Trapped By The Wolf (Werewolf Fever #1) Read online

  “There’s no need for that.” The man caught Lucy’s arm as she pushed indignantly past him. He bent his head down towards her and the hairs on the back of Lucy’s neck trembled as she felt his breath on her skin. “You’re here now. Bathe, and then join me for dinner.”

  “And what if I don’t want to?” Lucy wanted to pull away from him, but her feet were frozen to the floor. “Look, I’m not going to stick around where I’m not welcome. I’ll go. It’s not late, and the storm might break.”

  The man made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “The storm will not break for hours yet, by which time you’re likely to have ridden off the road and broken your neck. Hosting you for dinner, at least, will be less disruptive than calling the authorities to remove your pathetic corpse from my grounds.”

  “I—” Lucy began before her throat closed over with rage. How dare he speak to her like that? And how dare he look so, so…

  He had sounded as though he resented her very existence, and that the only problem with her dying on the roads would be the inconvenience it would cause him. But his eyes—his eyes were alight with a sort of cold, assessing interest that did strange things to Lucy’s insides.

  The man opened his mouth as though he was going to say something else. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, then turned on his heel and marched out of the bathroom, leaving Lucy breathless and frustrated.

  Bathe? Join him for dinner? she thought angrily. Who does he think he is?

  She looked at the steaming bathtub and shivered. Rubbing her arms, she knew it wasn’t just the cold that was making her tremble. It was the thought of the man’s eyes on her, golden—no, black—and burning, looking her up and down while she undressed.

  How long was he standing there watching? Watching her peel off her jacket and pull her t-shirt over her head, cold-stiffened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of her bra? Listening to her ramble on to herself?

  How had he even known she was here?

  Lucy remembered the feeling of being watched from the moment she entered the castle. Was it possible… had he been following her the entire time?

  And now, he knew she was here. Worse, she knew he was here. Lucy wrapped her arms around her soaked t-shirt. When she had thought the castle was empty she’d been perfectly happy to strip off. She would have pranced naked around the halls, if the weather had been a little warmer.

  But now… even though the man had closed the door behind him, her skin still prickled with the memory of his eyes on her body.

  She shook herself. He’d gone, and the bathroom door had a lock on it, after all. She twisted the latch and put her hand against the solid door.

  He’s not watching now, she told herself. So get a grip, and get in that bath before it gets cold.

  Despite herself, she looked over her shoulder before pulling off her t-shirt and bra, glancing nervously at the door. There was no one there, of course. She was alone.

  Lucy wriggled out of her wet pants and slipped into the bathtub, hissing as the hot water flowed over her cold skin. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “This is just what I needed.”

  She lay back in the bath, eyes closed, luxuriating in the heat. The hot water seemed to seep right into her bones, relaxing her muscles and making her whole body sing with relief. She ducked her head under and just lay there, holding her breath, entirely surrounded by warmth.

  A soft noise came to her ears, distorted by the water. Lucy surfaced at once, wiping her face and looking around. “Hello?” she called out, and bit her tongue. What was she, stupid? She’d locked the door. No one could get in.

  And she couldn’t stay in the bath forever, either. Lucy climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in the fluffy towel, dripping all over the bathmat. She dried off quickly, before the water cooled down and chilled her skin again.

  Her own clothes were still wet but there was a neat pile of clothing on top of the vanity: a white cotton shirt, and soft pajama pants. Lucy pulled them on without thinking, glad for something dry to wear. The pants were a bit big, but she could tie the drawstring tight enough to make them sit just on her hips.

  Bare-footed, she unlocked the door and poked her head around into the corridor. It was empty, but she could hear noises coming from another room, and the smell of meat cooking. Her stomach rumbled. She’d eaten breakfast before she set off that morning, but only a few protein bars while she was on the road. She was ravenous.

  Well, he did say to join him for dinner, Lucy told herself, and followed her nose.

