Leisl Leighton - [Pack Bound 01]

by Pack Bound (epub)

  But he’d fought off the raw, edgy need. This woman wasn’t his for the taking. If she was who he thought she was, she belonged to the pack. He’d known then there was only one way to prove the truth of that.

  The wolf insisted he give her the Bond Wine right now.

  When we find her, your father will give her the Alpha-made Bond Wine. He heard his mother’s words in his head as though she stood beside him right now. Once it enters her system, she’ll respond as if she is drinking sun-warmed nectar. The pack bond will ignite inside her and flare to life. Then she will be ours.

  She will be ours.

  There would be no denying Skylar’s ties to pack after that moment, even if she wished to. She would return with him to the pack, take up her birthright and stave off the Curse.

  Once that was accomplished, he’d be able to move on to what was driving him beyond his need to save the pack: revenge.

  Whoever was responsible for kidnapping Skylar Collins would pay. They would pay three times over: for killing her parents and twin; for bringing the Curse down on his pack; for killing his family. He would hunt them down and they would regret the day they’d ever tried to bring down the McVale Pack.

  But only after he’d proved she was Skylar Collins by giving her the Bond Wine.

  His wolf lunged inside him, longing to get out. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the hammering of his heart, he dropped his hold on his aura. Promising his wolf freedom soon, he stepped out of the shadows and walked down the hall to claim his destiny.

  ***

  Skye watched the soup spin slowly on the microwave plate, tapping the spoon against her hand.

  ‘C’mon! Hurry up.’

  Her stomach growled, almost overriding the prickling in her neck.

  Almost.

  But she wasn’t going to look behind her again. Nobody was watching her. She was just being stupid and jumpy because she was still angry about the idea that Morrigan was probably having her followed. She had to let that go. She couldn’t allow her powers to take control again.

  She wished she knew why the spell hadn’t worked to stop the magic. Or why the inner voice had barked at her all afternoon.

  She wished there was someone she could ask about what was going on. Shelley and Bron couldn’t truly help. Wiccans didn’t have their own magic—it was only borrowed from their goddess, which, according to her grandmother, didn’t count. Skye was grateful that was true because otherwise she would never have become friends with them, and their friendship was more precious to her than she could explain.

  If Grandpa was still alive, she’d be able to ask him, but he wasn’t. So that left her grandmother—and Morrigan always refused to even discuss anything magical.

  The microwave pinged and she jumped.

  Stupid. Jumping at microwaves!

  This is what happened when you had the kind of overbearing grandmother who sent people to follow you around on your holiday. Paranoia.

  Slamming her hand against the button, she barely waited for the door to swing open before grabbing the bowl. Soup spilled over her thumb.

  ‘Fudge a fudgy-duck!’ She put the dripping soup bowl down on the bench and sucked at her burned thumb. ‘Ffffffruitloops, that’s hot.’

  ‘Wow, impressive. She not only skis like a pro, but she knows how to swear in the most inventive way I’ve ever heard. Tell me you can dance the samba and I think I might just want to marry you.’

  The prickles on her neck bloomed into hot fire at the sound of a voice she would never forget. ‘You!’ she said, spinning around.

  ‘Me.’ His lips twitched.

  Her gaze collided with those incredible eyes and her heart took a flying leap up her throat, cutting off her breath.

  Breathe. Don’t act like a teenager with a crush. He’s just a man.

  But what a man!

  Luckily, her lungs responded to the demand for oxygen, because her brain was still missing in action.

  ‘Here. Let me help.’ Without asking, he took her arm and led her out of the kitchen to a bench, made her sit and then headed back to the kitchen, returning with her soup, toast, a spoon and a glass of water a moment later.

  ‘Thanks.’ Skye spun the spoon between her fingers as he sat on the bench seat opposite. It clanked against the side of the bowl, the sound kick-starting her brain enough for her to ask, ‘What are you doing here?’

  She almost rolled her eyes at the stupid question. It wasn’t like he would tell her if he was the one her grandmother had sent to follow her.

