Mated to the Wolf

  Mated to the Wolf

  The Ancients

  Book Two

  Bonnie Vanak

  Grayson Adler—lone werewolf, powerful Ancient and empath Healer—has never lusted after prey before. As a paranormal bounty hunter, he’s duty bound to capture Samantha Fuller. She’s half demon and half angel, with deadly powers emerging and a vendetta against the hunter who killed her parents. Yet Grayson aches to touch her and let her angelic half soothe his hurts, his longing for a connection as powerful as his sexual need. Then he gets a new assignment: to absorb her evil powers and tame her by becoming her mate before she turns demon….

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter One

  The scent of his prey swirled in his nostrils, tempting, sweet as honeysuckle.

  Grayson Adler had never lusted after prey before. Duty came first. But the rich fragrance made him hard with need. It evoked an image of her naked on all fours, a sultry look in her eyes as he gripped her hips and sank deep inside her.

  Paws off, he warned himself humorlessly. She’s demon deadly.

  Beneath the grainy bar lights, liquor in his glass glowed amber as he swallowed it neat. Grayson welcomed the warm burn of the whiskey. He tipped his battered white Stetson low on his brow and looked around the seedy Colorado bar, empty but for a drunk cowboy listening to the singer on stage, a pack of six rowdy werewolves and the prey.

  Samantha Fuller, he amended. With white-blond hair cascading past her slender shoulders, she had the heart-shaped face of an angel with a mouth made for pure sin.

  Face of an angel, soul of a demon. Samantha was a rare Darklighter. Half demon, half angel, she was one of the triplet sisters who’d celebrated a twenty-first birthday by gaining power. He’d tracked her from her home in Kansas to this bar. The Society for the Elimination of Malevolent Magick had posted a bounty after she’d sawed off a Fae’s wings six weeks ago.

  A few seats away, she sipped her beer. Her mouth cupped the rim, making his wicked imagination envision her sliding those wet red lips over his cock as those big baby blues looked up at him. He drank in her scent of wild violets and fresh raindrops. Prey never aroused him. But he wanted her naked beneath him, her softness pliant and willing, those firm thighs spread wide.

  Dust motes swirled in the smoky air as the country singer finished warbling a love song and exited into a back room, the bartender following her. The battered cowboy, gut spilling over his belt, stumbled up from his seat at one of the tables and headed over to Samantha. Shaking her head at his offer of a dance, she hunched over the bar as if trying to become invisible. Grayson felt a pang of unwanted sympathy. He knew what it felt like to hide from the world.

  “I can be a lot of fun. Let’s go to my place, sugah. You’re hot and if you flash those pretty titties at me, I’ll make it worth your while.” The drunk slid an arm around her waist.

  Grayson stiffened. Don’t do it, you stupid ass.

  A bite of sulfur and hot venom nudged aside the scent of wild violets and raindrops. Samantha lifted her head, her eyes gleaming. “You think I’m hot? You’re hot, too.”

  A low howl of pain followed as the man suddenly cupped himself. “I’m on fire!”

  Runes of scarlet ignited the man’s crotch. Demon fire. Grayson cursed, ready to intervene when the flames died. The man’s howl faded to a whimper. Samantha’s nasty grin faded. She looked horrified.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  White light spilled from her fingers as she touched the cowboy’s scorched jeans. His relief turned into confusion as she withdrew her hand.

  “What the hell are you?”

  “Please go away,” she told him.

  Not needing an engraved invitation, the cowboy fled. A golden nimbus of light wreathed Samantha, accenting her prettiness and tinting her skin a healthy glow. Damn if she wasn’t even prettier, and sexier. Her innocent, angelic half had pushed out the raging demon. Grayson ached to touch her, absorb her white light, let it soothe all his hurt. Sexual need twinned with a deep longing for connection.

  But he wasn’t the only one watching her. Eyes narrowed, the werewolves noticed her, too. Grayson smelled the hot sting of their lust, the hard male aggression. One started to slide off his stool. He read the male’s thoughts. Six against one, we’ll take her in the back and no one will hear her screams.