  She pushed open the dining room door. Before, the room had been dark and cold, the table and chairs half-hidden in shadows. Now the fireplace beside the dining table was blazing, and the table was set for two.

  The man was sitting at the far end of the table, a glass of red wine held lazily in one hand. His eyes were fixed on Lucy as she came in.

  “I see everything fits,” he said quietly. Lucy was almost too transfixed by his eyes to hear what he was saying. When his words finally made it to her brain, she gasped.

  She hadn’t even thought to wonder where the dry clothes had come from. But they hadn’t been there when she first went into the bathroom, or when the man had confronted her.

  Or when he’d left, and she’d locked the door after him.

  That only left…

  Lucy clutched at her shirt, her heart racing. Did he—did he get in somehow, after all? Was he watching me again?

  Across the table, the man smirked at her.

  “Sit,” he commanded.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lucy hesitated, her mind racing. He couldn’t have gotten into the bathroom while she was in the bath—could he?

  She hadn’t seen anything. She hadn’t heard—no. She had heard something.

  The thought of the man simply being in the castle while she undressed and relaxed in the bath had been bad enough. The thought that he could have been in the room with her…

  A shiver went through Lucy’s body, starting at the back of her neck and ending—Oh, no—between her legs. Her knees shook.

  He was still looking at her. His eyes caught the light from the fireplace, but she couldn’t read the expression in them. He swirled the wine in his glass, and took a sip.

  “I said, sit,” he said quietly, in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Lucy’s neck rise.

  She clenched her fists. So, he’s being an asshole. Big deal. You’ve dealt with assholes before.

  Lucy raised her chin and marched to the table, ignoring the little voice inside her head that was telling her that none of the assholes she’d met before had made her body react like it was now. She pulled the chair out, letting it scrape on the floor, and threw herself into it.

  The smell of perfectly cooked steak rose from the plate in front of her, and smoothed over her angry feelings. She sighed.

  Now who’s the asshole?

  “Thanks for letting me stay,” she said reluctantly, staring at the lit candles between them instead of into the man’s eyes. “You didn’t need to make dinner—I’ve got some travel snacks in my bag…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There are standards of hospitality that must be upheld, even to burglars.” The man lifted his wineglass and sipped. When he set it down again his lips were blood-red. Lucy couldn’t tear her eyes away as he licked them clean.

  What’s wrong with you? Every time he insults you, all you can do is stare at him!

  She clenched her fists harder, driving her fingernails into her palms. “I’m not a burglar,” she insisted. “Like I told you, I only came here to get out of the rain.”

  “Oh, I think we both know what brought you here,” he said contemptuously. “Now, eat. You’ll need it.”

  Lucy picked up her knife and fork. The steak in front of her was making her mouth water already. She cut into it, her eyes darting across the table.

  The man’s steak was a richer color than hers, a deep, bloody red. Lucy’s eyes widened. Is that… raw?

  She looked down at h
er own plate. Her steak was cooked—cooked perfectly, in fact. She took a bite and moaned aloud.

  “Oh, that’s delicious,” she said without thinking.

  “I’m glad you approve,” the man said dryly. He ripped a bite from his own steak with an animal ferocity that was at odds with his controlled voice. Lucy watched as he chewed and swallowed, a trickle of red dripping down from the edge of his mouth.

  Her stomach churned. Is that blood? Oh, my god. It is raw. Who is he? What is this place?

  Lucy knew some humans ate raw steak. She’d even tried a steak tartare once herself, but that had been minced and seasoned, not just a bloody chunk of meat.

  She gulped. For some reason, she wasn’t hungry anymore. She picked up her wineglass, hoping the man wouldn’t notice her sudden loss of appetite, but it was too late.

  “Is something wrong?” The man’s voice snaked into her ears, and Lucy could feel his eyes on her, even though she kept her own gaze firmly on the table top between them.

