Chapter Eight

Dean Hart's room was on the first floor, expansive and well furnished—the opposite of my claustrophobic borrowed room.

Windows took up most of the far wall, extending from floor to ceiling, showing a view of the trees around us. With hardwood floors and paneling, we could have been in a woodland cabin instead of a werewolf stronghold.

The Alpha had his own kitchenette and an ensuite bathroom. A clawed tub was visible through the open door.

The bed was made without even a sock on the floor. Dean Hart was tidier than I could ever hope to be. Though the room seemed warm, something belonging to the cover of a housekeeping magazine, I couldn't find a single personal effect. Nothing that would give me an insight into the man in front of me.

The bed occupied most of the room—which made sense considering Dean's height. I'd never seen a bed so large; it looked almost indecent. Ten people could fit side by side, with room left over.

I cleared my throat and realized I'd been staring at the bed for several moments.

Dean watched me, silent.

I knew why he had called me to his room. There were too many prying eyes and ears on the other side of the tunnel.

That didn't make it any less awkward.

Though the room was large, it might as well have been a closet for how trapped I felt. I pulled the neckline of my dress away from my collarbone, trying to loosen the tightness at my throat.

"Kaleb told me about the Dullahan," I repeated, cutting the silence as I turned away from the bed.

"The headless horseman?" Dean replied benignly, his arms still crossed as he leaned a hip against one of the bed posts. "Rarely does the Huntsman use his second, but evil follows on his heels."

My stomach soured. "Kaleb thinks the Dullahan has been sent to court me. Or at least, make me aware of the Huntsman's intention to court me."

"Kaleb knows more of the Aos Sí and its customs than I do," Dean said simply. "I was a teenager when the Locket pack fell to ruin, and I was called into service. Our Alpha was killed by the Huntsman. Made an example of."

"For what?" I asked, my voice wispy because I already knew the answer.

"We guard the Gate." Dean rubbed his knuckles across the stubble on his chin. "We were told that the Alpha, Finnegan Wise, had colluded with a fugitive. He was—"

"I don't want to hear anymore," I whispered.

I knew the story already.

My mother had died when I was still wet from the womb. Poisoned by the iron in the human blood transfusion.

My grandmother, Eva, founded Locket. Her home was built from blood, bone, and magic. She'd hidden her child and swaddled her in clothing woven with magic.

The child she had conceived with the Beast-King.

My mother.

I hadn't lied when I told Kaleb I didn't know who the Huntsman was. I just hadn't known his name.

I'd once asked my grandmother why we lived in a town with wolves.

She said that wolves lived in every corner of the world, but the Gate helped hide her magic.

All she could do was hide.

Hide her daughter.

And then me.

My mother would not have passed if she had been in the Aos Sí.

All roads led back to the Huntsman.

I was so tired of it all.

I reached into my pocket, feeling the sudden weight of the wooden coin. My assurance that everything was all part of her plan.

Grandmother had passed on, but her magic remained.

"The Wild Hunt begins at sunset tomorrow." Dean cleared his throat. "If you do not wish to see the Huntsman, you should find somewhere safe to stay."

"Kicking me out?" I joked.

"Never." He shook his head vehemently. "But, if you have no wish to court the Huntsman, he should not see you."

"If I go home, Joel will kill me," I argued, but my heart wasn't in it. I pulled the coin free from my pocket, brushing my thumb over the worn carving on the front.

"How did you get that coin?" Dean pushed away from the bed and sauntered toward me. "It's on my desk."

I stumbled, rocking on the heel of my foot. "My grandmother."

"Ah, yes." He scoffed. "The grandmother. A Fae that no one in town can remember. No one knows her face. The mysterious Weaver, who just happens to live in the shadow of the Gate made by the Huntsman's wife as she escaped to the Human Realities."

I licked my bottom lip.

"Kaleb would not know your grandmother's face unless she spent time with the Beast-King and his court." Dean stalked closer.

He almost had it. He was so close to all my secrets.

Dean stepped into my space, his pupils dilating as I craned my neck to keep eye contact. We stared at each other, frozen. My heartbeat fluttered, and I swore I could feel each beat in my throat.

"What is that smell ?" Dean murmured, his brow furrowed as he stared down at me.

Melly and her fucking herbs.

Dean loosened a growl, and the sharp point of his canine teeth flashed as his lips parted. My knees buckled at the sound before Dean caught me. His fingers tangled in my hair, and he pressed his lips to mine, holding me against his body. I felt like a life raft in a tumultuous sea.

