Highland Wolf Pact Compromising Positions: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance Page 8

  Besides, with Donal beside her, she couldn’t possibly be cold. Her body radiated like a furnace when he was around. They’d known each other barely a day, but already she responded whenever he entered a room, or even when she heard his voice. Laina had spoken his name that morning, as they went down to breakfast, and Kirstin’s whole body had flushed with heat as if a flame had been ignited inside her belly.

  And Laina had noticed.

  Mayhaps Kirstin had been successful at keeping it from everyone else, even at breakfast when her gaze kept skipping over to Donal—every time she looked at him, he was looking at her, too—but Laina was her sister. They’d nursed together, hunted together, had their first moonblood within weeks of one another. Laina knew her like no one else.

  Stopping and pulling Kirstin into an alcove, Laina had cupped her face in her soft hands, searching her eyes. Then Laina had broken into a grin, laughing at the way Kirstin blushed and pushed her away, but she knew. Kirstin’s protests had fallen on deaf ears, her insistence that it was nothing met with peals of delighted laughter.

  “He’s yer one true mate,” Laina exclaimed, grabbing both of Kirstin’s hands in hers when she whirled to go. “Do’na spend another minute denyin’ it or runnin’ from it. There’s no sense. He’s t’one, Kirstin. Yer body knows it. I can see’t jus’ by lookin’ at ye.”

  “Ye can’na...” Kirstin swallowed, afraid she really could. She’d spent the night on a bed so soft it was like sleeping tucked under the wing of a goose. After the forest floor or the kitchen of the wulver den, it should have been like heaven, but she’d tossed and turned, fitful and restless. Laina was right. Her body had responded almost instantly to Donal, from the moment she’d met him in the forest, and it was only getting worse.

  “Aye,’tis true.” Laina’s blue eyes danced.

  “But he’s...” Kirstin had struggled with it all night long, vacillating back and forth, unable to come to terms with it. “He’s a human!”

  “Aye.” Laina agreed, shrugging. “But at least he’s a Scot. Our own banrighinn is a shasennach. What difference does it make? Look how long Raife tried to fight against it, and fer what? She belongs t’him, and he t’her. Donal’s yers, Kirstin. Oh, I’m so happy fer ye!”

  Laina had thrown her arms around Kirstin and pulled her into a giant wulver hug that, if the sisters had been transformed, would have ended up in a tussle on the floor. And might have, still, if they hadn’t been in the hallway of the MacFalon castle.

  So Laina knew. And in spite of the arguments she kept making to herself, Kirstin knew, too. And now, Sibyl knew, or at least, suspected. The question was—did Donal know?

  And if he did—if he felt the same as she—what in the name of all that was holy were they going to do about it?

  “Ye’ve been down ’ere a’fore?” Kirstin asked as they walked together. Donal kept hold of her hand under the pretense of making sure she didn’t stumble in the darkness. Even if he knew wulvers could see in the dark.

  “Aye. We liked t’play ‘cloak’n’find’ down ’ere,” he told her. “If our da knew, he would’ve tanned our hides, but what boy could resist such a find?”

  “There’re certainly plenty’o’places t’hide,” Kirstin agreed, smiling at the thought of them running through the tunnels. She stopped at one of the rooms and pushed open the door, letting go of his hand to enter. “I think this was t’healin’ room.”

  “I always liked t’way this room smelled,” Donal observed, sniffing, as he followed her inside. “I liked hidin’ under this table.”

  Kirstin examined the abandoned mortar and pestles. “My grandmother’s mother probably stood right ’ere, mixin’ herbs.”

  The thought was both strange and comforting to her.

  “Ye come from a long line of healers and midwives,” he said admiringly. “Wise women.”

  “Aye.” She ran a finger through the dust on the table, wondering how long it had been since one of her ancestors had stood here, preparing poultices or mixing remedies. “Longer than I e’en realized. S’much history ’ere—fer both our families.”

  “This place’s been a part’o’me since I was wee,” he told her, glancing around the room, his eyes filled with memory. “I used t’wonder what it was like, when t’wulvers lived ’ere, when it was full’o’life...”