  His protective instincts stirred, Grayson shot a hard thought at the pack. Back off. Leave her alone or I’ll set your balls on fire.

  Wincing at the telepathic spike, the werewolves returned to their beer. Grayson shouldered aside emotion. The job came first. And for all her purity and goodness, Samantha could still rip out a careless Hunter’s throat in seconds.

  Grayson tensed to make his move when the shifters called out.

  “Hey, lone wolf!”

  Sweat beaded his temples. Shit, not now, don’t draw attention to me.

  “A lone wolf’s a wolf who can’t be trusted.”

  “I bet his pack abandoned him because he’s so damn ugly.”

  The scar on his face ached. Grayson tried to summon his powers, but the insults flew like bullets. His thoughts paralyzed, he glanced at Samantha. Her wide blue gaze met his and it kicked his guts hard. He knew that look. Had seen it enough in the mirror.

  Cursing under his breath, he hunched over his whiskey. His boot heels hooked around the bar stool. He was a powerful Ancient who could snap a neck with a single thought.

  He was scum. Outcast.

  Once he’d run with his people, protected the pack, stood obedient and loyal to their leader. A hollow ache settled in his chest. Screw it. Nothing mattered but the prey and duty.

  The door banged open, blowing in a bitter wind and familiar scent. His blood pressure sank. Hellfire. He’d forgotten how close this town was to his pack territory.

  Slight correction. Former pack.

  “Grayson.” Satisfaction tinged the deep voice. “Your hide is mine, bastard. Mine and the pack’s.”

  “My hide’s my own and I belong to no pack.” He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the ache those words caused.

  “You owe us, you bastard. I’ve come to collect.” Russell, the enforcer in his former pack, nudged closer to the bar. He nodded to the shifters, who watched the scene like wolves sensing an injured deer. “Thanks boys, for letting me know this scum’s here. How does it feel, Grayson? Bounty hunter, hunted by one of his own.”

  Stiffening, Grayson searched out the prey’s response. Smelled fear, intrigue and adrenaline coursing through delicate blue veins. Samantha was ready to bolt.

  He kept his senses trained on the girl, while swallowing his whiskey in pretend indifference. “You’re mistaken, mister. Go hound dog someone else.”

  She slid off the bar stool and headed for the door.

  Tossing a few bills on the counter, he got up to follow her out. Russell stepped in his way, poked a finger at him. “Where you going, hotshot?”

  Grayson slugged him. The enforcer crashed into a high-top table. Russell recovered, came back at him with a grunt. The next punch coldcocked him. Grayson tossed a twenty at the wary bartender.

  “For taking out the trash.”

  The sharp, bitter November wind bit his cheeks as he went outside. Precious moments lost in tangling with Russell had given Samantha time to escape. Yet her scent lingered. Grayson crouched low, touching the graveled drive, seeing the heat signature of her footprints.

  He could track through a blinding snowstorm
.

  Paring down his lust, he concentrated. Grayson drew a deep breath of frosty air into his lungs to take in her scent. She was weakened from hunger, tired and afraid. That made her even more dangerous. Tendrils of his magick drifted toward her like fog. He sent them wrapping around her body like cord, and pulled gently.

  A scream and she fell down. He walked to the Dumpster.

  Wide blue eyes narrowed in rage. Her white-blond hair was matted and streaked with mud. Threads unraveled from her cranberry cable-knit sweater and her brown corduroy pants were ragged.

  Samantha shivered violently. He shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and draped it over her.

  And then she went still, her chin lifted in daring. The brave affront got to him. He knew all about putting up a good show when someone was kicking his guts.

  “Release me, Hunter, before I claw your eyes out.”

  “In good time,” he drawled. Grayson reached into his pocket for the handcuffs. Woven from silver link laced with powerful magick, they’d hold even an Ancient like him.

  Her face mottled gray. As he went to reach out to cuff her, she head-butted him, hard. Samantha broke free and ran.