Whatever thoughts, plans, and revenge that lived in my head dissolved with my willpower.

Dean's tongue dove into my mouth, claiming me. I tilted my head, reaching up and gripping his shoulders, pulling him against me.

I felt his warmth through the fabric of his shirt. My nipples hardened as Dean's fingers gripped my hair at the nape of my neck. The pads of his fingers on my skin burned wherever they touched.

All thoughts left my brain, leaving hunger, desire, and arousal in their place.

Dean moaned against my mouth, and the sound woke something inside of me. I clawed at him, desperate. The kiss deepened as we surged together until every inch of our lips touched. My chin burned from his stubble, but I didn't care.

Pressed against his body, I felt the outline of his hardness through his trousers as I reached out, brushing my hand over his stomach. He was so much taller than I was, his back arched toward me so his lips could touch mine.

We broke free, our chests heaving, out of breath, as we stared at each other in awe.

Every second that his lips weren't on mine was a waste.

I reached up, grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him backward. Though Dean Hart was almost seven feet tall, he allowed me to direct him to the bed. As his ass hit the mattress, he stared up at me as if afraid that one wrong move would break the spell.

I didn't care if it was a bad idea.

For once, I didn't want to do the calculated thing.

I climbed on his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs as I straddled him. I reached up, brushing my fingers against the seam of Dean's jaw as I studied his face. The sweeping shadows of his long lashes and his plush lips.

The second kiss slowed as I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. Savoring the feel of his skin and the taste of his tongue.

Dean's hand snaked up, resting between my shoulder blades, sending a shiver through my spine.

"We shouldn't." I panted, breaking free from his kiss. Kaleb's face flashed through my mind before Dean pressed his lips to my throat, growling against my skin.

"Yes, we fucking should." He nipped my throat, and I squirmed, unable to form any argument if it meant stopping Dean from touching me.

I rocked against him, straddling the behemoth of a man, feeling every inch of his hardness through the thin fabric of my panties.

Dean reached between us and squeezed my thigh before allowing his fingers to drift lazily to my core. My hips shifted to meet his touch before I even realized what I was doing. His fingers slipped past the fabric of my underwear, brushing against my core. I felt how wet I was, how easily his fingers slipped over my entrance as he explored my pussy.

I gasped when Dean slipped a finger inside of me, swallowing the sound with his mouth as he kissed me. My head swam, my blood surged under my skin, and my heart pounded in my ears.

More. More. More .

It had been so long since I'd felt something, anything. Dean's touch sent sparks through me as he pulled his finger from my pussy, and teased a line from my entrance to my clit with slow deliberation, smearing my wetness over the small nub as he rubbed it.

Dean's stubble rubbed against my cheek as I pressed my face to his, clasping him to me as I straddled him, and he touched me. I was going to come. Embarrassingly quickly.

I pulled back, licking my bottom lip. "I want to come with you inside me," I told him, my eyes fixed on his.

Dean's plush lips quirked. He reached up, placing his finger horizontally between his lips and sucking my juices from his hand. "Are you sure you don't want to sit on my face instead?"

My cheeks burned, my brain short-circuiting. I looked down at his jeans' hard bulge, skewing the buttons. "Don't you want to..."

He arched a brow expectantly. "I want to feel you come on my face. I want to taste you properly." He unbuttoned his jeans, pulled them down over his ankles, and threw them to the floor. His hard cock stood proud, demanding attention.

"I've never—" I stopped my words, shaking my head. "Yes. I... Yes."

Dean's restrained smile became a cocky smirk as he laid back. "Straddle my face, Mallory."

Even when he was below me, he was still an Alpha it seemed. I kept my dress on but allowed my panties to drop to the floor, kicking them to the side before I stood on the bed.

It was intimidating to climb such a mountain of a man, even as he lay flat on the bed. By being on top, the onus was on me. I was forced to confront the entire situation, not as a lack of control, but as a deliberate decision.

I'd wanted Dean since the moment I had seen him. Something about him called to me. His smell, his size, the way he looked. Criminally good-looking, despite the perpetual scowl.

I got into position, standing over his face with my feet on either side of his head. Dean's eyes darkened as he looked up, seeing directly under my skirt. He reached up, clasping my calves. Watching with silent challenge. My hands gripped the metal headboard as I lowered myself onto his face, closing my eyes as he speared me with his tongue.

Dean bathed my pussy with his tongue before he circled my clit and pulled the tiny nub between his lips. My orgasm fell over me, locking every muscle in my body, save for my hips, as I continued to ride his face. Rubbing myself over his chin, desperately seeking friction, Dean ate me like a starving man.

