Read Highland Wolf Pact: Blood Reign: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance for Free Online

She grunted, bringing her knee up between his—it wasn’t exactly fair, but she knew it would work. Luckily the man was a Scot, and like her, he wore a plaid to keep his legs free for running and climbing. She’d accidentally kneed Alaric this way on a few occasions and had completely incapacitated him for a while.
    But the big man was too fast. He stepped back, just barely avoiding the knee to his crotch. That gave her the opportunity to go after him again, and she did, with everything she had. They danced and swung, metal clashing. It was exhausting, but Bridget didn’t give up. This smug man wasn’t going to enter her temple, not if she could prevent it. He wasn’t worthy.
    “Yield!” Bridget yelled, swinging her sword hard over her head at the dark-haired beast but he blocked her blow. She was satisfied to see the surprise in his eyes, though, at her onslaught.
    It was that brief moment of patting herself on the back that was her undoing. That and the feint he made, untangling his sword from hers and jabbing at her. The sword went under her arm and Bridget took an instinctive step back, but it was too late.
    He used his sword as a lever, pushing her forward, toward him. Their bodies jarred together and Bridget felt her teeth rattle in her head. Running into the man’s chest was like running into a stone wall. She gasped, all her breath gone from her lungs as the man tripped her, hooking a foot around her calf and tipping her into the dirt.
    “Yer finished, lad.” Griff planted his sword in the dirt right beside her head and Bridget winced. “Now, take me t’the temple, a’fore I really hafta hurt ye.”
    “Aye.” She swallowed her pride, along with a cloud full of dust, struggling to stand. She ignored the hand the man offered, making her way slowly to her feet and trying to find her balance. She leaned against the outcropping, ashamed that Alaric would be seeing this. “O’er there. See t’rock?”
    Her voice was hoarse.
    “Aye.” Griff gave a brief nod, lifting a hand to shade his eyes in the afternoon sun.
    “We’ll meet ye by t’rock.” She waved him on, limping toward the secret entrance.
    “We?” The big man frowned. “Were d’ya think yer goin’, lad? I did’na come all this way t—”
    To lick my wounds.
    A hand grabbed her elbow and she shook it off, snarling.
    “Let go’a me!”
    “Are ye hurt?” Griff asked, concerned. She bristled at his tone. It only made the hurt, real and imagined, worse.
    “T’rock!” she snapped, pointing. “Go!”
    “I’m n’accustomed t’taking orders from boys,” the man snorted, and the arrogance in his voice broke her.
    “I’m not a boy!” she snapped again, whirling toward him and flipping her faceplate up to glare at him. He stared at her for a moment, confused, as if trying to figure something out.
    She could still scarce breathe and, in one swift motion, pulled her helmet off her head, letting her long, auburn hair spill like a rain of fire over the silver breastplate.
    The look on his face was priceless.
    His mouth dropped open, his strange-colored eyes going wide.
    “Yer a lass?” he choked, blinking fast.
    “Aye.” She stared at him, drawing herself up as tall as she could, pointing again to the rock where Alaric would take the man and his horse into the temple. “Ye bested a woman. I hope yer proud o’yerself. Now, if ye wanna enter the temple, I suggest ye go t’the rock.”
    She didn’t bother to stay and see what he would do. Bridget went straight to the secret entrance in the rock outcropping and slipped inside. She managed to walk upright, in a straight line, until she was out of his sight line.
    Only then did she allow the tears that threatened to flow, and she went to her knees, sword and helmet forgotten in the grass, as she wept like she hadn’t since she was a little girl.
     
     

Chapter Three

    Griff stood at the rock face feeling like a complete fool. Not only had he just nearly killed a woman—what kind