  Son of a…

  Rubbing his bruised forehead, he followed as she sprinted into the field. Damn, he hadn’t seen that one coming. The spurt of strength, the way she’d deliberately played weak as if she knew he’d underestimate her.

  Never again. He grinned, his wolf thrilling to the chase, the wind cutting through his thin shirt, the fresh air invigorating him. Slowing his pace, he circled her, wearing her down.

  As she darted to the left, he followed. He could hear the blood coursing through her delicate veins, hear the rapid pounding of her heart. Like a panting deer showing exhaustion, she was close to dropping.

  Something inside him, maybe that rock of his heart, stirred. He sprang forward to end the chase before she reached her limit. He tackled her to the ground. Straddling her hips, Grayson pinned her wrists to the muddy ground.

  She intrigued him. Memories surged as he stared at Samantha. A shadowy night…screams of terror…haunted eyes.

  Ruthlessly, he shoved the memory back and concentrated on his prey. He’d never handled a full-powered Darklighter and it had been years since a woman held his interest.

  He took time to study his quarry. The body beneath his was soft and feminine. The shapeless sweater couldn’t disguise lush curves, the contours of her full breasts. Grayson itched suddenly to touch her skin, feel the silk beneath his fingers.

  Taste it beneath his tongue.

  The ridge of his erection nestled at the apex of her long legs. She bucked again, making him painfully hard.

  “Stop that.”

  Fear bitter as a winter wind rode her. He had to control her, erase her emotions so he could haul her into his truck. With one hand, Grayson pinned her wrists above her head, tasting her helpless spike of terror.

  Tugging his glove off with his teeth, he bared his right hand.

  Samantha’s eyes went wide. She struggled harder.

  “Hush,” he soothed. “Just relax.”

  White light pulsed from his fingertips. He laid his hand on her brow, drawing out her fear, healing it.

  Samantha’s breathing eased. She stared at the luminous glow engulfing his body. “You can’t be a Hunter. Hunters are cruel, like the one who killed my parents. What are you, an angel?”

  Bitter laughter rumbled from his chest. “No chance in hell of that, sweetheart. I’m Grayson Adler, an Ancient and empath Healer. My touch removes negative emotions, like fear.”

  And it also removes evil. But no need to tell her this.

  “Oh? I like my fear. It’s kept me alive, and I have no intention of letting it go. Especially not to a Hunter.”

  A black mist arose from her breath, twirling around the healing white light. The mist crept up his arm, clamped down hard. Grayson bit off a juicy curse. Hurt like hell, as if an anaconda squeezed. He rolled off in a moan.

  “Screw you, Hunter.” Samantha sprang up, turned to run.

  Grayson extended his palm and shot a bolt of energy toward her. Samantha crashed to the ground like an angel falling from heaven. He walked over to her, studying the innocence of her face, the long blond lashes sweeping over her rosy cheeks. Desire and a fierce protectiveness slammed into him.

  “Healing isn’t my only talent,” he murmured. “First rule of the hunt, sweetheart. Always make sure the prey doesn’t know all your ammo. Especially that nifty little trick of lassoing your consciousness.”

  Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her tight to his chest. He’d dump her at the Society’s headquarters, collect his bounty and leave. Grayson pushed aside regret. Samantha was no longer his concern.

  Much better this way. For all concerned parties.

  Three hours later, Grayson was in Denver Colorado, staring across the gleaming mahogany desk at Anderson Stamos, director for The Society for the Elimination of Malevolent Magick. “You’re b.s.ing me.”

  Anderson smoothed back his hair between the two green horns sprouting from his head. “Never. Your new assignment is to mate Samantha and absorb her evil powers. Lucien Marcello has already turned her older sister, Mara. Daimon Nelson has been assigned to the youngest triplet. You’re the only other powerful Ancient who can tame her before she turns demon. I’m counting on you to handle her.”

  “Handle her? I already did.” Sweat trickled down his spine, pooled in the waistband of his faded jeans. “I don’t need a mate.”

  Not with his past. And not with her.