  His face split into the kind of grin that could break a mother’s heart and have a father pull out a shotgun. ‘I didn’t follow you here,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since today. How about you?’

  ‘Almost two weeks.’

  ‘I didn’t see you when I got in this morning.’

  ‘My friends and I hit the slopes first thing. Didn’t want to waste a moment of such a beautiful day.’

  He leaned against the wall behind him and crossed his arms, a smile curving his mouth. ‘Of course not. I can imagine though, with the way you ski, even the worst weather wouldn’t stop you from getting out there.’

  Convinced he wasn’t the one following her—and he certainly wasn’t the type of man Morrigan would use—she relaxed a bit. She picked up her spoon and said, ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘Do you need compliments?’

  Smiling cheekily, she took a sip of soup before answering. ‘No. But it’s nice to hear I’m an amazing skier from someone other than my friends.’

  ‘I don’t think I said “amazing”.’

  ‘No. But I know that’s what you meant.’

  There was a pause and then he laughed. Skye took another mouthful of soup and a bite of toast, trying to ignore the impact of his laugh on her system. ‘So, you’ve been here for a day. At least that explains why you were so terrible on that board.’ He didn’t laugh this time, but his smile let her know he hadn’t taken offence. In fact, his smile warmed her on the inside in a way the soup couldn’t.

  ‘As I said on the slopes,’ he said, his lips twitching, ‘I was doing pretty well until I hit that icy patch.’

  She smirked. ‘I thought ogling my nice arse caused the accident.’

  He laughed. ‘It was more than your arse. It was like I was drawn to you.’

  ‘What? Like animal magnetism?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  The smirk died on her face at the look in his eyes. Smouldering didn’t cover it.

  Careful.

  She coughed and looked away.

  He leaned forward and tapped her bowl with his long, masculine index finger. ‘Finish your soup before it gets cold.’ He stood.

  ‘Going out?’ A wave of disappointment made the words sound choked. She’d said no to him this afternoon because it was the right thing to do. But Fate had thrown him into her path for a second time, and she didn’t feel like giving Fate the finger again right now. Not when flirting with him was taking her mind off her magic. Aside from that, she’d been enjoying it. She covered the sound of her disappointment by swallowing a spoonful of soup.

  He shook his head. ‘Just getting a drink. I’ll be right back.’

  Skye blinked as he walked away. For one strange moment, she thought his pupils had glowed amber. It must have been the light. She shook her head and watched him as he moved around the kitchen. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders, tracing their way down to his tight bottom framed in dark jeans.

  Stop it. You shouldn’t encourage him when he comes back. There’s no future here.

  Once again, that sounded more like something Morrigan would say than her grandpa, Harrison Cantrae, so she didn’t feel like listening. Besides, there was nothing quite like having a good-looking man pay his undivided attention to you and only you. Compliments were nice, but the fact that he wanted to come back and talk to her was better.

  Surely some har
mless chat and flirting wouldn’t hurt despite the fact that Morrigan would never approve of a man like him. Her grandmother never approved of the men Skye was drawn to. And she was incredibly drawn to this one. Morrigan would hate him. There was something altogether too raw and masculine about him. So much so it was sinful.

  But she didn’t care. She rather liked sinful. And why did it have to matter that there was no future here? Couldn’t she have a bit of fun for once in her life?

  A hot tingling raced through her at the thought.

  He walked out of the kitchen holding a bottle of red and two glasses. ‘I feel like a drink and I don’t like drinking alone. Will you join me?’

  Say no. He’s dangerous.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, ignoring the spell voice. It was definitely playing up. It shouldn’t be channelling her grandmother’s kind of overprotective smothering. There was nothing about this man that said he was a warlock. There was nothing of the air or fire or water about him. In fact, she’d never met anyone more grounded in the scent of earth than this man—except, perhaps, for River. It was kind of comforting.

  ‘Great.’ He put down the glasses and began to pour.

  ‘Where’s your brother?’

  ‘He went out for the night. I preferred to stay here and have a quiet one after a day of falling on my arse.’

