Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Ada

I don't know what brought me downstairs. A strange sense of urgency is the best I can determine. I told myself I wanted a drink of water, for in the chaos as I was taken to my room, I didn't think to bring one.

Yet there was more to it than that, a compulsion that forced me to rise from my restless attempt at sleep.

As I stare across the darkened room, seeing the glow of bright blue eyes, I realize his presence was calling to me.

There is a wolf in my tavern, and he goes by the name of Master Gray.

He steps out of the shadows, reminding me again of his immense size and the otherworldly power that lives within him.

I begin to shake as I recall the recent violence playing out here, the blood splattering, and the bodies on the floor.

Maybe I ought to be more frightened of this man with an inner wolf. Yet I have seen real monsters, and Gray is not one of them. It makes a twisted kind of sense that I would trust a shifter who has killed for me more than my own father.

He steps closer until, finally, a sense of danger prevails, and I back up until I find myself against the wall near the foot of the stairs.

His gaze lowers to my lips, and his nostrils flare.

Gods, he is so huge.

"I'm going to marry Callum," I blurt out. Maybe I am reminding myself, as much as telling him.

A low growl rumbles in his chest. "Do not mention that whelp." He lowers his head, getting his nose close to the crook of my neck until his skin touches mine.

I shiver as he draws the tip of his nose the length of my throat. It is snowing outside and cool within the tavern now that the fire has burned down, but that is not the reason why goosebumps spring across my flesh.

"I want to see your wolf," I say as curiosity wins over nerves.

He growls again. "You don't know what you ask for, lass," he says.

"I want to see him. Please."

My demand is perhaps reckless. But I will soon be wed, Gray will move on, and I might never get to see his wolf. The thought makes me so sad.

"You know he has imprinted upon you," he says, his voice a low warning.

"I don't know what that means." I swallow as the lie rolls off my tongue. I want him to tell me in his own words.

His palms rest against the wall on either side of my head, making a cage for me. Caution dictates I should flee, slip under his arm, run back upstairs to my room, and bolt the door.

I tell myself he is too close, and that I couldn't get away now, even if I tried. He would stop me if he chose to. Running might even bring out the predator in him.

It is not fear that keeps me immobile, though, but more a dangerous sense of curiosity.

"Imprinting," he says, his voice a purr beside my ear, "is when a shifter's beast latches onto another with a mind to make them his mate. That is the simple definition that could be understood by a human. To us, it is far deeper than that. More a compulsion, a strong, almost undeniable one, to claim, to bite, and to breed."

They are almost the exact words that Callum used when he claimed me. They ignite the same fire, one that makes my stomach take a slow dip.

His breath tickles my ear, but he does not touch me again.

I wish that he would.

A sweet, purring sound emanates from his chest, and I instantly soften, fighting the urge to lean toward him and rub my cheek against his chest so that I might better hear that beautiful sound.

"But you can deny it," I say, and how those words cut me. "And then, when you leave, your wolf will find somebody else."

He leans back a little and slowly shakes his head. "Nay, lass. When a wolf imprints, as mine has done, being prepared to kill for you, there is no turning back."

I swallow, searching his eyes, trying to understand what should be simple but failing.

"Never?" I ask.

"Never," he confirms.

"And what about the man?" I whisper. "Does he imprint, too?"

His nod is slow. "The man and wolf are aligned in this."

His tone is almost bitter. He doesn't want to want me. It is some freak of nature that he does.

A sense of deep sorrow envelops me, both his and mine.

"I love Callum," I say.

His growl is a warning that I do not heed, and I admit, "But I am also drawn to you."

"Do not tempt me, wench," he growls.

Is that what I am doing? Tempting him?

I never meant to. All I know is that I was drawn to him from that very first day—filled with curiosity for sure, but also with feminine interest in such a powerful male.

I love Callum. I know I do. So how can I covet another man?

"You think I resist you because of that whelp?" His lips curl, bringing the first frisson of genuine fear. "Make no mistake, he would not stop me. I have dreamed many a night since I met you of rutting you while he lays bleeding on the floor."

I shake my head, not wanting to believe him. "You won't hurt Callum. If you hurt him, it would hurt me."

"Maybe not kill him." His lips tug up on one side in a distinctly wolf-like expression as he leans in closer again. "Maybe I would just teach him that his place is below mine. Wolves are known to take more than one mate… not that I ever envisioned such a life, for I am too possessive by nature to share… But little matters once a wolf has imprinted. I would claim you. I want to. My wolf wants to, as well."

My chest tightens, and my head spins as possibilities pound into me. Distantly, I know such hopes are wrong, for there is more than me to consider; there is the man I will wed in a matter of days, and who knows nothing of this secret longing I hide.

"But it is more complicated even than you and your blacksmith whelp," he says ominously.

My jaw tightens. "I don't appreciate you calling him that."

His smirk turns sinister as his eyes lower to my lips. "I would do much worse than call the bastard names if you were mine. Yet you cannot be mine, for I already have a mate."

He is mated?

His words wound me more than any blow could. Now everything makes sense: his distance—why he holds back. I should be relieved, for I will never need to confess my feelings to Callum. We can wed, and soon, I will forget all about Gray and this foolish infatuation.

Yet something tells me that I have imprinted upon Gray, too. Maybe I don't have an inner beast, yet my heart beat faster for him right from the start. To forget him is not an option, even though remembering will always be bittersweet.

He has a mate, and soon, I will have a husband, one I love.

