by Juno Blake
Bright, cold moonlight cut through the canopy. It painted the forest in black and white, a sharp, merciless landscape. Cold air burned in Lucy’s lungs. There was nothing in the world but the next step ahead of her, the wolf behind, and all around, the intense, resinous scent of pine.
And the moon. The moon, gazing through the canopy like a lidless, dispassionate eye, regarding the violent results of its power.
Lucy jumped over a fallen log, darted around a tree and found herself in open space. She whipped her head around. The path. She’d made it.
She lengthened her stride, no longer having to worry about crashing into a tree that might loom out of the darkness. The canopy was thinner, here, letting in more moonlight. The silver light poured down onto the path, like a river through the forest, leading her to safety.
The moonlight seemed to grow brighter as Lucy ran. Her heart leapt. Her lungs were no longer burning—they welcomed the freezing air, exhilarated by the chase.
The wound in her neck no longer hurt. Nor did the back of her skull, where the werewolves had cracked her head against the stone. She was strong, wild and free —
Marked.
Lucy stumbled. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t free—the only reason she had healed so quickly, that she could even run now, was because Delauncey had forced his claim on her. Was she even human anymore?
Her heart felt as though it was trying to rip itself out of her chest. She slowed, almost tripping over her own feet, and found herself at the end of the path. In front of her, moonlight pooled on open ground, on the shadowy building Crothers had taken her shirt into all those hours ago, on the abandoned car—and on the wolf.
Lucy shuddered to a halt. Her legs collapsed under her and she was on the ground, eyes wide, her chest an aching chasm of loss.
“Ciaran,” she gasped, her voice cracking.
The wolf stood up. It had been sitting on the road, waiting; now it prowled closer, its body low to the ground. Ready to attack.
Lucy tried to get away, but her legs wouldn’t move. The wolf got closer. Its golden eyes blazed. The moonlight was silver-cold but the wolf’s eyes were like the core of the sun, fierce and inhuman and just as merciless.
The wolf’s claws clicked on the stony ground as it stalked closer. It lowered its head. This close, Lucy could see its nostrils flare as it sniffed, taking her scent.
“Ciaran,” Lucy tried again, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Ciaran, it’s me. Lucy. You know me—you know you don’t want to hurt me…”
Her voice broke on a sob. There was no flicker of familiarity in the wolf’s eyes. Not the slightest hint of the man behind the beast.
The wolf lunged forward and Lucy jerked away, electrified. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she threw herself out of the wolf’s path. It spun around, snarling, as she clambered to her feet.
The car was less than twenty feet away. If it was unlocked—
Lucy flung herself towards the vehicle, her skin crawling at the snarls that followed her. She heard the scrape of claws on gravel and rolled sideways. The wolf’s leap took it over top of where she had just been and it twisted in mid-air, landing between her and the car.
Lucy panted. Everything seemed brighter than before, colors and outlines clearer than she had ever known. It couldn’t just be the moonlight. It was her. Changed.
Her lips curled back in a snarl of defiance. She hated what Delauncey had done to her, but she didn’t deserve to die for it.
She darted towards the wolf, feinting left and then launching herself to the right. The wolf’s jaws snapped shut inches from her elbow and she ran, toes digging into the gravel, arms pumping.
Lucy crashed into the front door, fumbling for the handle. Locked. No. Back door. Locked. Sobbing, she stumbled around the back of the car, pulling on the trunk release. Nothing gave. The car was locked up tight.
The wolf was following her. It moved slowly, muscles shifting under its gleaming pelt. It didn’t need to hurry. There was nowhere left for her to run.
Even knowing it was pointless, Lucy’s gaze anchored on towards the ruined building. There was no way she could reach it before the wolf got to her, let alone find a way inside.
But she couldn’t just wait here to die.
She pushed off from the car and sprinted. The wolf was behind her at once, snapping at her heels.
