The Wolf's Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(22)

Her gaze flickered to the wall where she saw Hunter attempting to hide. The fool, did he not trust her to do her job? She pulled a note out of her reticule and let it fall to the ground. It said something akin to: "Touch me again and I'll murder you in your sleep."

Which would truly be a nice little love note for Hunter to read, suspicious man that he was. She had meant to send it the following day, but now was as good a time as any to make open threats. Especially considering he was spying on her rather than doing his job.

Did he expect her to do everything while he patiently flirted and watched from the sidelines?

With a sigh, she walked back toward the house. Hunter had apparently disappeared, which was fine by her. She was getting tired, and hadn't the energy to fight his wit or his charm.

She stumbled toward the front of the house and yawned when a loud crunch was heard behind her and then something struck her head. She fought to keep her eyes open, but failed as she succumbed to the darkness.





Chapter Eight





Wolf—

To visit you in a dream would be my worst nightmare. In fact, as I write this very note, I find myself shaking with fear. Not because I am afraid of the big bad Wolf, no, of course not. It is because in your dreams you deem what is appropriate and naturally I have certain morals against walking around naked with a salivating wolf gazing upon me, ready to eat my flesh. Hope you understand. Perhaps the woman from the inn is still available. After all, she did feed you, and we both know how much wolves like meat.

—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."