Page 22 of Oath of Revenge
He shuddered, renewed purpose and the weight of a new responsibility settling in his soul. His hand wrapped around her wrist at his throat, his thumb caressing back and forth on her skin.
The magic of the mate bond made his mouth water, and he desperately wanted to kiss her.
Her jaw slackened and eyes darkened, flaring in recognition. Her hands shook as she slid away from him, sitting on her ass beside him. She brushed the hair from her face and blinked with a stunned expression.
Did she feel it, too? Did she know what they were to each other?
His heart raced as he looked up at the older woman, concern clearly written on her face. But he could only drag his eyes away from his mate for a second before he looked back at her.
He blinked, trying to memorize the beauty’s face, as the other woman sighed and wiped her hands on her apron.
“It’s as the dream foretold,” she said softly, solemnly. Then she cleared her throat. “Alright, breakfast is almost ready. I’m sure you’re both famished. Growler, you can sit in the chair if you feel able, but don’t push yourself. Just sit where you are if you’d like, and I’ll bring you a plate.”
He came up on one elbow and leaned against the chair behind him, never taking his eyes from the goddess of his dreams even as his vision swam. “Who are you?”
His voice was gravelly and weak, and the woman frowned. She came to her feet gracefully and walked to the kitchen table, putting one of her daggers away and grabbing a mug.
He smirked, glad she never turned her back on him. His Red was a smart woman. His eyes narrowed. She wasn’t his yet, but she would be soon. He had to plan how to claim her without killing her or making her deny it. It wouldn’t be easy. With her prickly nature, she’d be hard to get close to.
And those slightly curved antlers, two sticking up like a deer’s but with no other points. They were only about the length of a hand and not very tall, but they could spear a man to death with how pointed they were. If he got too close and she didn’t want him to be, he’d be gutted.
They were above the cute little rabbit ears that stuck up on the sides of her head, soft red curls falling around them as her bun was loosened. A long red bushy tail flicked behind her. What was she?
He’d never seen the like before. She was one of a kind, predator and prey, all wrapped in one neat little package. He wanted to know everything about her, why she was so quick to draw those daggers, why she was so tender when she applied the salve.
She handed him the mug, dagger ready in her other hand. He wiped the sweat from his lip and took the mug with his free hand. His bad arm, ribs, and entire left side throbbed where they were bound together with bandages.
“I’m Scarlet,” the young woman said. “A Hunter and Olive’s granddaughter.”
She nodded to the woman in the kitchen, and he drank the water, gulping like it’d been days since his last drink.
Shit, she was a Hunter. They were the reason the Growlers kept to the forest now. Hunters had almost wiped their race out until the Elders had turned them with the gift.
Scarlet. Her name rang in his head like a bell. He couldn’t wait to yell her name in the throes of passion.
He smacked his lips and lowered the cup. “How long have I been here?” His voice wasn’t as rough, but he raised the cup to finish drinking anyway.
“I found you yesterday morning. Your fever was terrible, but Grandma came home with a special herb. Seems like it worked.”
He grinned slowly. “You don’t have to sound so put out about the fact that I survived.”
She shrugged and sat in the chair opposite of him, twirling her dagger between her fingers. “I have no opinion about your continued existence here.”
“Shame,” he murmured. “I’d be devastated if something happened to you, Red.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the dagger stopped, trapped between her forefinger and thumb as if ready to throw at his head. Then she scowled, “Don’t call me Red. My name is Scarlet.”
His lips widened. She was feisty, and it sent a thrill through him. “And you can call me Wulfric, alpha of the Growlers.” He frowned, looking down at the empty mug. Well, he may be the former alpha.
He’d need to reclaim his title so he’d have something worth offering her. Growler women had tried for years to chain him down, but they’d never felt right. Not even when he’d slept with a few of them. That had just been scratching an itch.
He looked up. Scarlet was a completely different matter. He needed to proceed with caution if he was going to convince her to claim him back.
The older woman returned and handed him a heaping plate of food, mostly meat and eggs. He set the mug on the floor and took the plate, but the older woman took the mug.
“I’m Olive, as Scarlet said. Why don’t you tell us what brings you to seek help from this old druid? The Growlers haven’t been here in thirty years, and with good reason. We’re not exactly on friendly terms.”
She turned and grabbed a pitcher from the table as she talked, refilling his mug. Her words rang true, and he sensed no danger from her.