The building rose up in front of her, blotting out the moonlight. It was an old, wooden structure, long since abandoned to the elements. Broken windows caught the light. A tree had grown through the roof, cracking tiles and making the front of the building sag. The front door was gone, nothing left but a black hole gaping in the wall. Lucy stared at it, willing herself to run faster.
The empty doorway filled her vision. The gravel under her feet turned into overgrown grass, with the solid thud of paving stones beneath. She leapt up to the front step, leaning forward, reaching—
The wolf caught her by the leg, closing its jaws around her calf. It dragged her back and shook her, pulling her to the ground.
Lucy grabbed at the stone steps and tried to pull herself free, but it was no use. She screamed in pain as the wolf shook her like a terrier with a rat, driving its teeth deeper into her leg. It dragged her down the steps and stood over her, panting.
Lucy stared up at it in horror. Blood, her blood, dripped from its razor-sharp teeth. It lowered its head towards her again and she cried out in terror, scrambling to get away, but the wolf planted one massive paw on her chest and held her in place.
Lucy’s heart was thundering in her ears, so fast that one beat merged into the next. Her lungs were screaming for air but she couldn’t fill them, not with the weight of the wolf on her chest. She could do nothing but watch as it lowered its muzzle to sniff at her, bloody teeth bared.
It shoved its nose against her bleeding leg and Lucy jerked, the pain overriding her survival instincts. The wolf growled and licked at her blood, then swung around to stare into her eyes.
Lucy lay transfixed. The beast’s eyes seemed to grow until they filled the world. She couldn’t think of running anymore, or her death, or anything except the blazing golden depths of the wolf’s gaze.
The cold of the earth below her, the bite of the icy air, even the pain in her leg faded away. She was floating in silver mist, and the wolf’s eyes were drawing her in.
She barely noticed as the wolf took its leg off her chest. As it crouched over her, jaw open wide, and bit down on her throat.
Lucy screamed. Pain ripped through her, worse than anything she’d ever experienced. Worse than Delauncey’s bite.
Ciaran, no! she cried out in her mind. Ciaran…
Her heart broke. She was about to die—but Ciaran would have to live with what he had done.
The wolf bit harder. Lucy couldn’t breathe. Blood spurted from her neck, steaming in the icy night air. The wolf growled and bit down again, deeper, until Lucy was convinced its teeth were about to meet inside her.
Her vision was fading, the silver light going black and blood-red. A coppery tang filled her nose and mouth as her life’s blood fled her body. Her lips moved one last time.
“Ciaran…”
Her head fell back. The ground felt soft. Everything felt soft, and warm, and very far away. She was dimly aware of movement above her. Light fading into darkness. The ground moved under her, or was she the one moving? Floating…
Hot breath on her skin as something, someone, nuzzled against her wounds. A warm tongue lapping at the blood and then rough fur against her skin, the comforting heat of a huge body curling around hers.
Lucy’s heartbeat faded to a whisper, then nothing.
CHAPTER 13
Golden light woke Lucy. It seeped under her eyelids, tempting her back into the world.
Her eyelids fluttered. One eye cracked open, then the other, and she blinked, willing the world back into focus.
Where am I?
She was lying on a wooden floor. It was thick with dust,
except for a swathe in front of her where the dust had been swept away. Lucy followed the clean-swept floorboards back to the gaping doorway, frowning.
Black stains stretched across the boards. No, not black—red. Blood.
Lucy trembled. She remembered now. Blood. Her blood. So much of it…
She raised one hand to her neck. Dried blood flaked away under her fingers. Under it, she found new ridges of scar tissue. She traced the edges of one puncture wound. It was an inch across.
How did I survive that?
A low noise caught her attention. She turned her eyes towards it, still too enmeshed in sleep to sit up. Ciaran was lying across the room, his back to her.
He was human, his pale skin burnished gold by the early-morning sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The floorboards around him were smeared with blood and dust; Lucy could almost see his movements, how he had twisted across the floor in the grip of his transformation.
Now he was waking up. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his head hanging. Lucy saw his brow furrow in pain—then his eyes shot open.
