Sorcha's Wolf

by Billi Jean

  The heartfelt cry created a hollow feeling in his chest. She had spoken in Gaelic again. Whoever he was, he’d been a part of her past and he’d hurt her greatly. The man was a fool. What man on this earth wouldn’t want a woman like Sorcha?

  Soft sobs followed her outburst, but loud enough to goad him up the mountain.

  He’d teach her, eh? Aye, he’d been the one that had learnt. Next time he’d watch his threats with her, or no doubt her temper would land them in the same predicament.

  A second later, he spotted the shiny reflector on the backpack. One of its straps had caught on a rock, wedging the bulk of the pack tight enough that it had ripped from his back. Relief quickly followed by worry that the potion wouldn’t work after missing a dose. The unfamiliar worry strangled the breath in his throat.

  His stomach rolled and tightened. He’d never panicked a day in his life. He’d get the potion, give it to her and wait and see.

  Then he’d make sure she never did something like this again.

  Chapter Nine

  Sorcha shifted tired, sore muscles, grimacing at the foul taste of the antidote that still lingered on her tongue. Something warm and soft brushed along her forehead and she froze realising it was a hand.

  “Are you awake?”

  Alex. She’d dreamt of that husky voice. Hadn’t she? Her dreams were a blur, images she’d thought forgotten mixed with newer terrors, she supposed. The pain she’d experienced along the trail had dimmed everything else to simply surviving each step back to the waterfall. She know knew that without Alex, and his antidote, she’d not survive. The pain had been that great. Hell, she’d Velcro herself to him from now on, if need be – at least until she figured out how to break this poison on her own.

  “Witch, answer me or I’ll—”

  She opened her eyes and blinked to see Alex hovering inches above her. It was dark, still the middle of the night she guessed, but by the firelight, she could see him scan her face quickly before he narrowed his eyes at her.

  His hair stood up in chunks of brown that she noticed this close to him was truly more a darker blond than brown. The night growth of beard on his jaw shone with lighter colour too. Her gaze landed on his mouth. He had a sinful mouth, made for kissing. Had he kissed many women? He’d bedded them she was certain, but did he brush his lips against them?

  Jealousy sucker punched her. Why would she care? Why should she care? He hated her. Was willing to trade her for some revenge and how wonderful his lips were shouldn’t matter.

  Right. It did matter because he’d kissed her once as if he couldn’t live without it.

  Then he treated you horribly.

  Right. Good point.

  “Obviously I’m awake.”

  He drew his eyebrows down in a scowl at her tone and his sexy lips tightened. She watched, fascinated as a lock of hair fell on his forehead. She had to fight the urge to brush it back. Seriously, she had lost her mind.

  She took a second to remind herself of two things—his threat to use her mouth and her tossing him for it.

  What kinds of sounds would he make if I eased my mouth around his thick cock? Is he quiet in his passions, or loud and forceful?

  Hello? What’s going on? Did he slip in some kind of silly juice along with the antidote?

  She frowned at him and reminded herself that if not for him, she’d not have had to shove him off a mountain, nor nearly died from lack of an antidote.

  “Why are you so close to me? Back up.”

  He jerked upright and gained his feet in one swift action. He’d been sitting beside her. He’d set up a camp, complete with a big roaring fire and a blanket under her. Why?

  She sat up much slower, testing each aching muscle as she went. She did a mental inventory and other than the nasty taste in her mouth, she felt much as she had before she’d run. Like hell.

  What was that taste? What were the herbs used in it?

  “You should eat. We need to leave. You’ve slept throughout a day.”

  “What?” She had? She rubbed her hand over her eyes, blinking back confusion.

  “Aye, the day is gone and now you’ve cost me time I can’t afford.”

  The jerk! Like she had slept all day because she was lazy! It was his fault if she had slept.

  “Oh, excuse me, but I think you cost yourself that time, not me.”

