“Not exactly,” he replied. “But you are American. Obvious given that accent, but I’m thinking you’re less Wild West, and more East Coast gangsta.”

  “Oh, ha ha! Look at you with the American jokes. You’re gonna give me a complex,” she teased, and he kissed her again.

  “Naw, I love your accent, mo chridhe. What part of Jersey are you from, anyway?”

  “South Jersey. Hey, what does mo chridhe mean?”

  “You’ll figure it out, eventually,” he told her.

  Gods, he loved it when she grinned at him. His she-Wolf was a damn wonder. So positive and bright. Shorter than him, but perfect to kiss and coorie with. She was just so damn pretty and sweet, Arran could hardly take his eyes off her.

  He was positively giddy with knowing she was his. His Bull bellowed a thunderous roar, and for a moment he thought he heard her Wolf’s howling reply. One look at her glowing green eyes and he knew he had.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” she whispered, but she was smiling still, and Arran’s heart felt lighter than it had in forever.

  “Aye, how about we go to my place, then? We can talk there.”

  “I would really love that.”

  Chapter 7

  The drive was shorter than he recalled, but perhaps it was the company that made it so. Delia spoke animatedly about her life, her home in Maccon City, and the bookstore she and her sister Clara owned.

  He hadn’t laughed so hard or so long in forever, but the woman was a sheer delight. He felt their matebond pulsing softly and wondered at the magic of it all.

  “I was not expecting a treasure like you, mo chridhe,” he said as he moved about his kitchen, preparing tea.

  “Treasure? More like chatterbox,” she replied. “At least, that’s what my sister calls me.”

  “I dinnae mind all that, lass. I like your chatter and I am sure I will like your sister as well. Now, what number are we on?”

  He was, of course, referring to her game of questions she’d started in the car. It was no real game, but it sure felt like it, with all the giggling good vibes flowing freely between them.

  “Number seven of my pet peeves,” she said, turning to face him.

  “What is number seven then?”

  “Toilet paper. You have to place it on the holder the right way, with the paper hanging over the roll so you don’t touch the whole thing when you’re trying to wipe your butt,” she said, and he barked a laugh.

  “Duly noted. My next pet peeve is creasing pages to hold your place in a book—never ever do this, mo chridhe, or you might earn a spanking!”

  “Really? I never did it before, but now I might have to try it,” she replied saucily.

  There went his dick again. Hard as stone with one teasing word from his new mate. She offered him a heated glance and a flirty smile, and Arran almost dropped the damn kettle.

  Delia laughed and turned around, skirts swishing about her long legs as she fiddled with the radio, turning to an oldies station before lowering the volume. He appreciated that. Bull hearing was overly sensitive, and Arran rather enjoyed the quiet.

  “Oh, I just thought of something,” Delia gasped, hand covering her mouth.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I eat steak. Is that going to be a problem?” Delia bit her lower lip, and he mock glared, pretending to mull it over.

  “Dinnae worry about that, mo chridhe. I eat Wolf,” he growled, stalking her across the room.

  “Oh, you do?”

  He watched her throat work as she gulped, and pride filled him. Arran liked he could throw her off balance, too. Fair was fair, after all. The wee minx had him so worked up, he almost steeped oregano instead of black tea.

  “Indeed, I do. In fact, I’m feeling quite peckish. So, you see, chridhe, we’re even,” he growled, stealing a kiss, and bringing a delightful pink blush to her cheeks.

  “Maybe we can do something about that later,” she replied.

  Delia gave him a half-lidded look that made Arran weak in the knees before she settled down in the chair he held out for her. He turned around, casually adjusting himself while he walked to the counter to get their tea.

  Arran put the tray on the table, complete with an assortment of herbed and sweet biscuits, crisps, and dip. He’d have to order some protein for his wee mate and made a mental note to do so.

  “Sorry, I dinnae eat any meat,” he mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

  “Looks yummy.”

  Feck, she’s perfect. Graceful and polite.