He looked down. His hands were covered in her blood. His arms and chest were drenched in it. His face…
Lucy watched horror dawn in his dark eyes.
“Oh, god,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “What have I done?”
Lucy sat up. “Ciaran,” she cried out, before her throat closed over with emotion.
Ciaran stared at her. His whole body turned to her, like a flower reaching for the sun, and then he was crawling across the filthy floor to her, gathering her into his arms. He fell over her, covering her body with his own.
Lucy lay in his embrace, feeling his heartbeat thrum against her skin. “I’m fine,” she said, pulling him closer to her. She pressed her face under his jaw, wound her fingers in his hair, touched as much of him as she could. Her Ciaran. Her mate. “I’m fine. I’m fine…”
“How…” Ciaran’s fingers found the scars on her neck. “I remember—I thought I had killed you…” Horror filled his voice. “The wolf—oh, god, Lucy. I was there, behind its eyes, but I couldn’t stop it. It smelled Delauncey on you. I couldn’t…”
His arms tightened around her and he nuzzled against her face, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. Their breath mingled.
“I thought I had lost you,” Lucy whispered.
Ciaran opened his eyes. “If I had killed you last night… there would be nothing of me left. I am nothing without you. My heart. My life.” He let out a ragged breath. “My mate.”
Lucy stroked his cheek. “But you didn’t kill me. I thought you were going to, but you…” Her hand fell to the curved line of scars across her neck and shoulder, and her eyes widened.
She remembered every puncture wound from Ciaran’s fangs. They were seared into her memory. And each of the scars on her skin lined up with one of those fangs…
“Delauncey’s mark,” she said, her voice tripping over the monster’s name, “it’s gone.”
Ciaran pulled her hand away, rubbing his thumb over the line of scars. “There’s only one set of teeth-marks here. The wolf…”
“You stole me back.” Happy tears filled Lucy’s eyes. “You took me from him. You saved me, just like I knew you would.”
Ciaran fell on her scars, covering them with kisses. He scraped his teeth against the ridged marks, and Lucy’s heart beat faster. Electricity danced across her skin. Ciaran’s gentle caresses felt like a careful reenactment of his bite the night before, a loving reinforcement of his claim.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice light with wonder. “Mine. I never thought it would be possible.”
His kisses grew more forceful. He wound his fingers deeper into Lucy’s hair and turned her face to meet his. “Mine,” he growled again. His free hand stroked down her side as he kissed her, hard and insistent.
Lucy’s body responded immediately, but her stomach rebelled. The room was full of the stink of blood, and as her body heated up, the scent seemed to increase, a sickly, coppery tang of fear and pain.
Ciaran seemed to sense her hesitation. He ran one hand up her chest, scratching off rivulets of dried blood. Arms around her waist, he stood, pulling her with him.
“Come,” he said, holding her close. “There is a pump outside.”
He picked her up and Lucy relaxed into the curve of his chest, dropping her head to rest on his shoulder. Something inside her quailed at the thought of being apart from him now. She craved his touch, his solid, reassuring presence against her body, under her hands.
Her fingers brushed against more dried blood, and she shivered.
Ciaran walked confidently across the room, shoving aside a broken door and stepping out into the sunlight. Lucy blinked. They were in an overgrown yard. Knee-high grass filled a square space between low stone walls, growing highest and thickest around an old-fashioned water pump in the center of the yard.
“How did you know there was a pump out here?” she asked as Ciaran set her gently on her feet. She moved with him as he stepped towards the water pump, keeping one hand glued to his back. She didn’t want to let him go, even for a moment.
The vibration of his voice thrummed against her palm as he spoke.
“I grew up here.”
Lucy’s fingers twitched involuntarily. She wouldn’t have thought anyone had lived here in many years. The house was derelict, all but destroyed by the elements.
Ciaran chuckled at her surprise.
“My family lived here for generations. In the manor hall, originally, but that fell into disrepair a hundred years ago. My parents and I lived in the smaller house, here at the edge of the forest. I can’t say I’ve kept the place in good shape…” His back muscles tensed. “Come here.”
