by Kira Nyte
The battle to keep his thoughts obscure tired him more than a week without sleep.
When a slight ripple of pain started in his head, he cussed under his breath. The witch taunted the seams of his consciousness, threatening to tear open his soul and release the beast.
Spirits, he didn’t want this. Not tonight. Not ever. He didn’t want to hunt the woman he had become so enamored with.
Arrick growled, slamming his fist into the shower wall as the pain intensified, stretching from the end of the scar beneath the white patch of hair, along his neck, his shoulders, and constricting around his chest. He fought to suck in a breath as he yanked the handle and shut off the water. He removed the protective amulet from around his neck before stepping out of the shower. The witch could not know about the help he received. Her suspicions would rise and Rhyannon would be as good as dead. Using one of the fluffy robes provided to the guests, he covered himself without drying his skin and stormed into the main room.
A funnel cloud of fog appeared in the corner of the room before it formed an ethereal version of the real witch. Her blond hair floated, tapering on curls of smoke. Her blue eyes, cold as ice, pulsed in a strange cyclone of magic and anger. Her figure bled into the fog, smoke trailing behind her as she approached.
She would have been quite beautiful if not for the evil, possessive nature of her spirit.
“What do you hide, Huntsman?” she taunted, her voice as hollow as her figure. “What do you wish to keep secret?”
“What I do when you’re not invading my head is my business.”
The witch paused. In a blink, she appeared directly in front of him, a whole head shorter but a world more frightening. Deceptively delicate fingers grabbed his chin in an iron grip, nails biting into his skin as she pulled his head closer to hers. She leaned into his mouth, sniffing his lips, then lowered her nose along his neck.
“Who was she, Huntsman?”
“Why does this fling concern you so much?”
She gave his head a sharp jerk. A bolt of agony sheered through his head. Arrick cried out, dropping to his knees, blinded by pain.
“Foolish creature. You can hide nothing from me. Do not forget who owns you.”
Arrick shook, the pain pulsing like bursts of electricity running mercilessly through every cell.
“Who was she?”
“I-I don’t know.” Arrick used the little strength he had to conjure up a random image of a pretty brunette he had seen at Howler’s a couple of days ago. He created a story, a fantasy, hoping to appease the witch before he broke beneath her torture. “Some woman.”
Hanging tight to the image, he prayed to the spirits, the Goddess, anyone that the witch would let him go.
“I’m a man, for…crying out loud. I have needs.” He strained to get the words out through clenched teeth. “You…keep me alive. I’m not…dead. I want…”
“Enough.” The witch’s grip loosened until her hand dropped away. The pain began to subside, but he knew the damage would stay with him for the next few hours. “Waste my time again, and you will be sorry. I will make sure you suffer dearly for your selfishness.”
The witch floated away, her body melting into the fog.
“You run out of time. I shall give you until the full moon in four days to find her. Should you fail me, you forfeit your freedom. And perhaps your life.” The fog began to spin, a whirlwind of magic that touched nothing. It stretched toward the ceiling, fading through the structure.
A hollow echo of her voice gave him his last warning.
“Four days, Huntsman.”
Arrick dropped onto his hands and crawled the short distance to the bed. His muscles burned and ached. The throb in his head refused to release him as he pulled himself onto the mattress and curled onto his side.
Four days. He had four days to figure out a plan. Four days to enjoy the woman he was falling for. Four days to either get rid of the witch for good, or sacrifice himself to keep Rhyannon safe.
Chapter Ten
Rhy fished a plush blanket from the trunk base of the coffee table and fell into the corner of the sofa. As she lifted the remote to page through the channels, a knock on the front door brought her to the edge of the cushion. She waited a moment, listening for any telltale signs of who might be calling on Dalila or herself. Dalila was on another date, so she was alone.
When the caller knocked again, she pushed the blanket off her lap and cautiously moved through the dim living room toward the door.
A quick look through the peephole put her at ease. She slid back the lock and opened the door. Arrick turned toward her, a smile crossing his handsome mouth.