  “Samantha has a capacity for good. Her white light was diminished when her demon emerged, but it remains.” Anderson’s eyes darkened, and he steepled his fingers. “She nearly killed an innocent last week, the assistant to a Hunter. Fortunately, the woman was a Fae and healed. But Samantha sawed at her wings until the woman told her Jerome Cabot was last seen in Colorado.”

  Grayson went still. His palms became cold and clammy. “Jerome Cabot?”

  Anderson nodded, shuffled through a file folder. “The Hunter who killed her parents. She’s vowed to kill him.”

  Swearing, he stood, slapping his hat against one thigh. “I’m not taking this assignment.”

  “And I was told duty and loyalty to the Society was everything to you, Grayson.” The man sighed. “If you don’t help her, I might as well issue the kill order. We’ve already implanted the thermal detonator inside her, set to go off tomorrow.”

  “No!”

  His heart kicked hard as he thought of those blue eyes widening as the other Hunters gave chase, ready to rip her to shreds. She would die slowly, painfully.

  The director leaned forward, his mouth a tight slash. “Samantha is more dangerous than her sisters right now. She’s already unleashed her demon and nearly killed. Each day her dark powers grow stronger. The Fae she attacked reported that Samantha has venom in her talons that causes excruciating pain. She didn’t have this particular…talent…before the Fae was attacked. We honestly do believe she doesn’t want to hurt others, but acts out of rage and fear.”

  Grayson’s heart constricted. “And what if she did enjoy torturing the Fae?”

  “You know the answer. A legion of Hunters would be unleashed to destroy her. So, will you accept this assignment?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “I take that as a yes?”

  Grayson gritted his teeth. “Gods damn it, yes, you horned bastard.”

  “I thought so.” Emotion shadowed the director’s face. “Be careful, Grayson. You’re the best Hunter we have, and she’s more than crossed the line. I’d hate to see you hurt.”

  “I’m an Ancient. Nothing can dent my tough hide, remember?”

  “I wasn’t talking about your hide,” Anderson murmured.

  The door slammed behind him so hard, it fell off the hinges. Several office workers looked up, saw his scowl, and bent their heads over their computers. He could smell their fear. He was used to it, just as he
’d accustomed himself to being alone. Used to not giving a damn about anyone.

  No one ever got inside him. Samantha could never tunnel past his soul into his well-guarded heart.

  But gods help him if she found out his dirty little secret.

  Then he’d become the hunted, not the hunter.

  Chapter Two

  The foggy haze slowly lifted as she blinked hard. Willing herself to waken, Samantha fought to claw out of the darkness. The surface beneath her was soft. She was indoors, but where? The acrid tang of smoke teased her senses, along with a masculine scent of leather, horses and wild pine.

  And the distinct smell of werewolf.

  Not in Kansas anymore, she thought, but damn if there was a Toto around.

  Remembering the hardness of the shifter who’d captured her, she kept her eyes shut. Best to pretend unconsciousness until she could assess the threat.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” a deep voice drawled. “Time to kiss the prince.”

  Her eyes remained shut.

  “If you don’t wake up, you’ll force me to kiss you.” He sounded amused. “And it won’t be PG-rated.”

  Samantha opened her eyes, struggled to sit up. Surprised at the lack of restraints, she whipped her head around. She was on a four-poster in an oak-paneled bedroom bigger than her apartment. A fire crackled on a stone hearth while a cold wind shrieked outside.

  Wherever she was, a storm brewed. Judging from her internal clock, it was night.

  A werewolf sat in the rocking chair before the fire. Not any wolf, but the bastard Hunter who’d captured her.

  The worn boots, red-and-black checked shirt and faded jeans gave him a rugged, outdoorsy look. His dark hair was clipped short, but fell in a rebellious wave over his forehead. His gray eyes were sharp and assessing. With the hard edge of his jaw, the blunt cheekbones and straight nose, he would have been remarkably handsome.

  Except for the cruel slash of a silver scar that ran from his left temple down his cheek, curving the edge of his mouth upward.

  Beneath her intense scrutiny, his expression went blank.