Lucy obediently stood in front of him, and watched as Ciaran worked the pump. Metal screeched against metal, but eventually a stream of fresh clear water splashed down into the grass.
“Kneel,” commanded Ciaran, his voice warm with passion. Lucy knelt, hissing as icy water splashed over the back of her neck.
Ciaran knelt in front of her, sluicing water over her neck and shoulders. He twisted a handful of grass into a rope and scrubbed the blood from her skin.
The water was so cold it hurt, but Lucy wouldn’t have moved for all the world. Her skin thrilled at Ciaran’s touch and her heart—her heart felt as though it might burst from love.
She looked up at Ciaran. His face was tense with concentration—but there was something else, too. Something that stiffened his jaw and locked his lips in a thin straight line.
He was still covered in Lucy’s blood. It had dried in tracks down his neck and chest, and darkened the stubble around his mouth.
Lucy shivered, not from the cold, but from the knowledge that the scent of dried blood would be so much stronger to his enhanced werewolf senses.
Without taking her eyes from his face, Lucy reached out blindly and tore away a handful of grass. She wetted it under the pump and ran it across Ciaran’s chest, washing him clean as he washed her.
When Ciaran’s chest and neck were free of blood she dropped the grass and used her hands to clean his face. Ciaran’s hands slipped behind her and he pulled off her bra and dipped his head to suck on her nipple.
Desire flared red-hot deep inside Lucy. She arched her back, gasping as Ciaran bit down lightly. His fingers tugged at her pants and then cold air was flowing over more of her skin as he pulled them down.
He pushed her, gently, and she fell, landing on her back in the grass. Ciaran pulled on the pump again and ice-cold water streamed over her belly and between her legs, making her squeal. She was so hot, she was surprised the water didn’t explode into steam as it struck her.
Ciaran removed her blood- and water-soaked pants in one smooth motion. He sluiced clean water over her legs, removing the last of the blood.
Lucy lay before him, naked, wearing nothing but his mark. Her body, and Ciaran’s were glistening with water. She stared at him shame
lessly. She was his—and that meant he was hers. This man, this werewolf, was bound to her forever. Her mate. Her own.
He was glorious. Muscles rippled under his skin, a silent promise of the power contained even in his human form. Dark stubble gave his face a dangerous look, one his eyes echoed, black as jet and fathomless as the ocean.
Water trickled down over his collarbone, down his pecs and abs, collecting in the sharply defined V that led between his legs. His cock jutted out from a thatch of black hair, thick and ready.
The grass was soft under Lucy’s back. She spread her legs. “Please,” she begged. “I need you. I need to know—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. Between one heartbeat and the next he was on her, his body hot and wet against hers. His cock plunged between her legs and Lucy’s whole bod tensed with sensation. Pleasure rolled through her.
Ciaran held her hands to the ground above her head, staring down at her with blazing passion in his eyes. He thrust forward, pinning her to the ground.
“Know that you are mine,” he growled, finishing her sentence for her. “Mine to keep. Mine to use and pleasure. My mate.”
He thrust into her again and Lucy screamed. The closeness of death, the terror of the night before—her body craved touch, connection, proof that they had both survived.
“My mate,” she agreed, her voice hitching as he filled her again. Sparks danced deep inside her, tantalizing, ready to ignite. “You saved me—”
“I’ll always protect you.”
Lucy gasped, drowning in Ciaran’s eyes as pleasure burst inside her. She keened out loud, her whole body arching, and Ciaran groaned above her, emptying himself inside her.
He stayed on top of her, the weight and heat of his body more reassuring than any words could be. Lucy nestled her head under his chin, breathing in his scent.
“What happens next?” she asked. “You killed the others…”
She trailed off. Ciaran slipped one hand under her head, the other around her waist. He was still inside her. This was the closeness she needed, the carnal connection her heart and body craved. But her mind still feared for the future.