Mating the Huntress

by Talia Hibbert

  The growl rose, rich and undeniably threatening. A primitive part of her brain screamed that she was about to get herself killed. And yet… he was right there, in front of her, his form massive but vague in the shadows, his eyes so familiar, his as control fierce as ever. He wasn’t moving a muscle, she could tell. And she knew, to her very bones, that Luke would never harm her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “That’s all. I want to be with you. I want us to be okay. Are we okay?” She winced as she awaited some kind of answer. God, she was ridiculous. He was a bloody Werewolf, for Christ’s sake. What was she expecting in response, a reassuring snarl? A friendly dismemberment, if he was feeling particularly demonstrative?

  While she waited and wondered and berated herself, the wind shifted, whipping at her skirt and her hair. The subtle whisper of air through bare branches and evergreen leaves emphasised the density of the forest’s silence, its only percussion the growing rumble of Luke’s growl. And then, all at once, the clouds covering the moon drifted away, and the forest was cast in an icy, blue-tinted glow. It barely counted as light at all—and yet, it was just enough for Chastity to see him.

  To see her Werewolf.

  He crouched on strange legs, the two-jointed kind that looked as though his knees were in reverse. Her gaze travelled from bulging, furred thighs to a broad, leathery body that bore random patches of matted fur. His arms seemed too long for that body, ending in hairy, monstrous imitations of the human hand, his fingers a series of jagged, yellowed claws. Maybe she’d seen him like this before, but in the heat of battle she hadn’t truly noticed the twisted nature of his form. And still, she stared, her gaze finally landing on that snarling muzzle, those drooling fangs, and his narrowed, watchful eyes.

  Eyes that, despite all the rest, made her heart flutter in her chest.

  Fucking weird.

  When the creature approached her, she remained still. Her pulse pounded at her throat, so violent it was almost uncomfortable, and nervous sweat prickled over her skin—but she couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t run, either. What if it hurt his feelings?

  What if Luke isn’t in there at all, and the chase triggers something in his beast?

  But no, that wouldn’t happen. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and spoke to herself sternly. Luke wasn’t like the Weres her family had described to her. She knew that. Just because he looked the way he did right now, and just because the moon hung over him like a symbol of inhumanity, didn’t mean she had anything to fear.

  Even though she knew all of that, however, she almost screamed when she felt his hot breath against her cheek. Chastity’s eyes flew open, and she came face to face with the beast.

  For one heart-stopping moment, they were trapped in a private eternity, brown eyes clashing with emerald. The world around them sank into nothingness, and reality itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, with the power of a wave crashing against the shore, time restarted. The Werewolf leant forward and…

  Nudged Chastity’s forehead with its jaw.

  She flinched instinctively, then realised that nothing else had happened. Just a nudge. She looked up to meet the creature’s eyes again and, somehow, saw wry amusement dancing in those green depths.

  “Oh, bugger off,” she muttered. “You look quite disturbing right now, you know.”

  There was a puff of hot air against her cheek, a strange chuffing sound edged in a growl. He was laughing. He was laughing at her.

  She rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile spreading over her face. “Don’t make me stab you again.”

  One massive paw came up to shove at her shoulder. She fell on her arse.

  Luke made a low whining noise and bent over her, nudging her head again, even gentler than before.

  “I’m fine,” she sighed, swatting him away. “Honestly. Don’t start treating me like china. Get off. Get off!”

  With another strange huff, he moved back, giving her space to stand again. She folded her arms and walked around him, squinting at him in the low light, studying the strangeness of his form. Something deep inside her still thrilled with terror at the sight of him, at every new and inhuman thing she noticed, but it didn’t really matter. Because on top of his general weirdness, he was also kind of cute.

  She bent down to examine his creepy legs and decided never to admit that thought aloud.

  Standing, she instead lied through her teeth. “You don’t look so big and bad to me, Were.”

  He gave a growl that managed to sound sarcastic. Trust him.

  “I think I could take you.”

  Luke snorted. It was an out and out snort. The cheek of it!