“What a nice surprise.” Rhy leaned against the door, shamelessly taking in his fit figure.
“I hope I’m not intruding.” Arrick held up a DVD case, a bag of corn kernels, a bottle of wine, and smiled. “Movie night?”
Rhy laughed, stepping aside to let Arrick into the house. His gaze roamed from her head to her bare toes, shadows crossing over his eyes. He lifted his arms to his sides and glanced down at his simple outfit of jeans and a thermal shirt.
“I think I overdressed.”
“Not at all. You look handsome.” Rhy took the corn kernels and wine. “I think I underdressed.”
“If I may say, flannel pants and that little T-shirt are torture to a man.” He tapped his chest. “This man.” He leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her cheek. “Besides, we didn’t have set plans for tonight. I took a chance.”
“And I’d say your chance paid off. Movie night with you sounds like a perfect evening.” Rhy led him into the kitchen. She dropped the kernels on the counter and prodded the bag, her brows drawing together. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what to do with these.”
“No problem. I need a large pot with a lid, some oil, and salt. Fresh popcorn, compliments of moi.”
Rhy gathered what Arrick requested, as well as two wine glasses. She popped open the bottle, keeping an eye on the delicious man pushing up his sleeves to make popcorn.
“You failed to share that you’re also a cook.” Rhy poured two glasses of wine. She leaned against the counter beside Arrick and handed him one. “A toast to huntsman, philosopher, and popcorn maker.”
“I’m a far cry from a cook. Perhaps a professional microwave operator or takeout order placer, but certainly not a kitchen master.” He tapped his glass to Rhy’s and took a sip. “My talent lies in tearing open a frozen dinner, pressing start, and enjoying some pretty sub-par cuisine.”
“Well…” Rhy sidled up against him and peeked into the pot. A single layer of kernels covered the bottom, glistening with oil. “I might be able to treat you to a good home-cooked meal.”
“My popcorn skills aren’t impressing you?”
She pointed to the dried kernels. “They haven’t popped, so I can’t judge your skills just yet.”
“Ah.” Arrick placed the lid on the pot and turned to Rhy. He wove his fingers through her hair and lifted a thick chunk to his nose. “Mmm.” His eyelids grew heavy while Rhy weakened. “How was your day, Princess?”
“Quite uneventful.”
She drank her wine, but had no time to lick the small drop from her lower lip. Arrick’s mouth closed over her lip, his tongue sweeping the wine away. She swayed, a quiet moan leaving her throat. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of his lips and the shot of pleasure that erupted along her nerves when he nipped her flesh and tugged on her lip.
Arrick straightened up. Rhy fought to gain control of her body and her breath and looked up into his face. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, and everything in his expression purred “hunger.”
“Until now,” she managed to mumble. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, tasting the essence of wine mixed with Arrick. “Think you missed a spot.”
“We can imagine I missed spots all over you. I’d gladly drink you up in a heartbeat.”
An inferno blazed to life inside her from her head to her toes. She lowere
d her gaze and danced her fingers along the dip of his chest. She pinched the magical pendant beneath his shirt. “Blunt?”
“Truth.”
“I think I rather like your version of truth.” She rested her glass on the counter, slipped her arms around his neck, and pressed up on her toes. The man towered over her, but the security she felt when his arms wrapped around her was everything she craved, and more. She brushed her lips over his chin. “I don’t take you as a man who doesn’t finish what he starts.”
“That’s a very dangerous invitation, Princess.”
Rhy was well aware of the invitation, and nothing, not even her conscience, whispered for her to halt the direction they were headed. “I like a little danger of the right kind.”
Arrick twisted until her back pressed against the fridge. He dipped his head and nibbled along her neck. Rhy tilted her head, exposing the line of flesh for his hungry mouth while her body hummed with pleasure.
“What if it’s the wrong kind?”
She sighed, combing a hand up through the silk of his hair. “You’ll protect me.”