  “A wulver den’s always busy.” Kirstin smiled as they stepped out into the hallway. She took time to peer into more of the rooms, most of them small individual dens for wulver families. “These tunnels would’ve been full’o’wulvers, comin’n’goin’. I wonder where they kept their livestock?”

  “Up top.” Donal pointed at the high ceilings. “There’s an old barn not too far from ’ere—I think they kept horses and sheep there. It’s on MacFalon land, but I wonder if it might’ve been wulver land long before it belonged to me family...”

  “Mayhaps.” Kirstin smiled in the darkness when his hand found hers again, keeping her close when she wanted to wander ahead. She didn’t mind.

  “I’m still amazed that a horse doesn’t spook when a wulver rider gets on,” he remarked.

  “Ye can break a horse to a wulver rider, jus’ like ye can a human one,” she scoffed. “They get used to it. I imagine horses don’t much like human riders either, to begin wit’.”

  “Aye.” Donal chuckled. “I’ve near broken me tailbone enough t’know that’s t’truth.”

  “This would’ve been t’pack leader’s quarters.” Kirstin opened a door larger than the rest, revealing a room three times the size of the others. There was a large bed in the center of it, raised high, its base built of stone. It had clearly been built inside the room and was too large for anyone to move. Kirstin stopped, frowning as she looked at the mattress and coverlet still on the bed. “’Tis strange...”

  “Hm?” Donal inquired, stepping closer.

  “E’erythin’s covered in dust... but this beddin’ looks freshly laundered.” In fact, the whole room looked cleaner than the rest of the den. There was an animal skin in front of the big fireplace that looked quite new.

  “Oh... aye.” Donal cleared his throat, rocking back on the heels of his boots when she looked at him. “I confess, we did’na jus’ play down ’ere as children. When we were older, we found other uses fer this place...”

  “Did ye bring lasses down ’ere, then?” She crossed her arms at the thought, staring at the bed.

  She could picture a younger Donal, fumbling under the plaid of some kitchen wench he’d invited down here.

  I want t’show ye somethin’...

  I just bet he had!

  “A few.” He cleared his throat. “T’was away from t’pryin’ eyes of m’father—and Moira. That woman misses nothin’. Eyes like a hawk. One time...”

  But Kirstin was striding across the room, away from him.

  “Where ye goin’, lass?” Donal puzzled, seeing her moving along the back of the room near the big fireplace, her hands tracing over the stone.

  “I’d wager ye did’na show yer lassies this secret...” Sure enough, her guess was correct. There was a section of the wall that, when pressed, revealed a narrow stone passage. She could hear the running water of the spring.

  “What’s this?” Donal asked, following Kirstin through the dark passage, toward the light at the end. The sun was higher now and the room glowed as if lit from the inside, the slant of light coming in from above, making the water of the spring look cool and inviting.

  “There’s a way in from the kitchen,” Kirstin pointed to the other exit, where she and Sibyl had come in.

  “That’s how Alistair did it!” Donal’s eyes widened, and then he chuckled, shaking his head as he notched his torch into the wall. “He’d disappear down the tunnel, and I’d go lookin’ fer him—and he’d end up in the kitchen somehow.”

  “Now ye know how.” She laughed.

  “He always was a sneaky little buggar,” Donal mused. “But how did ye know about it?”

  “’Tis the same in our d
en,” she explained, picking her way over the wet rocks in her boots. “The pack leader’s room has access to the spring. Did ye not know it was ’ere?”

  “Oh, aye,” Donal agreed, catching her arm before she could slip. She smiled back at him gratefully. “I jus; did’na know about t’secret entrance. This is one of m’favorite places in the world. So calm and peaceful. Ye’ve a spring in yer den now?”

  “Aye, there’s always a spring in e’ery den,” she told him as they reached flatter ground. The rock here was dry, warmed by the slant of the sun, and Kirstin drew up her plaid to sit down, pulling off her soft boots. “Water’s life. ’Tis said t’very first wulver was born in a spring like this one, to his wulver mother, Ardis.”

  “Born in the water?” Donal marveled, sitting beside her on the rock as Kirstin scooted forward to slide her feet into the cool water.

