SeducingtheHuntress Read online

  His expression didn’t alter. “What I had to.”

  She looked away, unable to hold his stare that left her feeling disorientated and too damn helpless for her peace of mind. She searched for her bow and arrows, but of course they were nowhere in sight. Her stare returned to his and she resisted squirming under his scrutiny, resisted ripping off the fleecy warmth of his long-sleeved shirt he’d dressed her in and that reeked of his musky, animalistic scent.

  No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, he would have seen what he’d wanted to while she’d lain unconscious and exposed. Her breath caught and she automatically reached down and ran a reassuring hand over her pants.

  Thank the goddess, he hadn’t removed her pants.

  His eyes followed the movement and then narrowed. “I’m not the animal you think I am,” he growled. “Believe me, when we fuck, it will be mutual.”

  A heat wave tore through her body and rushed straight to her pussy. She clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. But nothing could halt the internal response she had no control over, despite her hatred of the nightmix. “I’ll never fuck what I want to kill.”

  He shrugged, his cocky grin causing her juices to flow and her fury to build. “There’s always a first time.”

  She resisted a scathing reply, aware he was enjoying the dispute and was no doubt all too conscious of her body’s weakness. He must realize if she was fighting fit and strong no carnal thoughts would have even entered her mind?

  All her attention would be focused on killing him.

  She turned away from him once again and watched the rain that drummed steadily against a window set into a rough-hewn log wall. Pine branches swayed outside in the wind, in sync to her unsettled belly. She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing back a far different wave of emotion. Even if her father hadn’t believed she was murdered and he tried to track her down, the storm would have washed away any trail that was left behind by her captor. The best of his tracking dogs wouldn’t be able to pick up her scent now.

  Her throat tight, she forced her eyes back open and turned to him. “Perhaps you should have killed me before I woke.”

  A muscle in his jaw locked tight as all his humor faded fast from his eyes. “Is your life not worth anything to you?”

  “More to the point—is my life worth anything to you?”

  “You won’t be dying anytime soon.” He leaned back onto his knees before reaching for a big ceramic mug on the floor beside her mattress of cushions. “You must be starving.” A spoon clanked before he proffered her some of the mug’s contents. He quirked a dark eyebrow at her tight-lipped silence. “Don’t worry, it’s not poison. It’s a tried-and-true old family recipe.”

  A deep ache clutched at her soul and left her emotions tattered. What would this…this monster know or care about family? He would have been too busy killing people and tearing whole families apart. Tears threatened as she lifted a clenched hand and knocked the spoon from his clasp. Soup splattered the blanket as the spoon flashed through the air, then clattered across the hardwood floor.

  She hadn’t eaten for goddess knew how many hours. Yet even with the enticing aromas filling the air she experienced some satisfaction at the mess she’d made. Right then she didn’t much care if she brought on his inner darkness. At least she’d see the real monster hiding within him. At least she’d see his true colors.

  She glared. “I have no interest in your food.” That was all well and good until her belly chose that moment to rumble, louder even than the heavy rain outside.

  He blew out a slow breath, his expression carefully bland. “Now you’re being childish.”

  Her face grew hot. Since her brother’s death she’d been coddled and treated as if she was a helpless babe. Not helped one bit by her petite stature. It’d taken constant pleading and proof of her ability with a bow and arrow to convince her father she could hunt with the best of his men. And now this man—nightmix—whatever the hell he was, treated her as though she was still that same helpless girl. She glared. “I might be small but I’m no child!”

  He nodded, his stare appraising. “Even with your short hair and your disguise, I knew right away you were all woman.”

  So much for concealing my identity.

  Her glare deepened while unmistakable warmth radiated through her body. She slammed shut all carnal thoughts and squared her shoulders. She would not succumb to this monster. “Just as I knew immediately you weren’t all man.”

  She lifted her chin and held his gaze. She expected nothing less than his fury. Instead he looked…resigned.