Still riding high on pleasure, Dean sat up, pulling me down until his lips met mine. He tasted like my juices, and he grinned as he claimed my mouth. His patience was gone as Dean pulled me down onto his hard cock, lining the angry weeping head against my entrance and surging inside. My breath exploded from my lungs, and though I had thought my orgasm had ended, my body began to jerk and writhe as Dean filled me.

I woke in the middle of the night, naked and pressed against Dean Hart. I rubbed my neck, feeling the raised skin of his bite. I grabbed my clothes, dressing as quietly as possible, before letting myself out.

Every hallway in the barracks was uniform, making it impossible to find my room.

I pushed my fingers through my tangled hair, knowing that I smelled like sex and Alpha werewolf.

I turned right at the fork at the end of the corridor, and my body slammed directly into Mitchell.

I cursed, rubbing my nose.

Mitchell cocked his head to the side. "It's late." He noted. "I couldn't find you."

I glanced to the side.

Mitchell stepped closer. "Where were you?"

"Mitchell..." I cleared my throat. "I'm trying to go back to my room."

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "You smell different. You smell like a wolf ."

"I was with Dean," I admitted, my chin jutted as I met his eyes in challenge. "I'm not married anymore. Or, I won't be once I sign the paperwork."

"Not Dean." He murmured, his pupils dilated. "I can smell Dean on you. The perfume of your pleasure. The cum in your pussy. The scent I am speaking of belongs entirely to you."

Crap .

"He bit you," Mitchell growled, reaching up and brushing the back of his hand against my shoulder. Somehow sensing the bite mark under the fabric of my shirt.

When his fingers touched my cheek, I closed my eyes, my skin tingling in the wake of his touch. What was wrong with me? I'd crawled out of Dean's bed, and now Mitchell had turned me on with a simple touch to the cheek.

My stomach rumbled, breaking the spell between us. Mitchell's darkened gaze faded, and his lips pulled into a grin.

"Hungry?" His eyes shone with mirth.

"Starving." I gave him a tentative smile. "Do you know where I can find some food?"

"We usually serve meals at the bar, but we have a kitchen on this side of the tunnel," Mitchell explained. "Come on, I'll show you."

Mitchell led me to a stairwell at the end of the hallway. Away from the rows of doors, the first floor opened up to an ample common space. Couches, bookshelves, and a television on the far side. The fluorescent lights overhead bathed the open-plan space in a dim glow. Our footsteps echoed across the tiled floor as Mitchell took me to an industrial-style kitchen with stainless steel counters, a range cooker, and a Blackstone. I supposed it made sense, considering the wolves lived on this side of the tunnel. Traveling to the bar for every snack or glass of water would quickly grow old.

Mitchell walked over to the fridge, pulling ingredients from the shelves and placing them on the counter.

Eggs, bacon, bagels.

I wasn't used to people cooking for me; it made me uncomfortable. My fingers itched to take over, but I didn't know where anything was.

Mitchell grabbed a stool, placed it by the island, and gestured for me to sit.

"So, you and Dean, huh?" Mitchell joked as he cracked an egg into the frying pan. "Succumbed to the Alpha cock."

My nose wrinkled. "You don't need to be rude about it."

"I'm jealous, Doll." Mitchell glanced over his shoulder, flashing me a wink with his good eye. "Though you're going to have to tell me why you smell like a wolf in heat instead of a Sídhe."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's not going to fly." Mitchell waved a spatula toward me. "I need to know these things."

"What are you jealous of?" I muttered. "Dean? Me? Someone having perfectly normal consensual sex as two adults?"

"I'll tell Dean you said he was ‘perfectly normal' in bed." Mitchell hooted, cracking another egg.

My cheeks warmed.

My night with Dean had been so much more than perfectly normal. If I hadn't been worried about my own hide, I would have stayed, cuddling up to him all night.

Being in the barracks was dangerous to my plans and sanity.

Mitchell busied himself, making food and dishing up a plate for both of us. Two breakfast bagels, though the clock over the door showed it was still the early morning hours.

We ate in silence. I inhaled my bagel without a word, sitting back and placing my hand on my stomach. Too full to move.

"I'm separated," I said, seemingly out of the blue. "Joel tried to kill me."

Mitchell pointed his fork in my direction. "Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?"

My cheeks warmed. "I don't know what happened."