  She watched him inhale sharply, his face hardening by the minute until with a low growl he dragged her to her feet. What a shocker. Only this time she fought him, kicking him as hard as she could in the shin, and ramming an elbow in his arrogant nose when he bent to grab his leg. She broke away and started running.

  He was on her within two paces, knocking the wind out of her when he brought her to the ground. Tossing her onto her back, he quickly reached up and caught her hands and dragged them above her head. She stared at him so shocked by the full weight of him on top of her that she couldn’t even think past the flood of yearning she experienced. How many nights had she dreamt of Alex pinning her, kissing her madly and making love to her with such passionate need he could barely wait to possess her?

  “You’re a bit ungrateful, witch.”

  “Ungrateful? You kidnapped me and threatened to …” She glanced at his lips, caught by the shape of them. Should a man’s lips be so tempting? The bottom one was fuller she saw this close, the top curved with a lovely indent she wanted to lick along then bite down on.

  Without warning, he bent his head and kissed her, pressing his hips firmly against her thigh so that every long, thick inch of his erection sizzled against her. Shocked, she gasped and he dived into her mouth, past her lips and slid his hot tongue along hers.

  Firecrackers of lust burst along her body. Her pulse quickened. Between her thighs, her pussy ached, no doubt wetting her panties. Needs—hot, erotic needs—built in her bones, tightening her muscles and softening them at the same time.

  Without thinking, she moaned into his mouth and returned the kiss. She shifted restlessly under him, which seemed to encourage him to guide one of his thighs between hers. He pressed down to her core with a groan and subtly rocked against her.

  Pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced, or knew how to deal with, travelled along her body like a wild fire on the wind. Her clit grew hypersensitive, aching to be touched, kissed, licked, anything to ease the build-up of lust.

  As if he could sense her need, he thrust his hips, grinding against her just right and branding her with breathless sensations that rushed to her stomach and burnt along her breasts. The feeling was so intense, so good she never wanted it to stop. Him to stop.

  She dug her hips upward in an attempt to find release as the fever grew so hot she thought she’d burn him. Alex groaned heavily into their kiss and loosened his grip on her hands to trace a path from her wrists to her breasts. At the first possessive feel of his large hand cupping her so intimately, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, praying he’d not stop. Not yet. Not until she experienced her first orgasm in the arms of a man.

  He didn’t stop. He lightly pinched her nipple, thrust his tongue along hers in tempo with his straining hips and kneaded her ass with his big hand. She nearly catapulted into an orgasm. Oxygen left her on a gasp and she feared breathing might end the growing dive to mind-blowing pleasure.

  A rock bit into her back, and overhead she heard the call of a hawk pierce the frantic sound of Alex’s breathless pants and low toned groans.

  This was Alex. A man who had done nothing but bully her since she’d woken up tossed over some demon’s bulky shoulder! The realisation prodded her out of the lust like a bucketful of ice water and back to reality.

  “No!” She shoved at him and tried to turn away.

  He pressed harder with his thigh nearly sending her spiralling into an orgasm. It was close—she was close. All she had to do was rock on that thick muscle and she’d experience the biggest climax of her life.

  She fought it and him.

  “Stop! You’re as bad as
the jackal!”

  “What?” He rose above her, his face flushed with passion and he growled low in his throat.

  The indignation on his face should not make her want to laugh.

  The next thing she knew he cupped her between her legs and bent to breathe heavily into her ear. “Witch”—he massaged her wet core—“this says I’m not. You’re wet clean through your jeans, for me.” He tightened his hold and she nearly moaned at the pleasure, but shoved at his chest again. Embarrassing didn’t even come close to describing the situation.

  Why her? Why did she have to have a Lykae for a mate? One that not only was broken and couldn’t recognise her, but who somehow could smell better than was good for him.

  “This is for me. From me. You’re wet for me. Admit it.”

  The complete jerk. He’d done nothing to earn her passion, nothing other than being her dream, but since kidnapping her, he’d been a nightmare.

