by Nina Croft
Tom glanced once around the clearing, and then turned his attention to the body. He appeared relaxed, oblivious to Caleb’s presence.
Caleb pulled his gun from the holster at his shoulder and crept forward. At the last minute, Tom swung around, but it was too late. Caleb brought the pistol down sharp on his temple, and he crumpled to the ground. Holstering the gun, Caleb leaned down and checked his pulse before moving on to the body.
He’d found the source of the screams. A woman lay curled on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands tied taut behind her back, the rope looped around a fallen tree. She was dressed in jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket, her long, dark red hair loose about her face. He crouched down and touched her on the shoulder. She didn’t move, and he slid his hand up under her hair and pressed his fingers to her throat. She was alive. Beneath his fingertips, the blood pulsed steady through her vein.
Sitting back on his heels, he thought about his next move. He drew his knife from the sheath under his jacket, sliced though the ropes that tied her hands, and gently rolled her onto her back. The scent of blood was stronger now. Hot blood and warm flesh. A craving burned in his belly, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Her jacket was open, and her shirt ripped apart, revealing breasts covered by a black lace bra. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the full curves. A deep scratch marred the perfection, and he reached out and ran a finger over the soft swell of flesh. Her skin was warm, feverish. Then his gaze moved upward. She’d been bitten, her shoulder a bloody mess, and his muscles tightened as he studied the wound.
Werewolf.
Unmistakable, and he cursed Ethan again.
The wound was deep, but it was obvious they hadn’t intended to kill her, or she would be dead. He guessed they wanted to turn her, but it was unusual to turn an unwilling victim.
He had to get her out of there before the pack returned.
Stroking her long red hair away from her face, he studied her features. She appeared to be a normal human woman, maybe in her late twenties. She was beautiful, with strong bones and a wide mouth, her skin creamy, flawless, her brows dark. As he stared down at her, her lashes fluttered open, and Caleb was captured by the gaze of enormous silver eyes.
“Shit,” he muttered. Things had just gotten a whole lot worse.
The eyes were luminous, rimmed with black, and he knew in that moment that whatever else she was, human did not come into it. For long moments, she returned his stare, then panic flared, and she opened her mouth to scream. He clamped his palm over her lips, trapping the sound.
“Hush,” he murmured.
She wasn’t listening, lost in some dark world of her own, her expression wild with panic. Caleb kept one hand tight over her mouth and used the other to press her into the ground. He was strong, but she fought against him, thrashing beneath his hold. The wound at her neck opened, and the scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils.
His body responded with a sharp jolt of hunger. He didn’t want to hurt her, but they had to get out of here. He straddled her body, using his own to hold her immobile. Raising his hand, he clenched his fist, and clipped her hard across the chin. She went instantly still, her body collapsing limp to the forest floor.
For a moment, he stayed where he was, staring down at her. Then he rose to his feet, bent down, and lifted her in his arms. She was heavier than he’d imagined, but he carried her easily through the dark forest.
As he laid her on the back seat of his car, she didn’t regain consciousness. The bite on her neck was bleeding, and he went to the trunk and pulled out the first aid kit. He ripped open a pad and pressed it against the wound. After a minute, the bleeding reduced to a slow seepage, and he stepped back.
This was Ethan’s world, and Caleb wanted nothing to do with it. But what was the alternative? Leave her to Ethan’s tender mercies? That wasn’t an option.
He could take her to the nearest emergency room, but if she reacted badly to the bite, they’d have no clue what was going on, and she would die. Besides, the pack was sure to check the local hospitals.
He should have just driven away when he had the chance. But he hadn’t. Now she was his responsibility.
Shit. He hated responsibility.
Chapter Three
Regan woke to the sound of screaming.
Pain blazed along her nerves, her whole body on fire.
She clamped her mouth closed, and the screams stopped. She lay, eyes screwed shut, panting hard, her heart thundering.
“Thank Christ,” a man’s voice muttered. “At least we know there’s nothing wrong with your lungs.”
The words were a blur. She couldn’t take them in. Searing pain filled her mind, slamming into her, tearing through her. She tried to focus, to control her reaction, but the agony was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She swallowed the scream building up in her throat but couldn’t prevent the whimper that trickled from her sealed lips.
“Shh, hold still, and I’ll give you something for the pain.”
Hard hands held her down, and she panicked then, writhing against the bonds, struggling to escape the pain that rose to a crescendo as she tore the wound in her shoulder.
“Goddamn it, I said hold still. You want me to hit you again?”
Hit her again?
The words broke through the pain. He had hit her? Curiosity gave her the strength to lie still and open her eyes. She blinked at the bright sunlight filling the room. A man hovered above her, pale skinned and dark haired. She knew she’d never seen him before. Then she stared into his eyes, deep-blue, blazing with something wild. They were beautiful, and she was caught, mesmerized. She remembered another set of eyes, wolf’s eyes that glowed amber, and she threw back her head to scream.
