Chapter 22

THE MORRíGAN

I don't run after Ciara immediately, giving her a head start seems only fair, especially when I can see what it means to her. Her entire body is thrumming with Pack magic; I can feel it from over here. She is alive, truly alive, in a way that she's never been before—at least, not that I've seen in the few months that I've known her.

I can feel the blood in my veins thrum with the same powerful magic.

It's been too long since we've run, sister. It is Macha who speaks to me. She was known for being fleet of foot, back when we first roamed these hills, and I can feel her excitement building within me. But I don't want to catch Ciara so soon. I want the thrill of the chase, safe in the knowledge that the longer she runs from me, the more she wishes to be caught.

I see her head turn to look for me, and she almost trips over.

"Run." I send the word on the breeze to shiver in her ear. "Run for me."

Even though she's far away, I can sense her desire. I don't need to be in my wolfshape to scent that; I'm so tightly attuned to every aspect of her that she could bite her lip and I'd be aware of it.

And then I run.

It's not the fastest I've ever run, because I don't wish for this to be over so soon, but when she sees, she speeds up and my cunt clenches.

The hunt was never the true thrill for me, I was always about the battle, the conflict. There's very little conflict to be had when one party turns and runs. But I feel Nemain, thrumming below the surface. The frenzied nature of what we're doing, the building desire and lust, appeals to the havoc inside of her, and she urges me forward. Go, sister, reap your spoils.

I bat her away and force myself to the forefront of my own mind, pushing any echoes of them into the recesses. This is just about me and Ciara.

She can run. Her legs are shapely, even in those godsdamned pants that hide her skin, and her shoulders are flushed from the cool morning air.

Sunbeams dapple her skin as she moves.

I want to dapple her skin, with bitemarks that make her moan and gasp for more.

I want her.

The need hits me, hard, and my stride lengthens as I follow her round the lake. If at any point she asks me to pause, I will—of course I will—but I hope beyond hope that she won't. I'm so desperate in my need for her that I'd debase myself, a goddess, at her feet for a single touch.

But she needs this as much as I, that much is clear. And so, I'm hoping for more than a touch.

I'm hoping to bury my face between her legs and make her scream, to fingerfuck her until she's bucking beneath me, crying out in pleasure.

I will have my Ciara, and she will have her reward.

Coming around the bend, I'm close to catching up with her, and I steady my pace until I'm running a few strides behind her.

"Ciara…" My voice is singsong and seductive. "Do you really think you can outrun me?"

She stumbles, and for a moment I think that I've gone too far, triggered some long-suppressed memory, but then she gasps out "Pack" and keeps running, and I know that she is just as invested in the outcome of this chase as I.

"Run run run," I say, and she picks up speed, changing direction until she's heading back into the forest.

It's a smart move. I have to slow my pace, because running headlong into a forest usually results in someone smacking into a tree, but it means that she must adjust her pace also.

She's light-footed, my Ciara, and she swerves between trees and round bushes more deftly than I expected.

She's making me work for it, and I love her for that.

"And you thought this would be easy," she calls over her shoulder, and I want to both sweep her into my arms and spank her for her insolence.

I growl. I will have her.

Ciara takes a wrong turn and ends up in a dead end, surrounded by a tight circle of trees, and before she can slip through a gap and escape, I reach out and grab her hand.

She freezes.

"Pack?" I whisper.

"Pack," she whispers back, and tugs at my hand, as if to get away.

I'm having none of it, though, and haul her towards me.

Her eyes wide, and in their green depths I can see all the leaves of all the trees of this forest. "Oh."

"Oh." My voice is softly mocking. "You thought you could outrun me?"

"I almost did." I delight in her defiance. It is a new thing, I can sense that, and it makes her even more glorious than she already is.

"And yet, here we are." I don't let go of her hand, but I walk her backwards until she is flattened up against a tree. The bark will be harsh against her skin, and I don't intend on harming her, but I want her to feel the discomfort in this moment. It will ground her, keep her here with me, and not hurtling back into some nightmarish past. "What to do with my Ciara?"

I drop my head to her neck and nose at her, and she bares her neck to me submissively. It is a beautiful movement that encapsulates both us in this moment, and us as Pack, all at once.

I don't move. I stand there, my breath ghosting her skin, and I can feel her trembling. I'm waiting. Waiting for her to ask, for her to beg, and then I shall give her all the pleasure that she can take, and then some more again.