  “That’s harsh.”

  There was no flash of triumph, no satisfaction to savor. Regret filled her from the inside out. Madness! This creature might give in to his bloodthirsty compulsion at any moment and tear her from limb to limb! She’d been witness to that firsthand and had lived with the terrible flashbacks most of her life.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes life is cruel,” she said hoarsely.

  His expression softened, right along with his tone. “So young and yet so bitter.”

  She clasped the blanket until her fingers ached. “And you pretend to care?”

  He placed the mug back onto the floor. “Believe it or not, my kind aren’t all cold-hearted killers. Just the same as your kind aren’t all saints.”

  Her chest tightened at his logic. She held up a hand, stalling further words. It was true what they said. Talk was cheap. And actions spoke louder than words. Lord knew enough families had seen the devastating action of a nightmix and its killing spree. “Please, spare me the speeches.”

  His full lips pinched together before he scraped a hand over his face. “I see your mind is made up.”

  “Yes.” Just once she drew on the suffering of her past, allowing it to feed the vehemence in her stare. “And nothing will change it.”

  A long, drawn-out silence greeted her statement as he visibly fought to collect himself. But even as something close to dread crept into her psyche and made her rethink her earlier death wish for his beast to come out, he let loose a heavy breath and got to his feet. “I’m heading out to catch us some fresh game.”

  He was leaving her alone? Excitement and then panic hit her in equal levels. She hid them both even as thoughts tumbled around and around. Escape might be possible! She might well die in the forest, what with the rain teeming down and cloud cover ensuring there would be no way of knowing where she was headed.

  His head cocked to one side, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her non-reaction. “We need to get your iron levels up,” he offered in explanation.

  She arched a brow and reminded scathingly, “You lost blood too so don’t for a minute pretend it’s my well-being you’re worried about.”

  “I’m a shape shifter, my health is already restored. What I am is damn hungry.”

  She swallowed. Hard. The last thing she needed to hear about was his hunger issues. Human flesh was the preferred diet to a nightmix and history had proven that time and again. “If this is your way of trying to gain my trust…”

  His eyes narrowed. “I shouldn’t have to try. You were the one hunting me, remember?” He cleared his throat. “Look, just…don’t bother trying to escape. I keep no horses here and you’re not in any condition to walk in aimless circles around the forest.”

  She glared, but it only caused his lips to twitch into an arrogant smile before he added succinctly, “And it will only give my beast good reason to come out and chase you down.”

  Bastard.

  He hadn’t meant it solely as a predator catching its prey. It was man versus woman. Male pursuing female.

  So why did her knees go weak and her pussy moisten even more?

  He swung away before she could find her voice. She glared harder still at his broad back that soon disappeared through the doorway and out into the rain. A cold wet wind blasted inside the cabin before the door clunked shut and every ounce of her energy ebbed away.

  She sighed,
feeling not only spent from the confrontation that had her body see-sawing with lust and hate, but worried sick for her father too. She couldn’t bear to think what he was going through. One senseless death from a nightmix had been more than enough for him to cope with. And that wasn’t to mention the desert fever that had taken his soul mate. His wife.

  And my mother. She sagged back onto the cushions that made up her bed, melancholic and low-spirited by her thoughts. And all the while there was a simmering guilt deep in her soul for how she’d treated the nightmix.

  Had she lost her mind? All her life she’d prepared herself for the day she could kill one, no, all of the monsters before they murdered another innocent human. And yet, it had taken the first nightmix she’d seen to have her mind all in tangles and her belly in knots.

  She drifted in and out of sleep, the whole while conscious that long hours had passed since the monster had left his den.

  Had the nightmix come to harm? Would he be coming back? Her breath abruptly caught in her throat. Had her father’s hunting party finally chased him down and killed him? Something sharp lanced through her chest, a sob catching in the very bottom of her throat.