  Skye laughed. ‘You really shouldn’t mistreat such a nice arse.’

  He sent her a simmering look. ‘I thought it was yours I mistreated.’

  ‘Touché.’

  Uncorking the bottle, he poured two generous glasses, lifted his and tipped it towards hers. ‘Here’s to your health.’

  ‘Here’s to rather nice arses and out-of-control snowboarders.’

  He chuckled and clinked her glass. ‘That too.’

  He held his glass on an angle, watching her in a way that encouraged her to drink first. Wondering if it was some strange custom of his, or if he was just an old-fashioned gentleman type, she took a sip of the wine. It was rich and full bodied, with a slight tang and an aftertaste of cinnamon. ‘Mmm, it’s lovely.’ She had to take another sip. A warm path followed the wine down her throat, spreading until she felt it even in her skin. The pain in her leg and foot diminished in the wake of the warmth. ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘You like it? This is a new mix I’m trying out. It’s taken me a while to get it right.’ He took a sip, his wolf-blue gaze never leaving hers over the rim of his glass. ‘But I think this may be what I’ve been looking for.’

  Skye’s brow furrowed as she looked at the label on the bottle—Four Brothers was a well-known name. ‘You made this?’

  ‘I come from a long line of vintners. The earth and the grape are in my soul.’

  Skye looked closer at the bottle, tapping the blurb on the back. ‘I thought Four Brothers was owned and made by four brothers.’

  ‘It is.’

  Her mouth dropped open. So, not only was he tongue-hanging-out-fall-over-yourself good-looking, he was a part of one of the most successful wine labels in Australia in the last ten years. ‘You’re one of the McVales?’

  He held his glass up to the light, looking deeply at the rich plummy colour of the liquid gold his family had become famous for, then flashed a grin. ‘You know your wine.’

  ‘Not really. But who hasn’t heard of your family in the last few years? You’ve been big news, particularly after the accident—’ Her voice faltered. Surely he didn’t have to be reminded of the tragedy that had struck his family.

  ‘Sorry. That was tactless. I should know better than to mention it. I lost my parents when I was younger in a car accident, too. I know how much pain the thought of them still brings and your loss is far more recent.’ She took a hasty sip of wine, almost choking as it caught in the lump of embarrassment in her throat, and glanced away. Why the hell had she said so much to him?

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ His hand on hers made her jump. ‘I knew we had something more than loving to ski in common. I felt it in my bones.’

  She glanced up to see if he was serious. Their gazes collided and she caught her breath, the depth of understanding in his eyes touching her soul.

  Panic clawed at her chest, and yet, for the first time in her sheltered life, she couldn’t make herself back away despite the danger to her equilibrium. The desire for a connection was just too damned strong.

  Unsettled by the direction of her thoughts, she took another sip of the wine, the full-bodied flavour melting across her tongue and down her throat to pool low in her stomach with a warm buzz. She decided to change the topic. ‘This smells like passionfruit and raspberries, but has a spicy aftertaste, like chilli-chocolate and cinnamon.’

  His brows rose and a hint of confusion crossed his face but all he said was, ‘You’ve got excellent sensory perception.’

  ‘Not so excellent. I didn’t hear you coming before you smashed into me.’

  His lips twitched. ‘I’m not going to apologise for that again.’

  She curled her hand around the glass to stop herself from reaching out and running her finger over that enticing scar. ‘You don’t have to if you pour me another glass of that wonderful wine.’

  He did so with a smile. ‘So, seeing we’re sharing a bottle of wine, would it be too forward to ask your name? You already know mine.’

  ‘Only your last name. Which is fine as long as you want to be called Mr McVale.’

  He screwed up his nose. ‘Mr McVale was my grandfather. My father didn’t even get called that. He always preferred Luke. You can call me Jason.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Jason.’ She tipped her glass at him.

  His smile widened as she sipped at her wine and said nothing else. ‘Are you going to make me guess your name?’

