Claimed by the Wolf Prince Read Free

right to claim her.
    â€œYou’re not interested in me,” Iona said breathlessly. “The only attraction I have is as payment for a debt.”
    Struan touched the fluttering pulse at her throat with his thumb. “You do yourself an injustice, Iona McKinley,” he said huskily.
    Iona couldn’t seem to move. His eyes glittered like flint. No one had looked at her quite like that before, as if he saw deep inside her. He was close now. Breast-to-breast, thigh-to-thigh, they stood. Heat emanated from him in waves. Her own heat, too, tightening in her belly, pooling between her thighs. She ached for him to touch her. A myth come to life. Unreal. And yet deeply, viscerally real. She wanted him to kiss her, just so she could discover for herself what danger tasted like. “You don’t want me. You want revenge.”
    â€œNot revenge—justice. On Kentarra you will be claimed. You will become one of us, bound to the clan. If,” Struan added, “you are willing.” He stroked the soft skin of her neck.
    â€œI will never be willing.” Iona’s breath was coming in shallow, sharp gasps. His touch was beguiling. Thrilling. Arousing. Everything it should not be. Everything she wanted it to be. “I have no wish to become Faol,” she said raggedly.
    Struan lowered his head, his lips lingering where his fingers had caressed. She tasted of fresh air and summer flowers. She tasted of rain. And human female…a strange, not to say illicit, spice. He nipped the lobe of her ear, his breath warm on the shell of it. “It is an honour granted to few,” he whispered.
    Iona’s hand curled onto his shoulder. Her nipples were hard against her stays. “I am content as I am,” she said, unable to stop herself from nuzzling his throat, grazing her teeth on the salty skin.
    â€œThat is because you don’t know any better.” He stroked the soft outer curve of her breast. “Once you have experienced the Faol, everything else pales by comparison.” Then he put his arms around her, moulding her to him, and his lips claimed hers.

Chapter 2
    He tasted just exactly as she had imagined—of man, of myth and danger, and something more elemental. His tongue touched hers, and Iona gasped, for no man had taken such liberties with her in all her one and twenty years. Sweetness flooded her, heated her. Her lips parted wider. Of their own accord, her arms wrapped themselves around him. The solid, sinewy length of his body threw her senses into wild disarray. His kiss deepened, and she moaned.
    With a harsh cry, Struan pushed her away. His chest heaved. The air was heavy with the scent of their arousal. He was stunned by how close he had come to losing control. The urge to lay her down on the sand and thrust into her, claiming her for his own without finesse, was almost too much to resist. He had no right to claim her, but she felt so good it was difficult to even remember that fact, let alone act upon it.
    Breathing heavily, he pushed back the fall of hair over his brow, lifting his head to test the wind direction. “We must make haste. The tide is on the turn, and there is a storm brewing,” he said, focusing on the need to make sail, determinedly ignoring the siren call of this vulnerable, bewitching female.
    Iona shivered violently. What was happening to her? So contrary to her perilous situation, her body’s response was, and yet so fierce. Behind her, the forest looked impenetrable. Even if she could escape—which she severely doubted—she had no idea how to get home, nor any means of transport. She really was a prisoner, at the mercy of the legendary Faol—for the time-being, at least. Until her father paid up, as surely he would, when he realised she had been taken. And then she would be released. Surely.
    She eyed the broiling sea nervously. The McKinleys were not fisher-folk. “I take it there is no point throwing myself upon your