  “Aye,” she told him as Donal tossed his boots aside, too, dangling his feet in next to hers. “I’ve seen it done.”

  “Doesn’t the bairn drown?”

  “Nuh, the bairn’s a’ready livin’ in water.” She wrinkled her nose at the question, which seemed so silly to a midwife.

  “How do they breathe?”

  “No need ’til they’re birthed.”

  He splashed her bare calves with his foot, making her laugh and nudge him with her hip. They sat very close, thigh to thigh, separated only by their plaids. Kirstin felt the press of his belt against her waist.

  “Tell me more ’bout t’first wulver,” he said, moving more comfortably against her, his arm sliding behind her. His palm was flat against the stone, but he still framed her with his body, making a little niche for her to settle into.

  “Well, some say we’re descendants of Lilith,” she told him, wondering just how many lasses Donal had brought down here. Did he do this with all the women he fancied? She didn’t like thinking about that, but she couldn’t help it. “In yer bible, she was the first woman, but she was cast out of Eden, doomed to give birth to demons.”

  Donal grunted, disapproving. “And wulvers’re the demons?”

  “Aye.” Kirstin glanced up at him, but he was looking down into the water. It was a deep spring, fresh water, crystal clear. He didn’t seem to mind how close they were, so Kirstin fit her head against his shoulder. “Men’s history is so oft different from a woman’s, ye ken?”

  “Aye, lass.” He nodded. “But what’d Lilith hafta do wit’ t’first wulver?”

  “Likely naught.” She snorted a little laugh. “Seems the masculine view of the feminine has twisted all women into demons these days. Mythology becomes history becomes reality. But the older legends... they ring truer to me. Me mother told me this, and her mother a’fore her. ’Tis the story of Ardis and Asher.”

  “Who were they?” Donal’s hand moved from the stone to her hip. Kirstin didn’t shy from his touch. Instead, she snuggled closer. Her heart was racing as fast as if she was on a hunt.

  “Ardis was a wolf who could change into a woman, but only durin’ t’full moon. She fell in love with a huntsman named Asher, who saved her from a trap near the spring.”

  “Hmm.” Donal mused. His fingers traced lightly up her arm toward her shoulder. “Why does this sound familiar?”

  Kirstin smiled at that. He had saved her from a trap, just like Asher had saved Ardis. The similarities didn’t end there, though. She looked up to see his gaze on her now. His eyes were clear blue today, no clouds, his brow smooth. A smile hovered on his lips, which were full and slightly parted and she had an incredible urge to press hers there.

  “He took one look into her eyes and knew she was meant to be his,” she whispered, feeling his hand moving over her shoulder.

  “Mm hmm...” He nodded, as if he understood this, too.

  “And Ardis took one look at him...” She bit her lip, knowing this was her confession, not just the story of Ardis and her found one. “And knew he was her true mate.”

  “Her true mate?”

  She nodded. “Wulvers only have one, their whole lives.”

  “Good.” His meaning was clear and she felt her body tremble slightly as his hand moved through her hair.

  “They would meet at night at the spring to make love in the moonlight e’ery full moon,” she said, swallowing as she felt his fingertips brush the back of her neck, the tiny hairs there already raised and sensitive. “Me mother told me that the moonspring shone a silver light for them so they could see each other, but no one else could see them or their secret meetin’ place.”

  “And this is where the silvermoon grows,” he said. “I’ve ne’er seen it anywhere else.”

  “It only grows at a wulver spring,” she replied. “They say it’s because Asher wept into their secret spring when Ardis was murdered by the witch, Morag.”

  “Ardis was murdered?” Donal blinked at that, but his fingers didn’t stop moving, stroking, petting her.

  “Aye, but their child was t’first wulver,” she told him. It wasn’t easy to continue with the story, considering how distracted she was by his body—and her own. “A lil boy with red hair and red eyes. He’s our first descendent. Asher raised ’im alone but they say Asher visited the spring e’ery full moon, and wept fer ’is lost love.”

  She was glad the story was over, because she couldn’t possibly think anymore. Something inside her was growing, taking control. It felt a little like the tension she experienced just before she changed from human to wulver form. Except this was more intense. Every nerve ending felt alive, her senses keen. The smell of the man beside her, even to her human nose, was intoxicating. She wanted to devour him.

