now she was cold to the bone, aching with frustrated arousal, and her hands stung with the return of blood flow.

Her fingers shot shards of pain up her arms until with a frustrated breath she simply hugged both hands under her arms and crouched closer to the ground, too hurt and tired to fight the wash of tears rushing from her eyes.

She was alone. Alone in a way she’d not been since she was a young, too bold, too brave a girl who’d learnt painfully how quickly the world could strike her down.

And no one knew.

No one cared. Not even the man who should.

Her mate.

What a joke the universe was having on her.

Chapter Four

Alex shifted his eyes from Sorcha for the tenth time and focused back on the map. He’d tried not to look at her while she’d dressed, but she’d made a sound and his head had jerked up on its own. The top of her pale, beautifully plump breasts had caught and snagged his attention until she’d turned to the side again and slipped the creamy silk over them, hiding the pink, perfect nipples from his sight. But not the shape of them or the memory of their beauty.

He’d roughly rubbed his hand across his mouth and had grimaced before turning back to the map. His body ached from being hard for so long without relief. The head of his cock was in misery, driving him crazy against the rough fabric of his jeans.

He’d lifted his gaze to her again and watched her pull her long red hair out of the black shirt he’d got her. She’d winced and paused, looking at something out of view before she’d puffed her curls off her forehead and bent out of sight. She’d reappeared with the sweater, tugging it on quickly. Her pale face had worried him. The pink puffy marks circling her eyes stood out dark against the whiteness of her face. Had the poison harmed her more than he knew?

She hadn’t complained of anything.

You’ve not let her.

She would though, if she were ill. All women voiced their ailments.

If they weren’t gagged.

Still, Sorcha wasn’t like other women, was she?

Eyes back on the map he secured their course, folded the paper neatly then stowed it and the compass in his jeans pocket. His breath hissed out as just that small shift of fabric along his aching shaft sent a spike of lust barrelling up his back. Reaching down, he adjusted himself and tried to ease the damn thing into understanding no relief was in the near future. His body refused to listen. His hand simply felt damn good against the driving need for friction. Any kind of friction.

He heard Sorcha make a frustrated sound and fisted his hands at his hips. What would she sound like when she made love?
Wild.
A redhead. Had he ever bedded a redhead before? He couldn’t picture one, although the colouring was common among women in his homeland. Scotland.

He’d travelled the world, but hadn’t returned home in centuries. Sorcha was from Scotland as well, or near enough, he thought. The information on her and her coven was vague, hidden by the centuries, much as his pack’s was.

He’d never fought against her coven either. Until now.

They were of an age, he knew. The past—his past here in Scotland—was a blur at times. Markee was right, he didn’t give his wolf freedom. He’d learnt not to when his wolf had cost him his family. But when he’d forced his wolf down, he’d gone on a killing spree, destroying as many of the men who’d murdered his family as he could find. Until even his king had grown leery of him. Alrick had ordered him to let go of his rage and secure their new home in the US. He’d followed his king’s orders since, placing the pack above all else.

Was it possible he’d met this woman when he’d been nearly a berserker, he wondered. Something, some memory he thought, caught his attention every time he glanced at her. If he could simply turn his head at the right time, it felt as if he’d catch some memory long forgotten. About her.

From the rear of the vehicle, he heard a soft sob and froze with his pack half on his back. She cried.

Two seconds later, he hauled her up from where she crouched, hands under her arms, rocking back and forth on her haunches. She was in pain. It was there on her face before she ducked her head hiding her tears.

“Here.” He took hold of her hands and rubbed them briskly between his, creating the heat she needed to get her circulation up and running. She gasped and glanced at him the once, her eyes bright with moisture, but quickly tried to take her hands back. “Don’t.”

Not that he cared if it helped. He simply needed her well and whole for the walk they’d now have to face. If he found out she’d been the one to flatten the tyres—

She sucked in a painful breath when his fingers brushed her wrists. The wounds were raw, bleeding slightly in places, and painfully pink in others. Bruises already showed along her delicate skin.

