Mated to the Wolf. Bonnie Vanak
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to ease the ache those words caused.
“You owe us, you bastard. I’ve come to collect.” Russell, the enforcer in his former pack, nudged closer to the bar. He nodded to the shifters, who watched the scene like wolves sensing an injured deer. “Thanks boys, for letting me know this scum’s here. How does it feel, Grayson? Bounty hunter, hunted by one of his own.”
Stiffening, Grayson searched out the prey’s response. Smelled fear, intrigue and adrenaline coursing through delicate blue veins. Samantha was ready to bolt.
He kept his senses trained on the girl, while swallowing his whiskey in pretend indifference. “You’re mistaken, mister. Go hound dog someone else.”
She slid off the bar stool and headed for the door.
Tossing a few bills on the counter, he got up to follow her out. Russell stepped in his way, poked a finger at him. “Where you going, hotshot?”
Grayson slugged him. The enforcer crashed into a high-top table. Russell recovered, came back at him with a grunt. The next punch coldcocked him. Grayson tossed a twenty at the wary bartender.
“For taking out the trash.”
The sharp, bitter November wind bit his cheeks as he went outside. Precious moments lost in tangling with Russell had given Samantha time to escape. Yet her scent lingered. Grayson crouched low, touching the graveled drive, seeing the heat signature of her footprints.
He could track through a blinding snowstorm.
Paring down his lust, he concentrated. Grayson drew a deep breath of frosty air into his lungs to take in her scent. She was weakened from hunger, tired and afraid. That made her even more dangerous. Tendrils of his magick drifted toward her like fog. He sent them wrapping around her body like cord, and pulled gently.
A scream and she fell down. He walked to the Dumpster.
Wide blue eyes narrowed in rage. Her white-blond hair was matted and streaked with mud. Threads unraveled from her cranberry cable-knit sweater and her brown corduroy pants were ragged.
Samantha shivered violently. He shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and draped it over her.
And then she went still, her chin lifted in daring. The brave affront got to him. He knew all about putting up a good show when someone was kicking his guts.
“Release me, Hunter, before I claw your eyes out.”
“In good time,” he drawled. Grayson reached into his pocket for the handcuffs. Woven from silver link laced with powerful magick, they’d hold even an Ancient like him.
Her face mottled gray. As he went to reach out to cuff her, she head-butted him, hard. Samantha broke free and ran.
Son of a…
Rubbing his bruised forehead, he followed as she sprinted into the field. Damn, he hadn’t seen that one coming. The spurt of strength, the way she’d deliberately played weak as if she knew he’d underestimate her.
Never again. He grinned, his wolf thrilling to the chase, the wind cutting through his thin shirt, the fresh air invigorating him. Slowing his pace, he circled her, wearing her down.
As she darted to the left, he followed. He could hear the blood coursing through her delicate veins, hear the rapid pounding of her heart. Like a panting deer showing exhaustion, she was close to dropping.
Something inside him, maybe that rock of his heart, stirred. He sprang forward to end the chase before she reached her limit. He tackled her to the ground. Straddling her hips, Grayson pinned her wrists to the muddy ground.
She intrigued him. Memories surged as he stared at Samantha. A shadowy night…screams of terror…haunted eyes.
Ruthlessly, he shoved the memory back and concentrated on his prey. He’d never handled a full-powered Darklighter and it had been years since a woman held his interest.
He took time to study his quarry. The body beneath his was soft and feminine. The shapeless sweater couldn’t disguise lush curves, the contours of her full breasts. Grayson itched suddenly to touch her skin, feel the silk beneath his fingers.
Taste it beneath his tongue.
The ridge of his erection nestled at the apex of her long legs. She bucked again, making him painfully hard.
“Stop that.”
Fear bitter as a winter wind rode her. He had to control her, erase her emotions so he could haul her into his truck. With one hand, Grayson pinned her wrists above her head, tasting her helpless spike of terror.
Tugging his glove off with his teeth, he bared his right hand.
Samantha’s eyes went wide. She struggled harder.
“Hush,” he soothed. “Just relax.”
White light pulsed from his fingertips. He laid his hand on her brow, drawing out her fear, healing it.
Samantha’s breathing eased. She stared at the luminous glow engulfing his body. “You can’t be a Hunter. Hunters are cruel, like the one who killed my parents. What are you, an angel?”
Bitter laughter rumbled from his chest. “No chance in hell of that, sweetheart. I’m Grayson Adler, an Ancient and empath Healer. My touch removes negative emotions, like fear.”
And it also removes evil. But no need to tell her this.
“Oh? I like my fear. It’s kept me alive, and I have no intention of letting it go. Especially not to a Hunter.”
A black mist arose from her breath, twirling around the healing white light. The mist crept up his arm, clamped down hard. Grayson bit off a juicy curse. Hurt like hell, as if an anaconda squeezed. He rolled off in a moan.
“Screw you, Hunter.” Samantha sprang up, turned to run.
Grayson extended his palm and shot a bolt of energy toward her. Samantha crashed to the ground like an angel falling from heaven. He walked over to her, studying the innocence of her face, the long blond lashes sweeping over her rosy cheeks. Desire and a fierce protectiveness slammed into him.
“Healing isn’t my only talent,” he murmured. “First rule of the hunt, sweetheart. Always make sure the prey doesn’t know all your ammo. Especially that nifty little trick of lassoing your consciousness.”
Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her tight to his chest. He’d dump her at the Society’s headquarters, collect his bounty and leave. Grayson pushed aside regret. Samantha was no longer his concern.
Much better this way. For all concerned parties.
Three hours later, Grayson was in Denver Colorado, staring across the gleaming mahogany desk at Anderson Stamos, director for The Society for the Elimination of Malevolent Magick. “You’re b.s.ing me.”
Anderson smoothed back his hair between the two green horns sprouting from his head. “Never. Your new assignment is to mate Samantha and absorb her evil powers. Lucien Marcello has already turned her older sister, Mara. Daimon Nelson has been assigned to the youngest triplet. You’re the only other powerful Ancient who can tame her before she turns demon. I’m counting on you to handle her.”
“Handle her? I already did.” Sweat trickled down his spine, pooled in the waistband of his faded jeans. “I don’t need a mate.”
Not with his past. And not with her.
“Samantha has a capacity for good. Her white light was diminished when her demon emerged, but it remains.” Anderson’s eyes darkened, and he steepled his fingers. “She nearly killed an innocent last week, the assistant to a Hunter. Fortunately, the woman was a Fae and healed. But Samantha sawed at her wings until the woman told her Jerome Cabot was last seen in Colorado.”
Grayson went still. His palms became cold and clammy. “Jerome Cabot?”
Anderson nodded, shuffled through a file folder. “The Hunter