  “I, uh,” she said, her mind racing. “I was just thinking… I haven’t actually introduced myself. I’m Lucy. Lucy Abbotsford. I’m a photographer, landscapes mostly, which is what brought me here to this part of the world. I’ve been traveling around Europe for months, taking photographs for my portfolio. I’m hoping to do an exhibition back home in the States when I return. I, uh…”

  She broke off. Somewhere, in the middle of her rambling, she’d stopped looking at the table and started looking at the man again. His eyes gleamed with hidden amusement, and Lucy squirmed in her seat as heat rushed through her.

  “My name is Ciaran,” he said, setting his hands flat on the table. “Ciaran Mallory.”

  “You’re not from around here either, are you?” Lucy said quickly. “Um, because of your accent.”

  She didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

  No. That was a lie. She did like it. She liked it far too much. And that was what she didn’t like. That… and the way her body was reacting to it.

  She cleared her throat. “Have you lived here long? I’ve only been here for a few days, but the people are so friendly, and the landscape… the landscape is…”

  Her voice trailed away. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Ciaran’s gaze, and suddenly, nothing she was saying mattered.

  Lucy gulped. Her throat was dry. She reached for her wineglass to take another sip, but her fingers were too clumsy to pick it up.

  Ciaran was still watching her, a strange expression on his face. Throughout the dinner he’d looked amused by her, and frustrated, and now—something else. Something that made Lucy’s insides squirm.

  “Lucy,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Lucy Abbotsford. Come here.”

  He laid down his knife and fork and sat with his palms flat on the table, pinning her with his eyes. Lucy could hardly breathe. Her own fork fell to the floor.

  “Come here”? What for? What does he want? Lucy’s heart hammered as these questions and more flew around her brain. She didn’t even realize she had stood up, but then she was suddenly halfway around the table, drawing closer and closer to those eyes.

  What are you doing? the voice inside her head screamed at her. Lucy hesitated, gasping as though she’d been underwater and just fought her way to the surface.

  She clutched at the table. She was standing so close to Ciaran that she could have reached out and touched him.

  Or he could reach out and touch her. Instead he was sitting there, so still, like a hunter lying in wait.

  “What is going on?” she stammered. She had a strange, deep feeling that even asking, even talking, was only delaying the inevitable. The moment she had stepped into this room, she’d started down a path there was no turning back from.

  Ciaran tipped his head back, regarding her. “You were admiring my meal,” he said, at last removing his hands from the table. “Come. Try some.”

  Ciaran pushed his chair back and somehow Lucy found herself in front of him, caught between him and the table.

  He lifted his fork, a bloody, dripping piece of steak on the end of it. Lucy’s stomach twisted. Raw meat? She hadn’t even liked the steak tartare that one time she’d tried it, and this was so much more primal than that.

  “Why don’t you eat it cooked?” she asked. Her knees felt weak and she clutched at the table for support.

  Ciaran smiled thinly. “Often, I do. But there are times when my needs are different. I’m sure you understand.”

  Understand? Lucy thought. She didn’t understand anything, least of all the thick, heavy desire that was weighing down her limbs. All Ciaran had done was talk, and stare at her, and she was wetter than she’d been for any man in her life.

  Ciaran smiled and for one horrifying moment she wondered if he could smell her arousal. She was standing right in front of him, her aching core an arm’s length from his chest.

  But he just lifted the fork higher. “Eat,” he commanded.

  Lucy opened her mouth without thinking and Ciaran pushed the morsel of meat inside. She bit down automatically and her mouth was flooded with the coppery tang of blood.

  “Is it everything you expected?” Ciaran asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Lucy covered her mouth as she coughed, and forced herself to swallow. There was no way she was going to spit it out in front of him.

  “Everything I expected from a chunk of raw meat?” she said, sputtering slightly. Her mouth still tasted of blood. “Sure.”

  “Good.” Ciaran smiled, baring his teeth. “Now open your legs.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Excuse me?!” Lucy would have jumped back in shock, but there was nowhere to go. Just the hard edge of the table behind her, and in front of her, Ciaran Mallory with his predatory smile.