The words slipped from her mouth without hesitation. Yes, she was certain Arrick would protect her against any danger. It was a feeling that resonated in her spirit, a promise that pulsed from him and connected with her.
Arrick straightened up. His hands slid down to her hips and he lifted her feet from the floor. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist. He pressed his forehead to hers, a hand cupping the side of her face.
“Rhyannon, I would do anything to protect you.” His thumb caressed the corner of her mouth. “Anything.”
Rhy melted into each sweep of his tongue. His kiss burned fast and furious, a wildfire that consumed more than her mouth, poured into her veins and filled her heart. Each beat pulsed for Arrick. The connection between them thickened until she realized what her mother spoke of when she described a spirit mate.
Arrick Luvell was her spirit mate. Her one and only.
Rhy had no recollection of Arrick walking away from the kitchen, but a few moments later, he laid her down on the sofa, his solid form hovering over her. His kisses trailed over her jaw and traced the throbbing vessel along her neck.
“Please tell me your friend will be home soon,” Arrick murmured against her skin. Rhy sighed, fingers tangled in his hair. “Please tell me I have to stop.”
“Not that I’m aware of and nope.”
He growled, a sound so primitive it made her skin tingle. He lifted his head and held her gaze, his eyes glowing like sunlight-infused honey. Breathtaking. “Lie to me.”
Rhy pulled his head back down and kissed him. “Nope.”
Lost in his kiss and the tender caress of his hands over her neck and belly, nothing could stop them.
Until a slew of gunshots tore them apart.
Arrick rolled off the sofa, catching himself before he landed on the floor. The intensifying scent of burnt food filled the house.
“The popcorn,” Rhy gasped. She climbed over the back of the sofa and hurried into the kitchen at Arrick’s heels. Smoke funneled up from the pot. Charred popcorn pushed the lid off and poured out over the stove.
“Damn it.” Arrick waved his arm through the smoke and shoved the pot off the burner. He shut the stove off and swept his hand several times over the burning popcorn pieces sticking to the burner. Rhy used a dishrag to wave the smoke away from the smoke detector before it set off the alarm. Arrick shoved open the kitchen and window and said, “You’re a hazard to a cook, you know that?”
Rhy swung back to him. The corner of Arrick’s kiss-swollen mouth was curled in a sly grin and the handsome lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled.
“I recall you saying you were not a cook.”
She playfully whipped the rag at him, but he caught it, wrapped it around his wrist, and pulled her into his arms. They laughed.
“Well, guess this was a fail, although…” Arrick reached for the bag of uncooked kernels. “I can try again.”
“I’m eager to taste your popcorn, so I’ll give you another chance.”
Arrick kissed her brow. “Good. It’ll be a reasonable distraction from you, since I told you I’d do anything to protect you.” His grin faded and he released her. “Even if I’m protecting you from myself.”
* * *
Rhy jerked awake at the sound of a loud crash. She swallowed down the strike of fear that bolted through her chest and gasped for a full breath. For a long moment, she sat curled on the sofa, listening to the sounds of the house as her heart rate returned to normal and the sleep drained away.
It was in those moments that she realized Arrick was not beside her. They had been watching a movie—which was rolling credits on the television now—and eating popcorn when she curled into him and must have fallen asleep. His scent was still strong around her, a sign he had not been not gone for long…
A blood-chilling growl echoed down the stairs.
“Arrick?”
Rhy climbed off the sofa and slowly crept closer to the stairs. A thud preceded a muffled grunt, followed by a thump and a cuss. She stilled at the bottom of the stairs, a mixture of concern and fear warring inside her body.
“Arrick?” she called up the stairs, reaching for the banister. After a tenuous moment of silence, she climbed the first tread.
Arrick swung around the top of the staircase, a crazed look in his eyes—red eyes—and a twisted, pained expression on his face.
“Gotta go,” he growled, his voice sounding more animalistic than human. Rhy’s eyes widened. Where those…fangs?
Arrick barreled down the stairs, bouncing against the walls. He tripped, stumbled off the last step, and fell onto his hands and knees.