  Arran was a vegetarian, but sweet Delia was a Wolf who required meat. To think the beauty thought he’d mind.

  As if.

  To him, she was perfect. She could eat her steak raw, and he wouldn’t give a damn.

  “So, you have a sister, a brother-in-law, and a niece or nephew on the way—”

  “Yeah. Oh, there’s something else,” she began, nibbling a cracker and not quite meeting his eyes. “You know I am a Wolf, but I’m also a Druid.”

  “Druid? For real?”

  “Yes. We had to keep it a secret under our old Alpha, but our new Alpha is totally cool with it. So, we’re out in the open now, Clara and I.”

  “My mother is a descendent of the Picts, and I suspect we have more than a drop of Druid blood as well,” he said, eating the crisp she offered from her delicious fingers.

  “So, you don’t mind?”

  “Course not.”

  “Good. Now, here’s a big ask, um, how do you feel about splitting your time?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Between Scotland and the States? I mean, I have a Pack back home, and I know I can do or go anywhere, but my animal does better when I have their support.” Delia gnawed her lip nervously as she spoke, and his heart constricted in his chest. Arran leaned forward and took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his mouth to kiss her there before giving it a good squeeze.

  “I’m sorry, chridhe, how silly of me,” he began.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I forgot to mention, I am here on a research-cation, I suppose you’d call it.”

  “A research-cation,” she repeated and scrunched her nose up adorably. “What do you mean? This house isn’t yours?”

  “Well, technically, I own the house and the land, but mostly, I live in a condo in Manhattan to be near my publisher.”

  “Really? I live about two hours from the city, depending on traffic,” she replied.

  “Aye. Where in Jersey is your Pack located? I am sure we can work it out.”

  “Maccon City. It’s not far at all. But would you really do all that for me?”

  Was she kidding? Of course he would. He would move mountains to earn one of her smiles.

  “Aye, Delia, I’d do that and more for you. I know this is new, and I am better with words on paper than spoken, but you take my breath away.”

  “Oh, I’d say you were pretty good with spoken words, too,” she replied in a whispery voice.

  “You would, eh?”

  “Uh, huh.”

  Arran nodded, irresistibly drawn to his mate. His mate. Would he ever get used to that? Hell if he knew. This was new and big. He was happy.

  Aye, that in itself was so enormous. Arran dinnae think he could wrap his head round it.

  Well, maybe in a hundred years or so.

  “I know it seems crazy, or impossible, but my heart feels so happy right now, Arran Balloch. All because of you.”

  He smiled at her words, wondering at how they mirrored his own thoughts. Delia stood up and walked to his side of the table. Arran pushed his chair back as she climbed onto his lap and pressed her forehead to his.

  “I understand completely, mo chridhe,” he told her, holding her loosely in his arms.

  A feeling of rightness settled over him. Along with it came comfort, affection, and a steady desire he simply knew would span the ages.

  “You do?”

  “Aye. I feel the same. In fact, this is nothing I’ve ever felt before, Delia Crescent. I think you might very well be the most perfect woman in the world.”

  “Hold that thought. I mean, I’m sure I have skeletons in my closet that might make you think twice,” she mumbled, ducking her head.

  But Arran was having none of that. With two fingers, he lifted her chin. Her jade green eyes were glowing with her Wolf, and he never saw a more beautiful woman.

  “You can tell me anything, Delia. I will be here for you always, mo chridhe. But hear me now, I vow to you, I am in this. You bear my bite mark, and I dinnae take that lightly.”

  “Me either. I mean, you wear my mark, Arran, and I never thought it would happen. I never dreamed I would find a mate. Now all I can think about is touching you again.”

  “Aye, chridhe. It is that way for me, too. I need my hands on you. Want to be inside of you.”

  “Arran,” she moaned his name, winding her arms around his neck.

  Arran stood and took her with him, wrapping his arms around her back. They swayed to the soft swell of the chorus of Unchained Melody, and Arran felt himself fall a little harder for his perfect little Wolf.