  She gritted her teeth. The damn nightmix deserved to die. And no amount of lies in the world—his lies—would make her think otherwise.

  It was only when the hunger pains in her belly began to worsen that she forced her mind back to her present predicament. She sat and reached for the mug of soup. It was cold but tasted heavenly, a thick broth that was filled with chunky vegetables and what tasted like juicy pieces of rabbit. She upended the mug and slurped the last of the concoction down.

  She hated to admit it, but the nightmix knew how to make a decent soup. Already a little of her strength was returning. She wiggled her leg experimentally. The deep gash on her thigh was surprisingly bearable. Then again, wort moss was known to speed up the healing process many times over.

  Pushing aside the rip in her pants, she peeled back an obviously fresh wad of moss. Her breath caught. Neat stitches drew the wound together, and although there was a puffy redness, there was no sign of infection.

  She placed the moss back across the wound on her thigh, her mind refusing to cooperate with what she knew was the truth. The nightmix had stitched her up and tended to her when she’d been unconscious and at her most vulnerable.

  He wasn’t a murderer.

  Not yet. But sooner or later his inner darkness will overtake his mind. And he’ll be just the same as the monster who murdered my brother.

  She closed her mind to her seesawing emotions, unable to deal with the unraveling of her tight-set way of thinking. The nightmix had put on quite a show to make her doubt herself. Hell, for a little while she’d even managed to forget about her past—the very reason she wanted the nightmix dead.

  Darkness was falling outside. Through the window the branches were shadowy silhouettes flailing in the wind and rain. She heaved a sigh. The heavy, oppressive sky gave every impression the wet had set in for quite some time.

  For the moment at least she wouldn’t be going anywhere. There was no escape. And though she mightn’t yet have the strength to kill him, she sure as hell had the balls to enrage him.

  She’d die on her own terms, not his.

  Her breath caught as an idea as brazen as it was bold took shape in her mind and wouldn’t shake loose. There might well be a more satisfying way to seek her revenge. Make the beast fall in love with her. And then watch the light go out in his eyes even before she pushed a knife into his heart.

  It would be the ultimate revenge. And quite possibly the only way to put her demons to rest.

  If he came home.

  The unsettling disquiet again hovered at her subconscious. She frowned, brushing aside her concern. She didn’t want to be left alone in his cabin and having to fend for herself…nothing more.

  She pushed to her feet, swaying for a moment as vertigo gripped her, before she padded across the small room to where a large, covered pot sat on dying coals. There was enough light for her to properly see the room, which was at best little more than the most basic shelter. But it was strong, solid. And just about indestructible.

  Just like its owner.

  Her belly gurgled. A welcome distraction. And suddenly she was ravenous. Using the ladle inside the pot, she took a big mouthful, then another and another. She was scraping the bottom when the door swung open and a cold wind hit hard.

  Chapter Three

  Reuben Ishman took a moment to take in the scene. The slight figure of the beautiful woman in his too-big shirt, her short blonde hair disheveled and the now-empty ladle clutched in her hand, was one that tugged at something deep inside.

  How fortunate for the man who would have this woman to come home to every day. A shame that that life could never be his, at least not long term. He had a kingdom to return to and eventually rule. And he had no doubt she’d sooner spit in his face than become his mistress.

  He toed his muddy footwear off at the doorway before resettling the doe across his shoulders, its weight suddenly heavy.

  He’d been given the freedom he’d requested from his royal parents—King Mahaya and Queen Mira—and his advisors, with the proviso he’d return within the year. He stifled a weary sigh. Right then his future loomed as though a death sentence he couldn’t ever escape from.

  For as long as he could remember he’d dreamed of the wild, open spaces, where no walls hemmed him in and where he wasn’t responsible for anybody or anything. The trouble was, now that he’d finally experienced such amazing liberties firsthand, he wanted to savor it all the more.

  With this woman by my side.