  No way would she own up to lusting after him. So, what could throw him off? She remembered Trouble once saying how men couldn’t stand the thought of a woman thinking on another when they were with them. Could she fool Alex? With what? She had no one, never had. Think, think!

  “Ha, I get wet thinking about the postman, you kissing me had nothing to do with it. I was dreaming of his tight blue shorts when you woke me.”

  He glared at her as if she’d insulted his grandmother. As soon as he opened his mouth though, she shrugged.

  “Whatever, think what you want, but you might want to ask yourself why on Earth I’d get hot for a man who’s done nothing but insult, hurt and threaten me since I met him.”

  With a growl, he jumped off her and reached for her hand, bringing her to her feet abruptly. Her legs almost gave out. Lust still trembled through her body, a body that was not so on board with her bravado as she was. But it seemed to work on Alex.

  “Fine, witch. You tell yourself that,” he said, breathing heavily against her throat, “but your postman didn’t get you moaning like that, did he?”

  Whoa. She wanted to moan at how sexy that was, but forced herself to laugh, somewhat shakily and say, “Ha, you’ve obviously not seen him. Beefcake.”

  He snorted and she thought for a moment he might actually laugh, but he shook his head and stalked off, throwing over his shoulder that she’d better get ready, they were moving out.

  She glanced at the moonless sky. “What? I just got up and—”

  “If you don’t want to relieve this stress, then I suggest you move your pretty little ass.”

  She froze. Pretty little ass, huh? That was new. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t relieving his stress. He was her mate, damn it.

  Several different spells for harming a man’s manhood came to mind, but without her magic all the knowledge in the world wasn’t going to help.

  The wolf had best watch out because when it was time for her next nasty dose, she was giving him a spell that would make him itch for something all right, and it wouldn’t be for any kind of release!

  She turned away from watching him gather their things—correction, his things—and headed to where she could hear a stream bubbling along, not caring one bit if he liked it or not. She heard him following her as soon as she knelt and washed her hands and face off. She ignored him and watched as her hands trembled. She tried to make them stop, but after a few moments, she fisted them to stop the shaking.

  The pain she’d endured had caused this. That and the memories she’d worked to forget.

  When the pain had struck, she’d felt as if her insides were burning, slowly grilling over a fire she couldn’t see. The agony had been so horrible she’d begged for it to stop. Only no one had heard her.

  No one that is, except for the angry wolf towering over her.

  “Enough. You’re clean. We need to move.”

  He didn’t wait for her to get to her feet, but bent and gripped her arm, pulling her up effortlessly. Not that she struggled. He’d saved her life. Well, he’d also endangered it, but still, after she tossed him, he could have left her. Or worse, simply kept the antidote from her.

  “Why did you come back for me?” Her voice sounded rough.

  At first, he didn’t answer and she assumed he wouldn’t. He surprised her when he muttered, “I didn’t come back for you—I went after you when you shoved me off the mountain.”

  Did he sound pissed off at that? No. For some reason he sounded like he admired her, as if she’d amazed him.

  “Come.” He turned and simply expected her to follow. She did, too tired and freaked to protest. He handed her a packaged sandwich—turkey and cheese—and tossed water on the fire, stomping it with his big boots until it died out. She missed the warmth immediately.

  “Eat that, we need to move, we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

  Was he talking to her? She blinked and puzzled out what he’d said. No insult, no threat, nothing but simply talking to her. What happened here? Something had, something that felt like an easing between them. Why?

  She cautiously cleared her throat then said, “Late?”

  “Aye, late for my revenge.”

  Ah, go figure. “Ah, your revenge. Against this Zith person.”

  Alex merely kept going, as usual, she thought, back to ignoring her. She unwrapped the sandwich and took a big bite, chewing it quickly and swallowing. Her stomach felt so empty she thought she could actually feel the food hit it. She ate half of it before Alex cleared his throat.

  “He has many names. Zith, Zith-D’Allmarz, the Black Sorcerer, Rage MacAlsen—”

  She stumbled into Alex’s back because he’d stopped. She caught herself with a hand on his backpack and tugged it, trying to get his attention. He looked at her curiously.