Before the scream could emerge, she felt a sharp stab in her upper arm. She glanced down in shock as he pulled the hypodermic needle free.
“There. Done. You should—”
But his voice faded, and a blessed relief flooded her body. Her lashes fluttered closed as the darkness took her.
#
When she woke again, the room was in semi-darkness. She lay quiet. The pain was still present but reduced to a dull, throbbing ache.
Her dreams had been of teeth and claws, of savage, bloody carnage under a full moon. Her mind shied away from that. She didn’t want to think of what had happened in the forest and what might come of it. Not yet. She would confront those problems later.
She was lying on a large, soft bed, a light cotton sheet covering her naked body. Pulling herself up, she dragged the sheet with her, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shot through her shoulder. She sat, her back resting against the cool wall behind her.
The curtains were open, and the light from a half moon shone in through the window. From the moon’s phase, she could tell she must have been here at least two days. Had she been unconscious all that time? Was she a prisoner of the werewolf who’d attacked her? But that didn’t make sense—she wasn’t restrained in any way.
She peered around the room, then focused sharply. A man slouched in an armchair across from the bed, his head resting against the back of the chair. His eyes were closed, his lashes dark shadows on his pale cheeks. It was a face full of hard lines and would no doubt appear harsh when he was conscious. Now it was softened by sleep and moonlight, his lips slightly parted, the pulse throbbing in his throat. Her gaze drifted lower. He was big, his long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him, his shoulders massive under a black T-shirt.
Who was he?
It came back to her. He’d been there when she woke before. He’d told her he’d hit her. Then stabbed her with a needle and taken away her pain.
She needed to get away from here. Her sisters would be concerned, and Regan was worried about her hounds. Had they found their own way home? She hoped so but doubted it. They must have been captured themselves; otherwise, they would have died protecting her that night. She had to find them.
First, she n
eeded clothes.
She opened her mouth to speak the spell, and no words came out. Panic flared, and she forced herself to concentrate. She needed to think this through. Then she remembered the witch’s bane and glanced down. She was still wearing the chain that Ethan Stone had placed around her neck. The charm must prevent her from speaking her magic. She studied it closely and realized it wasn’t silver after all, but white gold, which would make sense. Weren’t werewolves sensitive to silver? Couldn’t you kill them with silver bullets?
The truth was, she’d never thought much about werewolves. They existed on the periphery of the supernatural world, and most of the other immortals regarded them as little better than savages. Obviously, with good reason, but now she wished she knew more.
A clear crystal hung on the chain, nestling between her breasts, and radiating a faint hum of power. If she could remove it, maybe her words would return, and she could get out of here, go hunt down that bastard Ethan Stone, and kill him.
She lifted her left hand to tear the chain from around her throat but couldn’t make her fingers to touch it. There must be some sort of compulsion spell built in. She tried again, focusing all her mind, but her hand stopped barely an inch from the chain. Her fingers shook with the strength of her concentration, but she could not make them go closer. She dropped her hand and gritted her teeth.
Across the room, the man shifted in the chair, and Regan glanced over at him. His eyes were half-open, gleaming beneath the heavy fringe of lashes. When he saw Regan watching him, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair.
“You’re awake,” he said. “About bloody time.”
He got to his feet and stretched. The action dragged up his T-shirt and bared his lean belly. The skin was pale, ridged with muscle, sprinkled with a light covering of dark hair. Regan stared, riveted, and a ripple of awareness ran through her. Her eyes narrowed at the unexpected—and unwelcome—response.
He caught the look and frowned. “What’s the matter? Still in pain? Do you need another shot?”
She shook her head. She wanted no more drugs.
“You do speak, don’t you? I know you can make a noise—you scream loud enough.”
She glowered at him.
With a shrug, he crossed the room toward her. He switched on the lamp by the bed and stood, staring down at her, arms folded across his broad chest.
“I’m going to take a look at that wound,” he said. “Don’t scream. Don’t fight. Don’t move. Okay?”
She nodded. As he bent over her, the sharp musky scent of his body filled her nostrils. Awareness surged, heat washing over her, and she drew back slightly.
He stopped and glanced at her face. “What?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“I smell? Yeah, well, so do you, but then, neither of us have showered for a while. Now you’re better, perhaps we can do something about that. Just let me look at this first.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his muscular thigh far too close for comfort, and Regan pulled the sheet tighter around her. The gesture was futile since he must have seen her naked countless times over the last couple of days.
She steeled herself to peer down, as he peeled away the bandage. She frowned; she could just see the edges of a red scar curling around her shoulder. The wound appeared almost mended, as if it had had two weeks’ worth of healing rather than two days.
He stroked one long finger over the mark. Her skin prickled, and she shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t think you need another bandage,” he said.