Alex brought her arm to his mouth and sucked on the skin, rubbing it lightly with his tongue. He ignored how she stiffened, how his shaft practically flooded his jeans with a burst of pre-cum, and how right she tasted—like warm sunshine. Instead, he focused on the healing instincts—instincts he never listened to—guiding him to use his mouth to ease her pain.

Once he set in, she slumped back, eyes closed, against the rear of the SUV. Still holding her tight, he ran his mouth along her wrist and on around until he felt her sweet flesh healing. He’d never used the healing gift in his saliva, had always doubted the power of it, but he felt her skin close under his mouth. He pressed her back against the truck, took her other hand and watched as her green eyes flew open.

She tried to resist him, pulling and twisting her hand from his grip. Instincts flared at her defiance and he hauled her smaller body tight to his with one arm around her waist and flattened her to the truck. His erection pulsed at the first press against her soft stomach then grew harder when she rubbed against him, trying to pull away.

“Let me go!”

His wolf stirred and he pressed into her at the same time as he sucked on her wrist with a long, hard pull from his mouth, licking it repeatedly with rough, fast flicks of his tongue. Her head fell back with a gasp, and that quickly, she softened in his arms.

With a low growl, he nudged her with his hips, easily imagining his mouth feasting on her sweet pussy. Arousal swamped his senses with such need he bit down lightly before he could stop himself. Sorcha trembled and the hand she pressed against him in protest curled until she dug her sharp nails into his chest.

He nearly groaned in pleasure. Suddenly between them, her scent—simmering heady arousal—broke through his senses.

He shoved away, breathlessly wiping his mouth off, to stare at her. She fell back against the SUV, her hands clenched tight on the bumper as if to hold her body upright. Her face was flushed, her green eyes bright with need.

“Don’t try your ways on me, witch.”

She jerked as if he’d slapped her. Glaring at him, she tossed her hair away from her eyes. “I wasn’t the one licking someone.”

“I was healing you. Nothing more.”

His body pulsed at his words, denying them as easily as that. He stomped to her again, and she shut her lips with a snap on whatever she’d been going to say. Her lips were pink and looked softer than rose petals. A man could get lost in such beauty.

Not this man. He got in her face and made sure she felt his arousal against her hip.

“Next time you try to seduce me, you’d best be ready for what you get, witch.”

“Seduce
you
?” She’d barely got the words out past her indignation but sputtered on to say, “You have got to be the biggest, most egotistical block head ever born. I’d rather—”

“Quiet, woman.” He pushed her along the SUV until he reached the door, opened it then shoved her inside. “Stay here while I scout ahead. If you so much as—”

“Yes, got it. You’ll do unspeakable things,” she grumbled, “like lick me.”

He growled a warning then slammed the door on her surprised face. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was walking around for the rest of the day with his cock feeling like it was caught in a Chinese torture device. He stalked to the pines, leapt across a small creek and landed easily on the opposite side. As soon as he did, he unzipped and pulled his aching flesh out.

Even his hand felt like heaven. Hers would be better, but he’d not chance sleeping with her. He’d probably make a fool of himself and come before he even entered her lush, wet body.

He easily pictured her, hair spread out under her, face rosy with pleasure as he slid between her legs. She’d possess soft, pale thighs with the right amount of cushion for his hips. Pre-cum spilled from the slit of his cock and he used it to rub over the heavy, full flesh, spreading the moisture slowly up and down. His veins pulsed along the length, readying him for a massive release. With a groan, he imagined all ten inches sinking into her pussy. She’d take him. A woman like Sorcha, she’d be wild, demanding he give her everything. He’d take her hard too, making her scream and bite him in her pleasure.

His balls drew tight and he fell back against the nearest tree as his legs grew weak at the image of her tossing that red hair over her shoulder as she rose above him. He’d tighten his arm around her waist and drive her to orgasm. She’d love it. She’d gasp like she had when he’d licked her. Only she’d wrap her gorgeous legs around his waist to allow him to cup her perfect ass in his hands as he plunged into her wetness.