  “Rage. You are going after Rage—a tattooed, black-haired warlock?”

  He frowned but finally shrugged. “I don’t know about tattoos. He was in the highlands when I first encountered him. He travelled with a foreign army—rag tag deserters and thieves, but he wore no tattoos.”

  Memories threatened to steal her breath, but she shoved at them, forcing them to wait until she heard Alex’s answer. If he knew where Rage was…but wait, he wanted to give her to that evil sorcerer. Bridget, help me, what do I do now?

  “And now, now you want to go to him? You know where he is?”

  “I found no sign of him over the years, not on any continent. But we are to meet his first check in, then on to him, I suppose, if everything checks out.”

  Her heart bounced around so hard in her chest she was surprised he couldn’t hear it pounding against her ribs. Rage. The one mage who’d not only ripped her life from her, but torn her family apart. He was more powerful than two dozen witches and more deadly than any viper. If Alex took her near that mad man, she’d never take another breath. She should know, too. Since he’d been the one to kill her the first time.

  Alex stood, looking impatient, but watching her face as if he could read her thoughts and didn’t like them.

  “You can’t possibly think—”

  He dragged her closer until his face was inches from hers. “What I think is I want quiet. I didn’t tell you so you’d rattle on about what I can and can’t do. He’s a man, not a god. He will bleed when I kill him, witch.”

  She shivered. The conviction in his beliefs scared her more than anything he’d done so far. He’d die doing this. Gladly. She couldn’t allow this, but she nodded and looked away from the intensity in his eyes. There had to be a way to help him see reason without spilling the brutality Rage had brought down on her and her kin. She sucked in a cold, moist breath, the familiar scent reminding her of her home, but also of her first death. Rage hadn’t killed her—he’d let his men do that. She sensed this time, when he got his hands on her, she’d not find death so easily. Not that she had the first time.

  “Did you hear me?” Alex demanded.

  She jumped and stared at him. “No, sorry, what did you say?”

  “We move. Now. There is a shelter not
too far from here where we meet our first contact. You will stay silent. I will do all the talking. Say nothing, witch, I warn you just the once.”

  Huh, just the thousandth time he meant. She let him turn and start walking again, following him silently. She re-wrapped the other half of sandwich and held onto it. What she had eaten felt suddenly like lead in her stomach. Inside her chest her heart ached, the pain a sharp reminder of all she could never have.

  Alex would die doing this. But then, so would she.

  There had to be a way to stop this.

  Rage had no weaknesses that she knew of. He’d sold his soul to evil long before she’d ever crossed his path. She bore scars from that encounter, a path of pain she could still feel when she traced the lines left behind on her wrist.

  Still, she asked, “What did he do to you?”

  Alex kept walking, his eyesight unaffected by the cloudy, moonless night. She stumbled along finding each step a chore.

  “I encountered him years ago. Ages past.”

  Ages past. The way he’d said that… She glanced at the shadow of his back and wondered if he knew how much feeling he’d put into those few words—longing. He’d lost something, but when dealing with Rage, everyone lost. Everyone but Rage. The warlock had more protections on his body than she had surrounding her coven’s home in New England.

  “You can’t defeat him. You’ll die and he’ll win. Nothing can stop him, not you, not me, not even the gods.” She’d whispered the last word, but Alex must have heard her because suddenly she found herself twisted, another cloth shoved over her mouth and tied behind her head. She didn’t even bother to fight him or the tears that rushed her eyes. He turned her around, took the sandwich and scowled at it, then her.

  “I warned you, witch. I warned you that I’d not go easy on you, nor will I allow you to try to reason with me. There is no reasoning with me in this, remember that when next we stop and I take this off.”

  His eyes flashed lighter in a sudden shaft of moonlight from the break in clouds. Or had they flashed lighter from within? She didn’t know, but before she could decide, he jerked her forward again.