Page 14 of The Hunt
I bury the note beneath the wet ground, claws slicing through mud and frost, sealing her words away before the scent drives me mad. Lifting my head, I draw in a lungful of cold air. Her trail is faint but constant, a thread of warmth woven through the cold.
The howl tears from me before I can bite it back. It’s raw, jagged, and full of need. The bond snaps in answer, hard enough to steal my breath as it yanks me forward a step at a time.
I have no control. It demands I move, hunt, and find.
My clothes tear, seams giving way to muscle and fur. Claws rip through the soles of my boots, my feet sinking into the snow as the mid-shift claims me. I am neither man nor beast—something in between and built to destroy. I’m seven feet of hunger and purpose, the blood throbbing in my veins calling her name.
She’s moving fast. Too fast.
The forest blurs around me as I run, white clouds exploding under each stride. The northern lights bleed across the canopy, guiding me toward the place her riddle promised. My breath comes rough, steaming in the frigid air. Every inhale brings another lie meant to confuse me. The taste of her arousal bleeds into her sultry perfume; the mix is heady, and I grip myself with clawed hands.
With every ten steps, I stroke myself down and then up. I’m a monster. Feral and brutal. And yet, the only part of me that will hurt her is swollen, and the skin is taut, leaving behind a trail of pre-come on the white forest floor.
I bare my teeth, licking a fang. Run and hide, Little Moon. Make me earn you.
The mindlink between us remains silent, but I know she heard. It’s there in the love filtering through from her end, the small whine she can’t control after a few minutes. No words, but that sound is enough to set my pulse ablaze.
Moreover, I fuck my hand as I replay that sound over and over. It’s my preferred soundtrack as I head deeper into the Alaskan wilderness, where very few wander. Her clue was direct. I know the place well, but the thought of her out here alone doesn’t sit well with me.
Isabella should be in her nest, cozy and warm and spread out for me like the gift she is.
My steps pick up their pace to match hers, heading in the same direction while ignoring the few fake trails that carry her essence. Meant to trick and deprive, but both man and beast cannot be deterred.
I run. The forest blurs past me, rushes of shadow and white as my strides shred the distance. Her trail veers through trees, weaving between birch and pine, dipping into hollowed earth and curling back again. Then, there’s the illusions that flicker, movement to my left one second, then the right, and it’s always flowy strands of red hair that curl at the ends.
The sight is accompanied by her giggle. Bright. Warm. Playful. A complete contrast to the wind cutting across my face, sharp as a blade, the sting pushing me harder. Faster.
Find me, my wolf.
Her words through the mindlink catch me off guard, my body tensing, but I’m able to jump over the large root sticking up from the ground. My wolf snarls at her through our connection, not that it does much as she snorts.
I’m coming for you, Isabella. This is your only warning.
Before she can reply, I cut the connection and turn left, where an old bridge connects to a denser crop of trees leading to a ravine. But more importantly, it’s where I find a small piece of white fabric I’d recognize anywhere. Soft satin stitched at the hem with our initials.
X. I.
I slow as I reach it, picking it up and bringing it to my nose.
It’s her. Potent and decadent. Mine.
Movement ahead catches my attention, but I pretend otherwise. Ignoring my mate, I run the piece of fabric across my swollen head, swiping the pearl-like beads there, marking the satin.
I’m not going to bring it with me, but bend and place it where she left it, her scent and mine combined, as it always should be. She’s watching this, the small mewl she makes, proof of her inability to stay away either.
I also catch her sharp intake of breath. Scenting me. Noting the change.
Isabella is where the ridge breaks and the forest dips into shadow, just as the riddle stated. And when I cross, my clawed feet firmly planted not far from her hiding spot, my mate steps out. Gone is her dress; she’s wearing nothing but her favorite cloak over her bare skin. Soft, creamy flesh is on display while the ravine walls are slick with ice and moss, blocking us from the storm above.
No sound. No breeze.
Even the snow hangs motionless atop the trees, as if afraid to fall.
This is where my clever female traps a predator. Her king.
She’s chosen a place carved by time like an altar, and the air itself thrums with magical energy. What she didn’t account for, though, was her alpha giving in to the rut. Or maybe she did.
Not that it matters either way…