  “Alright,” she said, “that’s it.” Swinging around, she hit him with a roundhouse kick to the huge, shaggy thing that appeared to be his head. She knew from experience that it wouldn’t really hurt him, but hopefully it would confuse him a little bit. Grabbing the dagger at her thigh—not silver, but still rather sharp—she ran into the forest.

  The challenge was unspoken. Catch me if you can.

  Luke raised his muzzle to the round, bone-white moon and howled. Chastity raced through the trees ahead of him—away from him—smelling fucking delicious as ever. More than delicious. She smelled like his.

  She would be his.

  He ran. His bloodlust rose like a sea of scarlet, richly indulgent, as if he were drowning in some poor fucker’s internal organs. Only this had a slightly different edge, viciously possessive but not exactly violent, electrifying but not necessarily murderous. He was hunting, the beast realised, as he prowled after the sprinting woman, but this was a new kind of prey. The kind he could never harm. The kind who’d run with him beneath the moon and feel the same joy he felt in the unrepentant wildness of this night.

  The beast moved faster.

  He came closer, that divine scent choking the smells of the forest around him, sinking its claws into his lungs and his heart. The need to have her beneath him, to possess her even for a moment, was so strong that he forgot to draw this out. He forgot to play. Instead, he caught her almost instantly, knocking her to the soft earth and butting at her head again. Her curls tickled at the sensitive insides of his nostrils, and it felt as if he were a dog having his belly rubbed.

  Not that he was anything like a dog. Obviously. God, he had it bad.

  “Again,” Chastity said, that steely voice tugging at him just as hard as it always had. Harder, even, because she was that much closer to being his. Because she’d come back, and tonight, of all nights. Because she wanted to be with him. Because he could tell, in a thousand tiny ways, that she might not mind being his.

  Thank God, since he was already undeniably hers.

  He moved back, let her rise, even gave her a little head start as she streaked off into the darkness. But again, and again, as the night wore on, he caught her. And yet… It took a little longer every time.

  This was his forest, and he had been cursed to rule the night, but the more she learned of the terrain and of him, the harder it became to hunt her down. Every time she tricked him, evaded him, attacked him and darted away, his wild heart sang, his pleasure swelling until it filled the night. He barely noticed as the moon swept her course across the sky. In fact, he didn’t notice at all—until the glowing orb sank below the horizon, and the chokehold of the curse eased its grip.

  He’d been chasing Chastity, about to catch her, when his bones shattered and shifted mid-stride. Perhaps he made a sound, because she turned to look at him—but then his perception of the world was swallowed whole by pain. It wasn’t always like this. His beast was a part of him, and pain didn’t often bother him, so changing didn’t have to be trauma. But when the moon came and went…

  Well. This was supposed to be a punishment, after all—and never mind the fact that every Were had forgotten who was punishing them, and what for.

  He came to naked and aching in the dirt, with Chastity beside him. The agony he’d just experienced was swept away almost entirely at the sight of her, ba
rely illuminated by the rising sun but crystal-clear to his eyes.

  She was grinning down at him, mud smudged over one cheek, a fine scratch across her forehead that might’ve come from a branch. For the first time, he noticed the silky, red-and-white dress beneath her usual plain jacket. Then he looked down and realised that her feet were filthy and slightly bloody, clad only in torn-up tights.

  His heart squeezed, and he sat up so fast that his head pounded out a protest.

  He ignored it, grabbing one foot, and examining the damage. “Where the bloody hell are your shoes?”

  “Good morning to you too,” she murmured. “Next month I’ll wear boots.”

  He looked up sharply, his eyes flying to hers, his worry washed away by a flood of desperate, near-painful love. He loved her. And she might possibly be open to one day, perhaps, loving him.

  He hoped.

  “You’d better,” he said. “If you do this again, I’ll spank you.”

  “You can try.” She yawned suddenly, raising her arms in a spine-cracking stretch. He enjoyed the swell of her cleavage against the bodice of that strange dress for a moment before giving in to his protective instincts.

