The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(18)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

—Red

"It seems the Wolf has taken Red captive," the man announced, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. It had been a long night. To make matters worse, the Wolf was going to get all the answers he needed within the next few hours, throwing quite a hitch in their plans.

His partner laughed. "Why, that is more perfect that I could have planned it!"

He stared at the man he’d called friend for the past ten years and cursed. "What do you mean? He will discover her innocence!"

"He will torture her in order to obtain it, then spend the rest of his days feeling like the guilty sod he is. He’ll lick her wounds for her, he’ll pant after her, and again, I say, it is more perfect than we could have planned."

He chose to say nothing.

"Have you the codes?"

He walked forward and slid them across the table. "The new codes, as you asked. Will you be planting them this week?"

A long pause and then, "No, the time is not yet right. We must wait until every player is either engaged or eliminated."

"And who will be doing the eliminating?"

"Why, me, of course. After all, I failed so many years ago. I will not fail again."

****

Hunter felt like an absolute cad. Ten years. Ten years of being a spy and torturing people for information, and his blasted hands still shook as he tied the ropes firmly around Gwen’s hands.

He hadn’t any choice. That was what he kept telling himself as he gagged her and put the blindfold on. That was what he said to himself when he lit the fire and put her chair dangerously close to it.

And that was what he told himself when he returned to his abandoned house, the same house he had shared with Lucy, only to find it dusty and hollow.

Gwen had no idea this ghost of a house existed, nor that it was his. It would be the perfect hideaway until their little visit was complete.

One thing was for certain, when she woke up, she was going to be furious. But he had to test her loyalty. Not just for him, but for the protection of her family and Montmouth, even though the man clearly hated him. If Gwen, a part of their family, truly was a French loyalist, then they were all in grave danger.

"Wake up," he snapped, kicking the chair.

Gwen moaned, her head dropped, and then she jerked back and yelled, "Where am I?" Astonishing that she could form the words against the gag — perhaps he had tied it too loosely?

"Does it really matter? After all, you are tied to a chair."

"Get this off." Her head jerked from side to side. Amazing, how silky her hair was up close. His obsession was bordering on insanity.

"That I cannot do." He purposefully spoke in perfect French to keep her from guessing his identity.

"Why?"

"You have something I want." He rolled his eyes at his choice of words, and then fought the urge to curse himself as he watched her bosom rise and fall with exertion. And then an entirely new plan formed in his mind.

Torture. For both of them most likely, but torture nonetheless. This way he wouldn’t have to scar that perfect skin, or worry about truly frightening her.

He just wasn’t sure if he could do it without exploding on the spot.

"My love," he purred, as his voice dropped into a seductive whisper. "You are such a fine, fine beauty." He gently pulled the gag down so she could speak. His gaze lingering on her lips like a man starved.

"I’m rolling my eyes right now, but you can’t see me," Gwen said boldly.

Minx. "I would love to see your eyes but then you would know my identity and we cannot have that, my beauty." He was laying it on thick and arousing himself in the process. Who was seducing whom?

"Of course we can’t," Gwen agreed. "Then it wouldn’t be nearly as fun, hunting you down and killing you."

"Are you a good hunter?"

"The best."

"Hmm." Hunter stood behind her, his hands on her creamy shoulders, then with slow movements, he slid his hands down roaming her chest. "I highly doubt that, my sweet."

She froze under his touch, and then the witch actually relaxed and leaned her head against his arm. "That feels good."

I know. Believe me, I know. He dipped his hands further into the top of her dress and tugged it down.

"Is your plan to seduce me?" Gwen asked. Hunter was so distracted by her creamy white skin he almost didn’t hear her question.

"But of course. Love always comes before war, does it not?" He kissed the top of her head. "And I plan on loving you several times before the evening is done."

"And then?"

"I kill you."

"Oh." Gwen shrugged. "At least I’ll be loved before I die."

Frustrated that she wasn’t responding, Hunter growled and kicked the bottom of the chair, making it skitter closer to the fire.

She smiled. "A pitiful kick. Are Frenchmen not stronger than that?"

Hunter hated himself in that moment. Hated that he was doing this to her, but it was a means to an end. Cursing, he kissed her and bit her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. Immediately regretting the action, he jerked back.

"More animal than man, it seems," Gwen noted as her tongue reached out to lick the blood from her bottom lip.

"You have no idea." Hunter swore. Angry at himself that he was aroused the whole time he was causing her emotional distress, but it wasn’t what he was doing, it was her cool indifference, her reactions to what he was doing, that made his blood boil with lust. Blast, but she was strong.

****

Terror did not even begin to describe what Gwen was feeling. She’d never been tortured, or captured for that matter. Oh, men had put their hands on her, thinking her nothing but a French whore, for that had been one of her many identities, though she hadn’t shared that little piece of information with anyone. It wasn’t as if she had slept with any man, but it had been a close call. But her current predicament was spiraling out of control. If she escaped, it would not be without losing something important to her. The only thing she had left of any worth. Her virginity.

But something about the man’s kiss was familiar. Enough to make her hate herself for enjoying the pleasure of his lips upon hers. Obviously, she was losing her mind and going just as mad as Hunter, for even though she had a blindfold across her face, she almost thought it was he and not some mad Frenchman.

The man paced in front of her, cursing in French.

"Well," Gwen sighed. "Get on with it then."

"With pleasure." He straddled her lap and kissed her firmly across the mouth. His kiss was her end. It had to be. For no man had ever kissed her in such a way, with such raw passion, such desire. His tongue pushed into her mouth, forceful and aggressive. He tasted so sweet. His warm hands cupped her cheeks and then moved lower down her shoulders. Every single caress was like a fire being lit inside her. But, to be fair, she was also dangerously close to the flames. She could feel the heat licking at her slippers. The passion mixed with heat was a painful yet arousing situation.