Compromising Positions Read Online Free PDF

destroy them. Kirstin had heard the story, told by the wulver warriors, of Alistair’s cowardice and treachery. She’d heard them talk of the way Darrow had demanded single combat blood rite—a fight to the death between two men. It was a codicil in the wolf pact intended to avoid all-out war between the Scots and the wulvers.
    Alistair had refused to fight or to honor the wolf pact, which his own father had signed in blood, until the crowd shamed him into it. Kirstin knew the coward had called for a stand-in, but not even his own brother, Donal, would step up for him. The wulver warriors told the story of Alistair MacFalon’s cowardice, how he’d cried like a little girl when Darrow began to best him, begging for the fight to be called off, because Laina was, in fact, not dead after all, as the Scotsman had boasted.
    And when Alistair had her brought out as proof, bound and bloody but very much alive, he’d used the distraction when Darrow’s back was turned to run the wulver through. What Alistair hadn’t counted on was a wulver’s strength, determination, and incredible resilience. Darrow had managed to turn and lop off the coward’s head before collapsing at his mate’s feet.
    Kirstin had heard the story told a dozen times before she left the den, but she didn’t really understand its reality until she saw it in Sibyl’s red-rimmed eyes. She couldn’t imagine what the poor woman had been through and she put her arms around her in comfort before turning her attention to the wulver recovering from his wounds in bed.
    “I’d like t’take the opportunity once again to apologize fer me brother’s heinous actions.” Donal spoke from the doorway, looking between the two women. “I can’na say’t enough. And I hope, in some way, I can make up fer—”
    “You can stop with the apologies, Laird MacFalon.” Sibyl looked at him fondly, her eyes softening as she saw him standing guard near the door. Kirstin saw the way the woman looked at Donal, with such great affection, and instantly, her body reacted in a way that had never happened before. Kirstin’s spine stiffened, her hands clenching into fists, and deep in her chest, she felt a growl rising, even though she was in human, not wulver, form. She swallowed it down, confused by her own response, hearing Sibyl’s voice praising the laird of the MacFalon Clan. “You’ve been more than generous with your time and your resources, Donal.”
    Donal. Sibyl called the laird by his Christian name? Kirstin met Sibyl’s eyes and saw the tears there—real tears. The woman had been through hell and back, that much was clear. Donal MacFalon was a man with a big heart and a strong sense of integrity—she’d kenned that much already. Of course, he would offer Sibyl a kind hand, a big, strong shoulder to cry on.
    Why should that bother her? Kirstin wondered. And yet, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and her blood felt as if it was boiling in her veins when Sibyl spoke of the laird.
    “He’s been such a comfort to me,” Sibyl told her, reaching out a hand for Kirstin’s. She allowed Sibyl to take it, to press it to her damp cheek, even though her hand trembled slightly in anger. What in the world did she have to be angry about? She reasoned with herself, trying to shake off the feeling. If she could control her wulver side, she could certainly control this—whatever this sudden feeling was.
    Except, she couldn’t. She didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t control the feeling at all.
    “I can’t thank him enough for everything he’s done,” Sibyl went on. Each word grated on Kirstin’s ears, raked like a wulver’s claws on slate. She gritted her teeth, listening to Sibyl’s praise of the man, wondering why she had a sudden urge to throw the redhead from the nearest high window.
    She had come to love Sibyl like a sister! What in the world was wrong with her?
    Kirstin’s eyes fled Sibyl’s, returning to the doorway, where Donal