Two strokes, three, and his flesh jerked, grew harder with seed simply thinking on how he’d smack into her flesh, making that rhythmic sound he’d not heard in too long. Each time their bodies met, Sorcha would cry out and run her nails along his spine, demanding he take her fully.

With a low growl, a climax burst from him. His cum shot out. Load after load hit the ground. Instead of satisfying him, the orgasm increased his need for friction. Feeling frantic, he stroked his flesh faster and faster, moving one hand down to cup his balls. It felt incredible, so perfect he fucked through his tight fist as hard as he wanted to possess Sorcha. Each shove pulled more seed from what felt like his toes out through the sensitive slit. The second orgasm rammed down his body, nearly dropping him to his knees. Gasping for air, he leaned a shoulder against the tree and strained through his tight fists until with a shuddering breath, his forehead fell against the bark.

When the world stopped spinning, he opened his eyes, sweating, breathless and so sated he couldn’t move. Cum dripped from his hands. The ground beneath him showed signs of more. He felt like he could barely move. His shaft stood out, still thick, hard and pulsing with the need for a warm, wet woman not his fist.

Slowly the euphoria dissipated, leaving him empty.

What was wrong with him? Sorcha was a means to an end, not his pin up woman.

The poison wasn’t trapping her powers completely.
That had to be it. She was trying to soften him to her. Use his lust against him.

Confused, he stood and walked to the stream to clean his hands then his body with the cold water. The chill woke his brain and helped to clear his head.

He’d always tried to be honourable, always tried to aid the weak. Sorcha was at her weakest. She should be safe with him. Why this animosity towards her? Animosity mixed with lust. It was as if he fought himself. Half of him wanted to bed her, the other wanted to shake her. He grinned at the idea and froze. The expression—the feeling of humour—felt odd to him after so long without feeling such a thing in more years than he could remember. But he’d been close to laughing since the first moment she’d opened her sexy mouth to try to insult him by calling him a Neanderthal.

He reached up, brushed his hair back from his forehead and exhaled. Life could present changes. He’d never been good at sudden changes. Perhaps this was simply that—a change. He’d hated everything that wasn’t a part of the pack for far too long. Perhaps it was simply time to let that anger go. With his revenge, maybe he could even begin to live again.

With the witch under him?

He smiled off at the distant peaks visible above the tree line. Doubtfully, unless he began making amends quickly.

She wasn’t spelling him. She wasn’t doing anything to make him feel this way other than breathing. He’d been this hot, or nearly, before he’d even met her. The poison was working. He grinned and stood, zipping his jeans and adjusting his belt. She’d have turned him into much worse than a toad if she could.

Besides, she’d been hurting.
Crying
. He’d seen that when he’d gone to fetch her from the back of the SUV. He’d spotted her red eyes and even though she’d tried to hide her tears, she’d left streaks behind on her pale face. Dirt smudges.

Most women in her position, he thought, would cry to ease him into releasing them. They’d use their weakness to remind him they were female.

Glancing back at the tree he’d just rested against, he spotted the glistening wetness of his seed on the fallen leaves. Nothing she could do would make him forget she was a woman, it would seem.

Maybe he could have Sorcha
and
use her to gain his revenge. He’d sworn not to see her hurt. Zith wanted her. He’d have found a way to get her, with or without Alex’s aid. Maybe if he protected her, in return, she’d welcome his attention.

He laughed dryly at the thought. Sorcha was not a forgiving witch. A beauty such as her? He doubted she would forgive his treatment of her so easily. Beauty came in many different forms. The landscape around him was abundant with beauty. A rainbow after a torrential downpour. The sun shining on a field when the wind whipped the stalks of barley. The mountains of his homeland.

And Sorcha.

He shook his head, starting to feel like he’d made a mistake thinking he could use the witch and remain unscathed. She did things to him, made him act in ways he couldn’t predict, which made her dangerous.

Maybe he couldn’t earn his revenge so easily.

A man could gain nothing of value without first earning it.