  It was fast and crazy, but that was how the Fates worked. It was part of the magic that made the supernatural world, all the creatures in it, destiny, fate, and the continuation of their kind, possible. But more than that, it was the whispers of fated mates among their kind that brought hope.

  A more powerful thing, Arran had never encountered. There was nothing like it in the world. All his boyhood dreams combined could never have imagined a woman like Delia for him—an American Werewolf in Scotland, of all places!

  But she was here, and she was his, and to hell with anyone who thought otherwise. She cuddled closer, nuzzling his chin with her soft lips, almost like she couldn’t help but kiss him.

  Arran deepened the contact, pushing his tongue past her lips. Delia squeezed him with her thighs, her moans louder as he walked, pressing her back against the wall.

  “Did I tell you I love this dress?” he asked, pushing her skirts up high.

  “Arran,” she moaned, tossing her head back as he licked her neck and bit her gently over the mark he had given her.

  Heat pulsed between them as he tugged her panties off this time, stuffing the red fabric in his back pocket. Those were his now, he thought with a naughty grin.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped as he held her pinned to the wall and lowered himself to his knees.

  “I’m hungry, mate.”

  Chapter 8

  Arran draped Delia’s thighs over his shoulders, growling the whole while. He held her gaze, as he pushed her dress high, high, until it was bunched around her waist, displaying her naked sex for his viewing pleasure.

  She’d never felt so bare, or revealed, and there was something empowering about it. She had expected to feel humbled in that position, but with Arran on his knees, and the way he stared at her, like she was some beautiful mystery he could not wait to discover, she felt anything but.

  “S’beautiful, chridhe.”

  “Arran, please,” she whimpered, rocking her hips in a silent plea.

  “Gonna taste you, love. Gonna swallow down every last delicious drop of you. You’re perfect, my sweet mate, and mine,” he growled, dropping an open-mouthed kiss onto her heated sex.

  “Mine,” he said it again, licking her harder this time.

  “Mine.”

  Delia’s mouth opened as he claimed her with his words a third time, nuzzling her lips, and parting the slick folds with his thick fingers before thrusting one deep inside of her channel.

  She moaned as his tongue lapped at her, licking a path from her forbidden hole to her clit while he finger-fucked her in time with his ministrations.

  More. Yes. Mate.

  Her stomach tensed as the tingling sensations he created swelled within her, bringing with them a tidal wave of heat, and promised bliss. Arran growled, the rumbling pressing against her clit as his fingers worked her faster and deeper.

  He was driving her mad. Arran pushed her closer to the edge with every swipe of his clever tongue and thrust of his thick fingers into her sopping wet pussy. She felt pressure on her bottom as he kneaded her ass, circling her hole as he licked and licked and licked her closer to fruition.

  “Close,” she moaned, her hands buried in his hair.

  As if sensing her need, Arran pulled his fingers from her heat, switching hands and taking his soaked finger, she felt the tiniest hint of penetration in her forbidden hole. Delia cried out his name as she shattered around him.

  She came hard and fast as he filled her ass and her pussy with his fingers, tapping her clit with the flat side of his tongue. She’d hardly caught her breath when he had her over his shoulder and was carrying her to his bedroom.

  Once she landed on the bedspread, Delia sat up, ripping her dress off her head. Twice now, he’d made her come with her clothes on and she was desperate for his skin.

  “Off,” she commanded, incapable of sentences longer than one word.

  How embarrassing for a hopeful wordsmith!

  Whatever.

  “Mate,” Arran growled and shrugged off his pants and underwear.

  The first glimpse of his body unclothed was enough to make Delia thank the gods aloud. That, of course, earned her a sharp bark of laughter from her mate.

  “Approve, do you?”

  “You bet,” she said, pulling him on top of her.

  Giggling, they crashed onto the mattress a tangle of arms and legs. She ran her hands over his chest, memorizing every inch of his beautiful shape.

