So where was the conviction in Lucia’s tone?
“Aye, mayhap they do, but what do you consider me?” He narrowed his eyes. “Surely you doona agree with them or you would no’ want me to mate you now.”
Her lips parted. “Mate me? I’ve met arrogant males in my day, but you are the king of them.”
A shadow passed over his face. “The king, then? What a way of putting it.” But he quickly recovered. “Then give me a boon for taking the prize. Tell me your name.”
She exhaled, then grudgingly said, “I’m called Lucia the Huntress.”
“Lousha,” he repeated.
Everyone she’d ever known had pronounced her name Loo-see-ah. With his thick Scottish accent, the werewolf pronounced it Lousha. She just stopped herself from shivering.
“Well, then, Lousha the Huntress”—a roguish grin curled his lips—“you’ve snared me.”
Tingles danced over her body, but just as swiftly foreboding filled her. She had no business responding to him. He’d just left the nymphs and a guaranteed orgy. He would expect sex from a female this night.
Which she could never give—even if she wanted to—without disaster.
So why was her gaze descending along his damp chest? Her eyes followed the trail of hair from his navel down to the low-slung waist of his worn jeans, then lower . . . she almost gasped to see the bulge there.
She realized he must have been doing the same perusal of her—because the bulge grew. She quickly glanced up, found the Lykae’s gaze was riveted to her breasts. Her nipples were straining against the wet material of her shirt, and he was staring hard at them as if he wanted to remove her top—with his mind.
When their eyes met once more, his flickered blue again, reminding her anew of why interacting with him was unwise. “Run along, wolf. Or I’ll make you wish you had.”
“That will no’ be happening, Valkyrie.”
“Why?” At his determined look, a suspicion arose in her, one so ridiculous it hardly warranted another thought. But she couldn’t shake it. “I’m not . . . your mate, or anything, right?” She couldn’t be.
“Nay. Though I might wish it otherwise.”
Thank the gods for that. “Then—leave.”
When he instead drew nearer, she yanked free her bow and nocked an arrow, drawing the string without thought. She aimed straight for his heart, which wouldn’t kill an immortal like him but would put him down for a good while. “Stop right where you are, or I’ll shoot.”
He didn’t stop right where he was. “You would no’. When I mean you no harm?”
“This isn’t an idle threat,” she said in a steely tone. His expression turned impatient, as if he couldn’t understand where her caution was coming from. “I will shoot you if you come closer.”
He came closer. So she shot him in the heart. Or four inches to the right, having decided at the last second to vary her aim by a degree.
The arrow landed in his solid chest, drilling through his muscles until only the flights were visible. “Bluidy hell, woman!” he bellowed, scowling down at his chest.
In a placid tone, she reminded him, “I told you not to come closer.”
He fisted the flights, trying to draw the arrow free, but those barbs made it impossible. Reaching around awkwardly, he grated, “Help me get this thing loose!”
She blinked up at him. “I put the arrows in. I don’t take them out.”
His chin jutted. “You do with me.”
The corners of her lips quirked, surprising her. What a wild, mad Lykae. She schooled her features. “Why would I ever?”
“Because, Valkyrie”—he started for her again, apparently planning to ignore the arrow in his chest—“by the close of this night we’ll be sharing a bed, and you’ll feel foolish to have shot up your bedmate.”
With a sigh, she let sail another arrow. “Oh, dear, how foolish of me. You were saying?”
He continued closer. “When I set to kissing those pouting lips of yours—”
Another arrow sunk into his chest.
Now three wounds marred his gorgeous body, three trails of blood tracking over the rises and falls of rock-hard muscle. Gritting his teeth, he said, “This hurts like hell, lass, but it’s heartening.”
“How do you figure?”
“At fifty times the distance, you dispatched that kobold with three arrows to the neck. I’ve earned a trio to the chest. Seems you slapped him while you’re tickling me. You doona want to kill me, which is a good sign. Maybe this is your way of flirting?”
She sobered once more, reality washing over her. “I’m not flirting—trust me, you’d know.” Because disaster would be imminent. Damn it, he kept coming for her.
“If you’re truly a hunter, you will no’ leave a wolf to suffer. I’ll bet you usually shoot to kill—no’ merely to torment.”
He had a point. It wasn’t in her nature to torture a being. Unless they had it coming. “Oh, very well. If I help you remove them, will you leave me alone?”
“Leave you alone? I’d rather bluidy wear them, Valkyrie.”
With that, he slammed his fist against the end of the first arrow, sending the shaft jutting farther out his back. He reached behind him, now able to just snag the tip. Clenching his jaw, he threaded the arrow through his chest, the flights disappearing beneath the surface of his skin as he pulled it out from his back.
While she gaped at his resilience, he cast the bloody arrow aside, then started on the next, repeating the process. With each one, the muscles in his body went tense; once the arrow was freed, he groaned and relaxed—somewhat. Almost as if he’d taken sexual release but wasn’t sated.
A part of her was flattered that he’d rather go through this than receive her help. She could’ve snapped the ends, allowing him to pull them forward, but instead he withstood this pain—because he didn’t want to leave her alone?
His strength amazed her, his fortitude imposing. That awareness returned, and her skin pricked in the clammy night air.
When he began removing the last arrow, he advanced on her once more, tearing it free as he stalked closer, barely giving a wince, that determined mien never faltering.
She took a step back, debated using her one remaining arrow to put him down. She couldn’t kill him, but she could slow him with a shot between the eyes.
“I believe I’ve earned the right to stay—as well as a kiss from you.”
She made a sound of frustration. “As if you’d be happy with a kiss? You expect to have sex with me and it simply will not happen—”
“But you want it to, do you no’?”
To have him take her here, hot and sweaty in the swamp? She swallowed. He was a Lykae—he’d want her on her hands and knees . . . Her heart sped up at the thought, but she shook her head stubbornly. “Of course not! Understand me, MacRieve, I’m a Valkyrie. I’m not bound by your . . . animalistic needs.”
His voice a low rasp, he said, “After one night with me, Lousha, you will be.”
FOUR
Adrenaline and need coursed through Garreth, muting the pain of his wounds, until all he could feel was the growing pressure in his shaft and an overwhelming lust for the creature before him.