“Sweet Goddess, what—”
“Coming,” Arrick growled. The veins in his neck popped against his skin, a visible pulse tapping along his temple. His fingers curled at unnatural angles, his nails darkening to black and extending into…claws?
Arrick scrambled on hands and knees to the door. Rhy stared at him, hands over her mouth, in absolute shock. There was no way…this was not…
A distressed whimper escaped her throat.
Arrick shot her a glance. His face was rippling as it stretched and molded and tried to form into something new and horrific. But his eyes. She recognized those glowing red eyes.
He struggled to his feet, yanked open the door, and dove out into the night. Rhy caught sight of a thin trail of smoke rising from the skin over his collarbone where the magical pendant hit.
Rhy ran after him and found him contorted on the ground at the side of the house. He thrashed, one half-changed hand clutching the pendant. His teeth clenched, his back arched, and his face turned a frightening shade of red.
“Arrick.” She dropped to her knees beside him. With shaking hands, she brushed hair off his forehead.
“Get…away.” He shoved her back and rolled away from her, clawing at the ground toward the small patch of woods at the back of the house. “She…comes.”
Rhy glanced around. A shudder swept down her body when she noticed the thick fog rolling between the trunks of trees in the dense forest across the street. An unnatural fog that carried her enemy.
“Go!” Arrick barked.
Rhy snapped out of her shock, grabbed Arrick beneath the arms, and hauled him to his knees. Whatever his secrets were, he needed her help now. “Get up. Hurry.”
“Leave me!”
“No!”
Rhy tugged harder until Arrick got to his feet. She supported his weight on her shoulders with a grunt, surprised by the extent of it. The fog spread ominous tendrils over the street and up the small slope of Dalila’s front yard, its speed increasing as it drew closer. She swung away and dragged Arrick toward the house, then thought better about returning inside.
Magic could be used in nature, even if the consequences were devastating to her body. She had nothing to protect her within the confines of a home.
Arrick tried to shove her a
way again, but she dug her fingers into his side in silent warning. He sucked in a sharp breath, his feet tripping up beneath him. Rhy bit down on her lower lip, ignoring the dull throb through her side and back as his weight yanked her toward the ground. She wasn’t letting him fall. No way.
“Help me, Arrick. Work with me.” She let out a huff and lunged forward, pulling him with her. The skin along her back tingled. Ice chilled her spine. She dared not look behind them. She knew well enough the fog gained ground.
She needed to reach the trees.
Arrick pitched forward. His arm flailed away from her, allowing her to stay on her feet as he hit the ground. Moistening her dry lips, she quickly judged the remaining distance. Ten, fifteen feet to the trees.
Rhy crouched down at his head, wove her arms beneath his, and strained every muscle in her body to drag him the short distance to the trees.
The fog reached the front of the house. The ensuing threat thickened the air, pressing heavy against her shoulders. She thought she saw thin bolts of light blue energy bouncing through the fog. The power that approached was immeasurable.
“Help…me,” Rhy said between clenched teeth. She dug her bare heels into the earth and moved another foot. Again. Another foot. The trees drew closer, but seemed miles away as the fog closed in.
Pads, like that of a wolf, scraped her biceps. Claws cut open her skin. She suppressed a pained cry as blood streamed down her arm, using the pain to propel them to the trees.
Rhy reached the patch of trees, rolled Arrick onto his back, and slapped her palms to the trunks closest to them. She sucked in a deep breath, dug deep for the magic inside her spirit, and called forth the power of the earth to protect them.
“Woodland Goddess, I call upon your power of protection. I am one with you, one with nature, one with that which surrounds me. Protect me as I protect an innocent.”
Heat coursed up from her belly and poured down her arms, into the trunks she connected with. The strength of the Goddess’s power surrounded her as the trees and bushes reshaped, enclosing both her and Arrick within a wood and bramble cage. Warmth oozed from her nostrils and weakness threatened to consume her as she acted as the conduit for her natural power.
