Mated to the Wolf

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Without saying anything, she went to the window, lifted the curtain. Freezing rain pelted the glass. She felt stronger, but the weather would wear her down fast.

Samantha turned, saw him tug the shirt over his head, exposing a hard male chest darkened with springy hairs. Fascination spiraled through her as she stared at his well-defined pectorals and flat stomach rippling with muscles. Low in her belly, a strange tugging ensued.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I always sleep naked.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he unzipped his jeans, pulled them down. Commando. Crisp dark hairs surrounded a long, thick penis, impressive even at rest. She stared, transfixed.

Grayson shrugged out of his pants. He regarded her, as comfortable in his nudity as a wolf in his skin. “Get undressed, Samantha. Now.”

Chapter Three

“No. I’d rather walk naked through a snowstorm than sleep with you, wolf.”

Gray eyes the color of steel danced with amusement. “Did I say anything about sleep?”

Samantha glared at him. “We are not having sex.”

“Not now.” He gave another of those sexy, crooked smiles and went to a closet. He belted on a black robe. Samantha sighed in relief. Not that the view wasn’t nice but it was too damn distracting.

Grayson snagged a white robe off a hanger and tossed it at her. “Get undressed and put this on. Your body is sore and has been through too much. You need a soak in the tub. A little pampering will help you relax.”

After a week of tepid showers, the thought of a hot bath made her mouth water. Samantha eyed him warily. “Why are you interested in my welfare?

“It’s not your welfare that has my interest, fair maiden.” He wagged his brows and she nearly laughed. Grayson was dangerously charming.

When he left the bedroom, she remained, taking the opportunity to study her prison. The bedroom had pine furniture and lamps made from elk antlers. Blue-and-green checked curtains added to the masculine look. But when she tried opening a window, she found it jammed. Painted shut. Or warded with magick.

Grayson returned. “Your bath is ready. I suggest you make good use of it while the water’s hot.”

Since she was stuck here for now, the wolf obviously knew a bath would relax her when she needed to remain alert and sharp. The wolf was no dummy. But the temptation proved too much. Samantha picked up the robe and marched down the hallway to the bathroom.

A large sunken marble tub sat on a platform beside a glass window showing a silver vista of frost-covered meadow. Little bouquets of flowers in his bathroom were incongruous with Grayson’s rugged masculine appearance. Then again, everything about Grayson seemed incongruous.

Steam curled from the water and the scent of vanilla hovered in the air. Crowing with delight, she stepped inside the bathroom. Samantha firmly closed the door, shrugged out of her clothing and hung the robe on a brass hook.

Why would a powerful Ancient, and a bounty hunter, be interested in pampering her? Why didn’t he simply shoot her, or torture her and then drag her into the Society to collect his money?

Before enjoying the tub, she took a quick, hot shower, scrubbing away two days’ worth of road grime.

Then she, combed her hair and headed for the tub. Bubbles popped and crackled as Samantha stepped into the foamy water. She sank down with a happy sigh, leaned back against the tub, letting the warmth work into her aching muscles and tired limbs. Once she’d had a home as expansive as this, with all the bubble baths she wanted. Not a life spent hiding in fear from those who wanted to hurt her for being a Darklighter.

A lump clogged her throat as she remembered peeking through the partly opened closet door to see her father gasping his last, his arms around her mother. Blood trickling across the hardwood floor to pool at her feet. Her fist stuffed into her mouth to stop her screams…

Cloaked by shadows in the dimly lit room, the killer’s face had been hidden. But she would never forget her mother screaming out in terror, “No, please not Jerome Cabot!”

Before the Hunter drew his knife and cut her throat.

Tears burned the back of her eyes. Samantha blinked them away, refusing to surrender to grief. That night she’d sworn a vow to her dead father to find this Jerome, the Hunter who had taken their lives.

Nearly carving the Fae in half had put a price on her head. But the Fae had been arrogant, and dismissive when Samantha asked about finding Jerome. And then the Fae had taunted her about her parents, how they had deserved their fate. Even suggested Samantha should suffer the same.

The taunts had caused her demon to rage out of control. She’d gone into a trance and came out of it with blood on her hands, feathers everywhere and the shrieks of the Fae’s pain echoing in her ears.

But her demon had gotten the important information, revealed only after the Fae got acquainted with Samantha’s sharp talons and her knife. Jerome was in this area of Colorado. When she found him, the Hunter would suffer.