"If you were a wolf, I'd say you were going into heat." He shoveled a mouthful of food into his face, chewing thoughtfully. "You certainly smell like you're in heat."

My jaw tightened. "I'm not in heat."

"Because you're not a wolf." Mitchell arched his brow.

I scoffed. "Right."

"Do you know about wolf mating habits?" Mitchell cocked his head to the side. "Just out of interest."

I rolled my eyes. "Wyatt mentioned something called Shíorghra. I've heard the term before. Sídhe have it, too."

Mitchell nodded in understanding. "Wolves can only have children with their fated mates. Their Shíorghra. The Huntsman's curse has stripped us of what we once were. We can no longer heal quickly. We cannot access much of our wild magic, and shifting is painful when it was as easy as breathing in the past—so I'm told."

I tilted my head, showing that I was listening.

"The Huntsman has taken so much from us." Mitchell continued. "And tomorrow night, when Samhain comes, you can't be here."

"Why not?" I bristled, my fist clenching.

Mitchell gave me a look. "You're wearing a bite mark on your shoulder. From an Alpha. One of the Huntsman's wolves. Dean will want to protect you."

"What does a bite mark mean?" I narrowed my eyes. "Am I missing something?"

Mitchell looked down his nose at me, shaking his head as if banishing a thought. "He's marked you as one of the Locket pack. That's all."

My brow furrowed, but I accepted his answer. "My grandmother said there was always a loophole with Mallacht Sídhe," I said after a moment. "They have to write their curses, and it doesn't matter what language they use. A curse has to have a way out. Most magic has a downside. For example, if I cursed you to only eat mashed potatoes for the rest of your life, I would have to include a way to break the curse. Grandmother said the key was in the wording. Flowery language."

"No one knows the exact wording of the curse." Mitchell rubbed his chin. "It was said that his marriage contract with éabha was unbreakable. Weavers can alter reality, so she must have found a way."

"She likely had to sacrifice something to do it." I frowned, thinking of my grandmother's teachings.

"The original hounds." Mitchell nodded sadly. "On Samhain, the Huntsman calls, and we answer. None of the wolves you know would recognize you if they saw you. If the Huntsman pointed his finger and called for your death, even Dean wouldn't be able to stop himself. He wouldn't even remember."

"That's...horrible." My stomach sank. "And it happens every Samhain?"

"The curse calls for us every Samhain. Once a year. But we have other duties. To guard the Gate and ensure no malicious creatures come through." Mitchell shrugged.

"What kind of Fae come through?" I wondered.

"Kaleb knows better than I do." Mitchell hedged. "He was raised in the Aos Sí and knows the difference between a Puca and a river otter. That kind of thing."

Silence stretched between us as I pondered his words. How many different types of Fae durrach were there? I knew of the Wild Fae, with a human-like aspect and an animal one. I learned of the Sídhe, who walked on two legs and worked great magic, but I didn't know much about the Aos Sí, aside from what my grandmother chose to share with me.

I knew she had her reasons and a plan, but every day I spent around the wolves, I realized just how much I didn't know. How much she had shielded me from.

"Dean said I had to leave. Just for the night." I looked down. "I think he wants me as far away from the Huntsman as possible."

"The motel on the edge of town." Mitchell ignored my scathing tone. "The coven has agreed to stand watch. Melly Parish might be old, but she is a formidable witch. She can protect you."

"You don't think much of my ability to protect myself then?" I quirked a brow.

Mitchell shrugged, smirking. "If you want to take offense, feel free. You came to us for protection." He pointed out.

I reached up, pulling the collar of my shirt away from my throat. I needed air.

"What is your plan?" Mitchell continued. "After the Huntsman blows through town, and your ex-husband realizes that small-town police corruption has real-world consequences, what then?"

My brow furrowed, and the fist against my thigh tightened. "I haven't thought that far. If anything, Joel's bullshit had taught me that if I want to be safe, I need to save myself. Maybe I should just find this headless horseman and ask him to leave me alone."

"You want to seek out the Dullahan?" Mitchell eyed me in disbelief. "Are you mad? The durrach doesn't have a head. He can't be reasoned with!"

"You killed Dorly, the Redcap." I pointed out.

Mitchell shook his head. "Didn't you listen to a word I said when I was busy trauma-dumping on you? Even as a wolf, I have trained for years. I can handle a sword."

My lips pulled to the side. "It was a stupid thought anyway. I need to open my store tomorrow." I told Mitchell. "I have a delivery coming."

Mitchell rubbed his hand down his face, sighing. "As long as you're in your motel room by sundown."