  His heart thudded double time at the sudden revelation. He quashed the idea. Three days was all he had left. A little under seventy-two hours to make the most of the short time with his beautiful captive.

  He shook his head as if to clear it. It didn’t help. He wanted with a quiet desperation the one other thing he could never have. The wild and unconsciously wanton woman would never accept him as a nightmix, even less as a king.

  He recognized in her the same joy for freedom he possessed. His chest tightened. He wouldn’t be responsible for suffocating this woman’s spirit. She’d be hemmed in by the walls and constant pressures of his kingdom.

  Just the same as me.

  The beautiful jade stare of the woman in question eyed him warily. Digging her teeth into her bottom lip, she lifted a self-conscious hand before dropping it back to her side. “You’re back.”

  He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He nodded toward the empty ladle and pot. “But seems I’m just in time to refill my larder.”

  Her cheeks splotching with red, she dropped the ladle into the empty pot. “I ah…I wasn’t disappointed. I was just hungry.”

  He paused for the briefest moment. Had they just made progress? Had her time alone caused her to realize he wasn’t the killer she’d imagined? Goddess above. Could he even hope she’d missed him, just a little bit?

  She cleared her throat. “And I don’t know this part of the forest. I was worried you’d left me here alone.”

  Disappointment clutched at his innards. She’d been worried about her own skin, nothing more. How stupid to imagine for even one second that a woman could see past his damn hereditary flaw to the goodness he had in spades beneath. His voice cracked with repressed anger. “Never fear, I’m not ready to give you up just yet.”

  She could take that how she damn well liked. Because it wasn’t a lie. He wouldn’t be letting her go until he had no choice but to return to the Zaanean kingdom.

  He pushed aside a sudden prickling of conscience. She’d tried to hunt him down and kill him. It was only fair he held her captive for a few more days at least.

  He bent and placed the bloodied kill onto the floor. But when his peripheral vision caught sight of her pressing a hand to her mouth, he straightened, arching a brow as he explained, “I can’t risk leaving the
doe outside for another predator. Since the royal decree banning the hunting of panthers, in any shape or form, their numbers have surged around these parts. They’ve been known to scavenge when pickings are poor.”

  Shame that same royal decree hadn’t stopped the nightmix dissenters from hunting him.

  He watched her closely while he washed his hands in a bowl filled with water. She didn’t seem appeased. Why was this kill bothering her? Was it the blood that puddled over the floor? If so it was fortunate indeed that he’d stayed in his human form and used her bow and arrow to kill the animal. He’d brought the animal home relatively clean. If he’d hunted in his nightmix form,the deer would have had its throat ripped out and probably half its innards dragging along the ground.

  He dried his hands then ran a palm over the prickling beginnings of stubble on his chin. The woman was an enigma, her reaction giving him yet another piece to the puzzle he itched to solve. And just a few days in which to do so.

  Flexing his arms up and back, he drove the kinks out from between his shoulder blades. He’d carried the deer for hours in the relentless rain. Not that he was complaining. His body had long ago been conditioned to the hardships that living solo required. Not even the rigorous training as a soldier compared to the basics of survival in the wild.

  Catching the direction of his captor’s stare, which had dropped to the junction between his thighs, his thoughts skidded to a halt and then morphed in a whole new direction. Heat poured through his veins before surging into his groin, his cock thickening until it throbbed for release.

  She gasped, then looked up and caught his stare. With his wet clothes sticking to him, she was obviously more than aware of his body’s needs, more than able to read the intent in his eyes. Heat flamed her face before her mortified eyes slid away.

  His chest constricted. Breath locked in his throat, right along with anger. But what had he expected other than her shame at being caught ogling him?

  His inner beast stirred. He swallowed hard, fighting back a bleak wave of emotion. Damn it, had he become unhinged? Despite a nightmix’s black coat and even blacker reputation, he’d never once succumbed to his so-called inner darkness. Not even a hint of fury had threatened his peace of mind.