  “’Tis a sad story.” Donal’s whole hand, not just his fingers this time, slipped behind her head, cradling it against his shoulder.

  “Aye,” she whispered, but she wasn’t thinking about the story, or Asher and his lost Ardis, even if the feelings coursing through her were so similar, bred into her, generations of matings just like the first.

  “I ken Asher’s tears,” Donal said softly, the briefest of creases appearing on his brow. “You can’na find fault wit’ a man who weeps when all he loves is taken from ’im.”

  “’Tis always a risk t’love.”

  Oh, what a risk it was. Kirstin had heard it said her whole life, had listened to wulver women lament their inescapable love for their mate, had seen Sibyl’s pain at the thought of losing Raife, and still, she had never fully understood, not until this moment.

  To love this man would mean risking losing him. And that would mean losing everything.

  “Aye, ’tis a risk.” Donal nodded slowly, “But when a man finds what he wants more than anything; else, there’s nothin’ can quiet the fire inside him.”

  Kirstin saw that fire in his eyes, felt it in her own loins, in the heat of his body as he leaned in toward her, so close she was dizzy with him.

  “Not e’en the spring water of Asher and Ardis,” he murmured, before pressing his lips to hers.

  His kiss was everything she had dreamed it would be.

  Her mouth opened under his, letting him guide her head, slanting his so he could press his tongue deeper, probing the soft recesses of her mouth. She let out a soft moan when his hand moved to the small of her back and he pressed himself fully to her, the hard, ridged planes of his torso against the yielding softness of her breasts.

  Her body responded instantly to his touch, as if a fire had been lit inside of her. Kirstin wasn’t inexperienced—her kind didn’t have any qualms about doing what came naturally. But the act, to her, had always been one of comfort and warmth, nothing more than a closeness that felt, well, pleasant. And that was all. The male wulvers she’d been with—just two, in her pack, who she had a particular affection for—had seemed to enjoy it far more than she ever had.

  “Kirstin, yer so beautiful,” Donal whispered as they parted, his gaze moving from her eyes down to her mouth, as if he wanted to capture it again. “So vera sweet. I’m afeared we should’na be ’ere, doin’ this... but
I can’na help meself when I’m ’round ye.”

  “Aye.” She touched his cheek, feeling a day’s stubble there, the roughness of it thrilling her. “I feel the same.”

  “I’ve been dreamin’ of kissing ye since I met ye in the woods yesterday.” He slowly traced the outline of her lips with one finger. “I’m surprised I held meself back this long.”

  “Is that all ye wanna do?” The disappointment in her voice was obvious, maybe too obvious. “Jus’ kiss me?”

  “Nuh.” He chuckled, moving his hand down to her shoulder, running one finger over her collarbone, spreading gooseflesh over her skin. “But I’m afeared I can’na do everything I want. Not unless ye wanna come wit’ me now to the vicar t’say yer vows. And I thought, mayhaps, you’d like a lil longer courtship than one day.”

  “Why?” Kirstin shook her head, smiling, bemused. “I’m a wulver, Donal. I know me own nature better than most men e’er will. I know who ye’re t’me. I knew it the moment we met.”

  His eyebrows went up, a smile playing on those full, oh-so-kissable lips. “Who’m I?”

  “Yer Donal MacFalon,” she said simply, as if it explained everything. And to her, it did. He had eclipsed everyone and everything until she could see naught else. “Yer the man I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime fer. Yer me one true mate.”

  “Aye,” he breathed, kissing her again, this time with a soft assurance that spread through her like warmed honey, filling all the cracks and crevices in her soul. It was like coming home, like breathing after coming up from being underwater, lungs bursting, and finally breathing the air your body craved.

  “I’ve ne’er experienced anythin’ like this a’fore,” he confessed, kissing the corner of her mouth, then licking it. “I do’na understand it.”

  “Ye do’na need t’understand it,” she murmured, tilting her head back for the press of his lips on her long, slender throat. “Ye jus’ need t’feel it.”