Regan opened her mouth then closed it again.
He grinned. “I thought you were going to be a problem.” He considered her, head cocked to one side. “You have that ‘problem’ look about you, but you know what? I think I like you. Silence in a woman is an underrated commodity.”
She glared at him, and his lips twitched.
“Right, I’m going to sort out some coffee and food. Why don’t you go have a shower?”
He made to stand up, but Regan reached out a hand and rested it on his thigh. The muscles tensed under her palm. He paused, one eyebrow raised in query.
She pointed at the chain round her throat.
He looked at it. “Yeah, nice necklace. So?”
She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Or perhaps he was just stupid. She obviously needed two hands for this. She tucked the sheet firmly under her arms and used her hands to make a snapping gesture.
“You want me to break it?”
At last! She nodded.
“Why?”
Did he have to be so difficult? She wanted to scream, just do it, but if she could do that, she wouldn’t need him. She could just turn him into a toad and get the hell out of there.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. Please, she mouthed.
He grinned then shrugged. “It’s your necklace.”
He leaned in closer, reached out, and looped the chain through one finger. His other hand rested on her shoulder, warm and hard against her bare skin. She held her breath.
“Sure you want me to break it?” he asked.
She nodded again.
He tugged. The chain pulled at the back of her neck but didn’t break.
He frowned “You know there’s an easier way to do this. Lean forward.”
She bent her head toward him, and his hand slid beneath her hair, his fingers lingering, almost a caress, as he moved it to the side.
“I’ve always liked redheads,” he murmured. “Red hair and dumb. You’re the perfect combination.”
Regan gritted her teeth but stayed where she was as he lifted the chain from around her neck. The air crackled, and a jolt of power shot through her. Was it gone?
For a moment, she was scared to try. She sat, head bowed. His hand still cupped her shoulder, his thumb stroking little circles on her skin. It felt good, and for some reason that fact annoyed her.
She raised her head and stared him in the face. “I am not dumb. And if you don’t get your hands off me, you will be very, very sorry.”
Thank God!
Relief washed over her in waves. She could speak. He didn’t appear quite so impressed. Regan realized she’d been less than polite, which was rude considering how he’d cared for her. But at his touch, all her defenses had risen to the surface.
A resigned expression crossed his features. “I knew it was too good to last.”
He held the chain up by one finger. The crystal swung gently, glinting as it caught the light from the lamp. “So, what is this thing?”
“Nothing you need worry about.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know, I really did like you better before.”
And she had an idea he was going to like her even less soon. She focused on the crystal, searched her mind for the right words, and muttered a spell of destruction. The crystal shattered. He jumped to his feet, dropping the chain to the floor.
“What the hell was that?”
She didn’t answer. The spell had left her exhausted, which shouldn’t happen. Hopefully, it was temporary, and she would soon regain her full powers. She rested her head against the wall behind her and looked at him. “I want to go home.”
He studied her face, a slight frown on his own. “You sound calm. You do understand what happened, don’t you? Back there in the forest.”
A wave of fury washed over her. “Yes, I know what happened. I was bitten by a freaking werewolf.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Well at least you know what to expect. I’m not going to have to deal with a whole load of female hysterics when you discover you’re going to turn furry once a month.”
His words brought her up short.
She’d forgotten that bit.
How the hell could she have forgotten that bit?
Then she remembered Ethan’s words out in the forest, just before he’d turned into a creature from hell and bitten her—“you’re going to be one of us,” he’d said.
“No way,” she muttered.
He regarded her coolly. “You won’t have any choice. It’s too late. It was too late from the moment you were bitten.” He got to his feet and looked down at her. “Learn to live with it.”
No choice? She didn’t do “no choice.” In her world, there was always a choice. Granted, the options weren’t always good, but anything was better than that. She just had to find the right spell at the right price, but she would find a way out of this.
“Do you know what I am?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I could make a guess, but I’m not going to. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care. I got you out of there. I’ve looked after you until you could care for yourself. Now you’re on your own.”
He turned away from her. When he glanced back, his expression was hard. “You know, you might be better off going back to the pack.”
Regan stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Lone werewolves don’t do well. Wolves are pack creatures; they need company.”
“Well, I don’t.”
He shrugged again. “That’s up to you. I don’t know why the pack wanted you, presumably something to do with this.” He nodded at the chain where it lay curled at his feet. “You must be important to them. They’d look after you, give you protection.”
“I can protect myself.”
“You haven’t done such a good job of it up to now.”
She wanted to point out that she’d managed to protect herself for over two thousand years, but something held her back.
She studied him curiously. She couldn’t make out what he was. Was he human? What had he been doing out there in the forest? She didn’t believe in coincidences. She’d heard of men who hunted wolves, maybe he was one of those, a werewolf hunter; it would explain how he knew so much about them. But he didn’t feel entirely human, there was something different about him, she just couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