  “I’m not, I mean, the other Bulls are more physical, and Herd females look for mates who are bigger, dominant—”

  She could hardly believe her ears. First, the man was absolutely gorgeous. She did not know what he was on about. Second, she was head over heels for him. Couldn’t he see that?

  Looks aside, Delia already felt a keen connection to Arran through his writing. She had been a fan for years, after all. There was nothing wrong with the man.

  As for dominance, was he crazy? The way he’d barked at Robbie earlier and took charge of their lovemaking in the kitchen—he was plenty dominant.

  “Arran, look at me,” she said, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what Highland Coos like,” she said, using the Scottish word for cows, “but you are the perfect male to me. You are my mate.”

  “Delia,” he growled, crawling over her.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his glasses. He nuzzled her nose with his, teasing her lips with tiny, little sipping kisses designed to drive her wild.

  “More, mate,” she demanded.

  Arran smiled against her lips and kissed her deeper. Laying beneath him, she felt small, cherished as he pressed her knees open and settled between her legs.

  He was still kissing her, making her weak and needy with long, lavish slides of his tongue. She felt his head pressing against her entrance, already slick with need for him.

  Pressure started to build even before he rocked his hips, sliding into her sex and stretching her to accommodate his incredible girth. The man was packing, and though Delia was not a size queen, she fucking loved the weight of him as he filled her to capacity.

  “Delia,” he said her name almost reverently, like a prayer as he started to move.

  Push. Withdraw. Push. Withdraw. Swivel.

  He pressed in all the way, rocking into her with shallow thrusts that had her whimpering. Every roll of his hips brushed her clit just right, sending spirals of heat curling through her veins. Tension built, the pressure so high she thought she’d die of it.

  Arran increased his pace, thrusting harder as she arched against him. Her nails clawed his back, but he did not seem to mind. Her orgasm crashed into her just as Arran bellowed a guttural moan, his body moving jerkily as hot jets of cum filled her.

  The pleasure was so intense, Delia might have blacked out for a moment or two. When she opened her eyes, Arran was on his side with her facing him, arms and legs entwined.

  “That was—”

  “Incredible,” he finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  Arran smiled—not a grin or bad boy smile, but an expression of bone-deep joy. It tugged on Delia’s heartstrings, and she found herself returning that smile. Had she ever felt happiness like this?

  Never.

  He pulled her closer, kissing her head first, then her eyelids. Her cheeks were next, and her nose. Her chin, her neck, and finally, her lips. He spoiled her with his kisses. Adoring her with his lips in a way she’d never experienced, and to be honest, she loved it.

  Loved lying here with him in the wake of the best sex she’d ever had, bar none. Speaking of which. They hadn’t had that discussion yet. Her past was complicated for some people, though to her, nothing could be simpler.

  “What are you thinking in that pretty little head of yours?” he asked.

  “Well, first just wow.”

  “Wow?”

  “Oh yeah. I mean that, Arran, like WOW—all caps and everything.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “As you should,” she teased. “Seriously though, I was thinking there are some things about my past that maybe you should know—”

  “Delia, I dinnae care about yer past,” he started.

  “Well, you might,” she said, pausing so he would see she was serious.

  “Alright. Should we dress then if this is to be a proper conversation?”

  “If you like,” Delia replied, worried now she might have built the entire thing up too much.

  “Come on, mate. Let’s have a shower.”

  Eyebrows raised, she followed Arran, enjoying the view of his tight backside to his luxurious shower. The man did like his comforts, she mused, as she stepped in to the three-head, glass-enclosed shower stall.

  “How do you like the water?”

  “Lobster boil,” she replied readily, and that earned her a quick wink.

  “Did you wanna talk in here?” he asked.

  Arran’s gaze was already roaming Delia’s body as water sluiced over her shoulders and though she knew they had loads to discuss, her thoughts had already taken a different turn.

 

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