Suddenly, I know I can endure all these future pains if only I could see his wolf just once. A memory I can keep inside me, a secret that will go with me to the grave, of a love that could never be. "Please, Gray," I whisper, my eyes imploring him, knowing the request is ill-advised, yet helpless to resist. "Let me see your wolf one time before you must walk away."

A tic thumps in his jaw. He holds my eyes for the longest time.

My heart beats wildly, and I scarcely breathe lest it break the spell.

The air crackles, stirring a shocked gasp from me. His body implodes and then reforms into a menacing, dark shape.

My eyes rise up and up—he is so much larger now—until I find his beastly head mere inches from the ceiling. His clothes lay in tatters, shredded from his change. I expected a wolf. Maybe he has a wolf, too. But this is not it. This is an immense beastly creature covered in thick gray fur who stands on his two hind legs.

His snout is long and his teeth glisten, white and sharp looking. It is undeniably a wolf's head. When I glance back down, I find his back feet claw-tipped and much like a wolf's, while in place of front paws are giant fur-covered gnarled hands tipped by lethal claws.

"Goddess, your beast is huge," I whisper as he lowers to a crouch, bringing us closer to eye level. "And beautiful." I cup the side of his snout, my fingers curling into the thick, soft fur. I smile. "Did they name you after the color of your pelt?"

He makes a deep chuffing sound like he is laughing at me. "Nay, wench," he rumbles. "It is merely coincidental. Within our pack, there are many gray wolves."

His tongue darts out to lick at my palm, then my wrist, then the crease of my elbow, my shoulder, and then along my collarbone before the side of my throat, and across the seam of my lips.

"Oh." It ought to disgust me. He is a beast, yet wherever his tongue lashes, fresh goosebumps spring, and tingles follow in their wake.

When he lifts his head, his eyes seem to glow brighter in the shadow-filled room.

He emits a deep, rumbly growl, and it sets all the tiny hairs across the surface of my skin springing to attention. Unbridled longing slams into me, so intoxicating that I fear I might actually come.

My hand lowers; I curl it into my chest and bite my lower lip hard enough to taste blood.

He presses up against me, crowding me back against the wall again. His tongue catches my cheek, lapping up the tears. "You smell like temptation. I want to devour you, little mate."

He is already mated. Why does he taunt me so?

Why do I still want him?

One gnarled hand cups my breast, and his thumb gently brushes across my nipple.

"Oh, Goddess," I say, as my nipple peaks to attention.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, toying with my nipple through my clothes, making the sweet, needy sensations clamor within me.

I nod helplessly, already breathing fast and shallow, although he is barely touching me. I try to remember why this was a bad idea, but my thoughts are naught but a scattered mess. There is only this beast before me and this strange urgency rising inside.

His nose nudges the swell of my breast before his tongue dips under my neckline to catch my nipple.

I groan. Claws spring out. Material flutters away, exposing my tender flesh to his wicked tongue. He teases me, lavishing attention with rough fingers and a hot tongue until my breasts grow heavy with arousal and heat pulses in my core.

His other hand lowers to part the folds of my skirt until his rough fingertips find the tops of my stockings. His claws spring and scrape lightly over my skin before snagging my left stocking top.

It shreds.

He growls, deep and full of satisfaction, crouching lower and trapping me, trembling against the wall. He pushes his snout against my core and sniffs.

I feel his claws snag my right stocking top, shredding it, too.

He rumbles again and pushes my skirts further aside so his thick tongue can lap the top of my thighs.

"Even your skin is delicious," he says between licks. "Such a sweet little lass who wanted to see my wolf." He laps against the seam of my panties. "Well, now you have seen my beast."

His purr dips to a rattling growl, one that makes my pussy slick. The world around me is moving fast and slow. There is not enough air in my lungs… I feel like I am drowning on land. I feel claws shredding my panties, exposing me.

I court madness under the passage of rough wolf tongue. Clothing is torn or ripped away. My boots are lying on the tavern floor. His ruined clothing is long gone, revealing a hot, bright pink cock that thrusts from within a furred sheath. Pinning me securely against the wall, he feasts upon my slick folds, getting right up inside me. Goddess, it feels like he is fucking me with his tongue, taking me near as deeply as Callum did with his cock…

Callum. Somehow, thinking of him seeing me like his, ravished by Gray's beast, sends me spiraling perilously close to a climax. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep my pleasure sounds inside. Almost like he senses my resistance, his tongue lavishes my swollen clit.

Gods! It sends me tumbling into bliss, my body twitching and spasming as I come for Gray.

My fingers sink into the fur at the side of his wolf's head, holding him closer as I moan out in bliss, claiming his gift.

His rumbles soften, and he takes one final lick before slowly easing away, lapping my juices from around his mouth as he rises until his head is once more level with mine.

"What a delicious little treat," he rumbles.

My hand cups his furry cheek, and a smile finds my lips even as I blush to the roots of my hair. "Can I touch you?" My eyes lower to where his cock, hard and angry-looking, weeps clear pre-cum.

"No." He steps back, leaving me cold and bereft.

My smile falters. Like waking from a dream, the reality of my actions hits me like a douse of cold water.

My pussy still throbs, but now it is with guilty pleasure as I reach out a hand, almost touching him, before I pull back.

"Go to your room, Ada." He turns his back on me.

I stare after him, wounded by his sharp tone.

He has a mate. I already have a lover, one I shall wed in two days. What have I done?

A sob tears from my throat as I snatch up my boots and the puddle of stockings I have no recollection of having removed. I bolt up the stairs to my room, slam the door, and fall upon the bed and sob.

My last image is of him crouching, a beast still, with his back to me.