The Fated Cused

Chapter 2

Judging by the stubborn set of her jaw, it appeared that he did.

“I will not take you because your heart is not in this,” he told her flatly, his voice low and gravelly. “And furthermore, I do not even know who are you. For all I can be certain of, this could be a snare, carefully laid to drag me to my ruin.”

It was never wise to accept offers that seemed too generous, especially this close to the dark, whispering borders of the Old Woods.

Vicious things lurked within those trees—predators and rogues, hungry wolves in every sense—who delighted in luring foolish men to their deaths with honeyed words and false promises.

“A snare?” She lifted her delicate eyebrows, looking genuinely bewildered by the accusation. “How could a simple request like mine ever be mistaken for that?”

“How the hells should I know?” he growled, his irritation spiking even higher. Why was he even standing here arguing with her? Could a man not simply sit and drown his thoughts in peace without being accosted?

“Perhaps you carry some foul blight upon your skin and seek to pass it to an unsuspecting male to cleanse yourself,” he suggested gruffly, grasping at any explanation that might make sense of why she was offering such a luscious, desirable body so freely.

“A curse?” Her blue eyes widened in pure horror, as if she had been struck. “I would never! Surely you possess eyes to see—can you not tell by the very color of my hair that I am untainted? That I am pure?”

He grunted, looking away for a moment. “Well, I have heard of stranger deceits,” he muttered, though even as he said it, he knew she spoke the truth. That particular shade was unmistakable. “If you are so pristine and untouched, then why do you seek to stain yourself with the likes of me?” he demanded.

After all, he had come straight from his labors. The work had been burning intensely hot today, as it always was, but in the summer months, the heat became almost suffocating. He had been dripping with sweat since the first rays of dawn, and his skin was still caked in the fine black soot and ash that came from stoking the endless fires required in his work.

He must reek of smoke, labor, and grime—not that anyone inside the Wolf cared about such things. He certainly hadn't cared until this very second, which only served to make his annoyance double in strength.

“My reasons are my own,” she said, lifting her head proudly once again, a stubborn light flickering in her pale gaze. “I ask only that you do this thing. You need not understand why.”

Cain was sorely tempted to simply turn his back on her and return to his drink, but he had to admit that her persistence had sparked a flicker of curiosity within him. He decided to test her, to see just how much resolve she actually possessed.

Reaching out, he gripped her firmly by the shoulders and pulled her roughly against him, crashing his mouth down upon hers to silence her words. He had to bend almost double to reach her—not that she was particularly small, but rather because he was such a massive, broad-shouldered man that nearly every woman looked tiny beside him.

She gasped sharply against his lips as the kiss claimed her, and he felt her small, soft hands pressing flat against his exposed chest, palms open and trembling. Her entire body went rigid and stiff against his, and he got the distinct impression that she was locked in an internal war, forcing herself to endure his touch rather than welcoming it, fighting every instinct to shove him away.

He kissed her hard and demanding at first, forcing his tongue past her lips to taste her, letting her feel the sharp bite of the bitter ale he had been consuming. Her mouth was incredibly soft and sweet, a stark contrast to his roughness, and he was vaguely aware that his dirty hands were leaving grimy black smudges against the pristine white fabric of her priestess robes. But then again, if she wanted to get dirty, he was more than happy to oblige her.

And then, suddenly, he caught it—the scent of her. It rose up to meet him like a breeze blowing through a field of wildflowers on a warm day, clean and fresh like pure spring water. It was exactly how one would expect a devout servant of the Goddess to smell. But beneath that clean, holy fragrance, there was something else simmering underneath—something hot, urgent, and wild.

What in the nine hell was this?

It was the undeniable, primal scent of a female in the height of her heat. Why would she smell like that?

She looked every bit the innocent virgin, yet her body was singing a song of raw need, calling out to him to take her and rut with her like animals in the dirt.

Yet despite that intoxicating aroma, her physical reaction told a different story. She remained frozen and tense in his arms as he plundered her sweet mouth, seeming utterly paralyzed, unable to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer.

A tiny, helpless whimper escaped her throat, and for a split second, he felt a sharp pang of pity for her confusion—but that was not what made him finally pull back.

It was not anything the girl did that stopped him, but rather a sensation rising from deep within his own soul.

It was the stirring of the Beast that lived inside him.

Usually, his Lycan lay dormant and sleeping through the daylight hours, only waking occasionally to lend its strength to his work. They certainly never lacked for power when the Beast was awake; no ordinary strength could ever hope to match the intensity of the blood of a Lycan.

But for the most part, it slept, and Cain was grateful for that peace. The creature had been far more wild and uncontrollable when he was younger, so much so that his mentor, Leandro, had been forced to take him to a wise woman to have it bound and restrained.

That was the very reason for the elaborate, dark tattoos that covered both of his arms and snaked across his torso—marks of ancient magic designed to keep the monster contained.

The intricate patterns of ink etched into his skin served as a powerful binding, a magical seal designed to keep the feral, mindless creature dwelling deep within his soul subdued and silent. Yet, for reasons he could not immediately fathom, the clash of their lips had acted like a key turning in a lock, stirring the slumbering giant from its rest.

He felt the awakening ripple through him instantly—a deep, guttural growl that originated in the very pit of his stomach and vibrated outward until it felt as though his entire frame was expanding, thrumming with raw, untamed power.