  A smile that made her body betray her.

  Knees weak, Lucy braced herself against the table.

  “You heard me,” Ciaran said slowly. “Spread your legs for me.”

  Despite herself, a shiver of arousal coursed through Lucy’s body at the cool, masterful tone of his voice. A part of her she’d never known existed before wanted to obey him. No questions, no doubts, just instant, melting submission to this man whose body seemed to hum with controlled power.

  Her hands clenched on the edge of the table.

  “No,” she snapped, so loud she surprised herself. “I don’t know what sort of a girl you think I am, but I’m not going to let you do what you like to me just because you let me stay here tonight. I’m not a whore. I’d rather go back out into the storm!”

  “Liar. We both know why you’re here.” Ciaran rose slowly from his seat, planting one hand on the table either side of Lucy. “Despite what you may have heard, believe me, this way is preferable to the alternative.”

  “What I may have heard…?” Lucy felt weak. Heard about what? She had no idea what Ciaran was talking about.

  But the look in his eyes… that, she understood. The strength in his body as he held himself with his face just inches from hers. So close to touching. To being touched. And more.

  Ciaran’s eyes drew her in, his pupils so huge they almost swallowed the shining jet of his irises.

  She felt as though she was drowning. This close, she could see the small movements of muscles in his face: the twitch of his eyelashes, the slight flaring of his nostrils as he inhaled, breathing her in.

  “It’s your choice, he murmured, his breath hot on her face. “But I suggest you make it quickly. It may be the last you ever make.”

  For just a moment, his eyes flared gold, blazing and inhuman. Then they were black again, smoldering like coals.

  Lucy’s chest was tight, her breaths coming in pants. What she’d told Ciaran was true. She wasn’t the sort of girl who had one-night stands. She didn’t sleep with men the same day she met them, and she certainly didn’t offer her body in exchange for a place to stay.

  The thought of Ciaran touching her should have made her feel sick. Dirty. Instead, it turned her on more than
anything ever had before.

  Ciaran’s eyes were like dark pits, drawing her in. Lucy took a deep breath, and let herself fall. She leaned forward, hands still clutching the table, and her lips met his.

  Ciaran’s lips were softer than she had expected but for the first second after she kissed him he stiffened, not responding to her touch. She felt him tremble with tension, felt the fierce control he had over his body begin to crack.

  Lucy gasped as he grasped her upper arms, holding her in place as he explored her mouth. Her breath came in ragged gasps as his hands moved to her breasts, squeezing and stroking them through the thin cotton of her shirt. His shirt. The shirt he must have known he’d tear off her only minutes after lending it to her.

  Her nipples were rock-hard, stiffening under Ciaran’s determined hands until they ached. Desperate for more, Lucy pressed herself against him until she could feel the hard muscles of Ciaran’s chest against her breasts.

  “Oh, my God,” she moaned. “I never—I don’t know—”

  Ciaran groaned something into her lips and pulled his hands away. Lucy broke away from his kiss, confused, just in time to see him grab the collar of her shirt and rip it apart.

  Lucy’s chest heaved as cool air flowed across her skin. Ciaran left the remains of her shirt draped over her shoulders and attacked her breasts again. He knelt down and took one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened nub.

  Lucy arched her back, gasping with pleasure as Ciaran’s relentless attentions to her nipple sent shocks of arousal through her. Her clit throbbed, aching for the same treatment.

  “Please,” she begged, pushing down on his shoulders.

  He shoved her hand away. His own hands were roving all over her body, circling her waist, squeezing her ass. Suddenly he wrapped one arm around her and pulled her away from the table, just long enough to drag her pants down. The edge of the table bit into the backs of her thighs as he shoved her back onto it.

  Lucy’s blood felt like it was on fire. She was completely naked, vulnerable and exposed. The air was cool on her skin, but she could also feel the flickering heat of the fire on her bare back, and in front of her, the hot need pouring off Ciaran.