  “Alright,” he said, standing up. “Bedtime.”

  “It’s morning,” she protested as he swept her up into his arms. “Oh, for God’s sake, what are you carrying me for?”

  “You’re not walking on those feet. Do you have work today?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re coming home with me.”

  She tutted, but her arms settled around his neck and she rested her head on his shoulder. Jesus, she must be tired. “Don’t we need to have a long and meaningful discussion about the truth of your cursed nature, and so on?”

  “I think we’ve already had plenty of those. How about we go home, wash your feet, and go to bed?”

  She made a humming noise as she considered. “Do you have any disinfectant?”

  “I have an extensive collection of spirits.”

  She shrugged. “Close enough.”

  And so, Luke dragged his human mate off to his lair, made her scream to the heavens—by washing her feet with gin—then fell asleep with her in his arms.

  She was still wearing the dress.

  8

  The Beast Within

  Chastity woke up to rich, golden sunlight streaming through the windows and a huge, naked man playing with her hair.

  Oh, fuck, her hair. She raised a hand to the knotty, dried-out mess, winced, and decided to call in at least three of her siblings when she eventually got around to detangling it. She’d need help. And entertainment. And snacks.

  “Hey,” Luke murmured, his fingers still toying with a curl just above her ear. Considering the fact that most of her recent memories involved his eyes peering out of a monster’s face, the sight of his sharp but human features was a little jarring. But only for a second. Then she was distracted from that minor shock by the realisation that his expression was… grave. He didn’t look unhappy, or anything—just excruciatingly, uncomfortably serious.

  “Hey yourself,” she replied, wondering if this was about to be the most awkward morning after of morning afters. So, our semi-violent frolicking in the woods was fun and all, but…

  Then he reached down and plucked at the cheap, satiny material of her costume. “You dressed up for Halloween?”

  “It was for the café,” she explained. “I had these silly little shoes, too, but I lost them somewhere.” They both looked down towards her feet, which he’d bandaged with torn-up strips of cotton. The sight relaxed her slightly. He’d ripped one of his spare sheets to pieces for her; clearly, they were cool. She had no reason to be nervous right now.

  But she’d never seen him look so solemn before. Not ever.

  “I was a cupcake,” she blurted, because something overly warm and uncertain in her suggested that she keep speaking. “Red velvet. You know, because they’re my favourite? I mean, I didn’t choose it—my dad… Oh, you should know, I spoke to my family. I passed on everything you told me. And stuff.”

  ‘And stuff?’ Wow, Chas. Many articulate. Much verbose.

  Then Luke stroked a gentle fingertip over her cheek, the touch driving all coherent thought from her mind and snatching the rambling words from her tongue. She was silent and strangely peaceful, lying there beside him, staring into those hypnotic eyes and feeling the glide of his skin over hers.

  “You left me,” he said softly.

  She swallowed, hard. “I—yes. Um… I’m sorry—”

  “I know. I know. But, Chas… You’re human,” he said.

  “Well, yes,” she managed. “And you’re a Werewolf. Both conditions have their downsides, in my opinion.”

  He smiled, slow as the sunset that seemed to be taking place outside. Those full lips widened just for her, colour darkening his high cheekbones as fine lines fanned out at the corners of his eyes—and something deep inside her relaxed.

  “Do you mind?” he murmured. “That I need you, I mean? And in a way you probably can’t understand, not until we’re mated, at least.”

  She didn’t correct the implied certainty in his wording. “I know what you are. I know how you feel. I know that your emotions aren’t quite like mine, that you aren’t quite like me. I’m here anyway.”

  “You really are.” The finger dancing over her cheek became the warmth of his palm cupping her face. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then slid his lips so very softly over her mouth. “Last night—it never occurred to me that the curse could become a blessing. But with you there, it felt like one. You stayed with me. You played with me. You’re human, but you’re here with me, and you are not afraid.”

