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.”