  ‘You’d never get it right. My father was a bit of a hippy.’

  Jason winced. ‘Don’t tell me they named you something improbable like Moon Unit.’

  She laughed. ‘Nope. They weren’t high when they named me. But I was born outside; and that’s all the clue I’m going to give you.’ She looked up at him over the rim of her glass. He was giving her his undivided attention.

  Her heart beat to the rhythm of his twitching lips as he said, ‘A guessing game?’

  ‘You not up for it?’

  ‘I am absolutely up for anything.’ There was a light in his eyes that seemed to flare with the challenge.

  The glass almost slipped from Skye’s hand as his gaze intensified. An image of trapped prey sprang to her mind—and she was the prey. ‘Great.’ She had to clear her throat as her voice didn’t really come out right. Taking a sip of wine, she tried out her mischievous smile, but was afraid it came out stiff. ‘So, guess.’

  ‘Running River.’

  She laughed. ‘I said they were hippies, not American Indians.’

  He nodded. ‘Right, stupid guess. Let me see.’ He tapped his bottom lip. There was a dent there that made her want to run her tongue along it, then suck the plump flesh to see if it tasted like the ripe blood plum it resembled.

  An electric flush ran over her skin and she swallowed more wine to cover her reaction to the errant erotic thoughts. Luckily, Jason hadn’t noticed. He was looking away in thought.

  ‘What about Star?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Fawn?’

  ‘There aren’t any fawns in Australia,’ she said, chuckling now.

  ‘So I suppose that means Bambi is out as well.’

  She screwed up her nose.

  His eyes lit up. ‘What about Fern?’ She’d barely begun to shake her head when he leaned forward. ‘Skylar.’

  She jerked at the sound of that name. So like hers, but not, yet it …

  Skylar! Don’t do that to your brother. You know he’s got claws.

  She gasped as the voice echoed in her mind.

  ‘Am I close?’

  His question snapped her back into the present. She blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Skylar. Is that close?’

  S
he nodded. ‘Close.’

  He considered for a moment, his blue gaze piercing hers as if he was trying to read her thoughts, and all memory of the voice she’d just heard skittered from her mind.

  ‘Skye?’

  The affirmation must have been in her eyes because he pumped air and then raised his hand for a high five just like a kid. Laughing, she couldn’t help but respond.

  The moment her hand touched his, laughter died. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers curled around hers, holding tight, surprise clear in his eyes.

  It was as if their skin had been fused together by something hot and molten. But it didn’t bring pain. In fact, she wanted to hold tighter and never let go. She could barely even think as the warmth moved up her arm to curl through her entire body.

  Then slowly, as if waiting for her to pull away, he lifted her hand, his gaze holding her more firmly than his fingers ever could. His lips pressed against the back of her hand, soft but firm, cool but warming her from the inside out like a glass of gluhwein on a cold winter’s day. She stiffened as a vivid image flashed into her mind—an incredibly erotic image of entangled limbs, sweat-soaked skin and glowing eyes seeking her in the dark. She shivered. The image was familiar, like the erotic dream she’d had earlier. She’d had dreams like that on and off for years, about a man whose face she could never see but whose eyes glowed like sulphurous flame in the night; dreams that made her awaken in a state of heightened sexual awareness.

  But tonight, for the first time, the man had a face—and that face was her clumsy snowboarding Adonis, Jason McVale.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Skye.’ His voice broke into her reverie. She jerked, almost breaking contact, but he held her hand tight in his, then slowly, ever so slowly, as his gaze captured and held hers, he turned her hand over and breathed in deeply, nose brushing against the skin of her wrist. ‘You smell so good.’

  ‘It’s the wine,’ she choked as muscles clenched and curled between her legs.

  His lips curved at the corner, but she wouldn’t really call it a smile; it was more the look of a hunter before he brought down his prey. The smile made her shudder. He breathed in again, deeply, closing his eyes, his thumb rubbing against the pulse thumping in her wrist. All of a sudden, he jerked. His fingers loosened on her wrist as if he’d been shocked.