  She licked her lips, trying and failing to ignore the emotion shimmering deep beneath the surface of his words. She could hear his entire heart in his low, rumbling voice, hear the depths of his feelings towards her in a way she never had before, not from anyone. And her own heart sang back in response, offering love she couldn’t yet bring herself to voice, but wanted to. Impossibly, desperately, wanted to.

  Releasing a slow breath, Chas admitted, “I’m tired of fighting the way I need you. I’m tired of denying what you mean to me. After last night, I think I can officially stop worrying about what is and isn’t normal.”

  “No,” he murmured. “You don’t need to forget. If you can run with a Werewolf, I think I can give normality a try.” He wrinkled his nose. “Up to a point.”

  She laughed, giving into the urge to touch him. Her hand sank into the soft midnight of his hair, his body heat cradling her like a blanket.

  “If you want to… date,” he said, “and do whatever else humans do, then we will. If you want to wait, we will. If you need time, tell me how much. We’ll do it your way.”

  Chastity arched a brow. “Seriously? Because you seem pretty hot on this ‘mating’ thing.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice almost a growl. He cleared his throat and began again. “It’s… a need, for me. But that doesn’t matter. You’re mine, and you always will be, whether I’ve marked you or not.”

  “Marked me? Is that what you have to do?”

  He shrugged. “Mark you, exchange blood, yeah.”

  “Is that a mystical Were way of saying you want to bite the fuck out of me?”

  “Didn’t you already know that?” He flashed her that teasing, infuriating, sexy smile, then bent his head and bit her earlobe gently.

  She sighed, the action sending an unexpected flare of pleasure through her, sensation unfurling low in her belly. The hand she’d buried in his hair moved lower, almost of its own volition, over his neck and down his spine.

  “You have to bite me too,” he whispered in her ear, the glide of his lips against her sensitive skin sending a shiver over her body.

  “I don’t know if you noticed,” she said, battling to keep her voice steady, “but you’re far more blessed in the canine department than I am. And much harder to damage.”

  “Trust m
e,” he murmured. “When the time comes, it’ll work.” There was a compelling promise hidden beneath those velvet words that made Chastity’s heart beat faster.

  “Alright,” she said, sounding a little more breathless than she’d like.

  “Good.” His mouth left her earlobe, slid down to her throat. In one smooth move, Luke shifted his body over hers, and she remembered all at once that he was very, very naked. They’d taken off her tights when he tended to her feet, so his powerful thighs slid against her bare legs, the crisp hairs tickling sensitive skin. He ran his tongue over her rapid pulse, then sucked, slow and firm, at the curve of her neck.

  “Ohhh, fuck,” she moaned, arching into his satisfying weight. “Luke?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Can you, um… can you smell when I’m turned on?”

  He laughed, his voice so deep she felt it in her bones. “Oh, yeah. Like right now. I already know that when I rip this cute skirt off you, your underwear will be soaked through. I know that you’ll rub your juices all over my face when I lick your sweet little cunt. And I know you’ll be hot and soft and wet when I sink into you.”

  Well. Well. “Ah,” she squeaked.

  He rose up on his knees and pulled her up too, so she was sitting in front of him. His smile was kind of devious, completely provoking. “Let’s get started on that, shall we?” Then he kissed her, and his mouth against hers felt like coming home. His lips were soft and yet so demanding, coaxing out her brimming passion with patience even as his hands pulled roughly at her clothes. She revelled in the feel of him, from the slow dance of his tongue against hers, to the hard planes of his body. And then she was just as naked as he was, and he was lifting her, turning her, moving her around the bed like it was nothing.

  She found herself kneeling opposite the mammoth bed’s headboard, Luke’s legs bracketing hers, his warm chest pressed against her back, his thick cock sliding against the cleft of her arse. Something about that particular pressure, all soft skin and hard flesh and sensitive places, made her moan. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to suck and lick at her throat again, using tongue and subtle teeth to reduce her to a shivering, whimpering mess. Arousal was a silken prison holding her body hostage, forcing her to reach for him mindlessly just for the pleasure of touch, to rock back against him just because it made his breathing hitch.