She’d won, again. But at what cost? If she didn’t change soon, she’d die.
Exhausted, she clenched her hands into fists, ordering them to stop trembling. When that failed, she jumped to her feet. Though her legs shook and her body felt weak, she paced, trying to find a solution.
Again the urge to change rippled through her, stronger this time. Again, she struggled against herself. Pacing, growling low in her throat, she whined and snarled, cajoled and pleaded. Human words mingled with animal sounds and, using the last of her strength, again she fought and won.
But this was only the first part of the battle. Now came the sexual need, always a result of her aborted changes. Leo had delighted in this, purposely goading her to change, knowing whatever he’d done to her would make that impossible. He hadn’t cared that she might die, nor had he given a damn what toll it would take on her body, on her mind.
Leo had found a perverse excitement, taking his pleasure and reveling in her weakness. When he’d finished, he’d left her to lick her wounds in humiliation, mortified that she had no control over her own body.
She could control the wolf, but she could not control her sexual hunger. Even now, alone, desire raged through her and she craved a man’s touch, a man’s hard body…Closing her eyes, she pictured Colton Reynolds, and the way he’d backed away from her need.
No. Forcibly, she pushed his image away, using her own hands to pleasure herself, frantic in her search for release. She was alone and must always be alone. Until she could repair the broken part of her, she had no choice.
Her climax came with a fury that sent her to her knees, moaning.
Spent and shaken, when it was over she stepped into the shower and let the hot water soothe her aching muscles. Clean and sore, finally Jewel dropped onto her bed and gave herself over to exhaustion. From experience she knew her sleep would be long and deep, and she’d awaken ravenous. Since she was pretty much out of food, except for a few eggs, a few slices of bread and an orange, that could be a problem, but it was one she couldn’t solve.
There had been an incident at the grocery store. No less than three people called Colton to tell him. A woman had had some sort of fit or seizure and, while paramedics were en route, she’d recovered and run from the store.
This in itself, while a cause for great speculation in Anniversary, wasn’t enough to excite Colton. But the woman’s description matched Jewel Smith’s.
His boss wanted him to investigate it for the paper. Remembering the incident by the lakeside, Colton wanted to make sure she was all right.
Snatching his car keys off his desk with one hand while closing his flip phone with the other, he hurried from the newspaper office and climbed in his Dodge Ram 1500 pickup.
He sped the two blocks to the Burrus Store, parked and hurried inside, where he met with the manager. An affable guy named Bubby, with the build and red face to match, he punctuated his conversation with enough swear words to make a sailor blush. Used to him, Colton never even flinched.
Despite his intention to remain detached, when Bubby began describing the woman, Colton’s stomach again began to burn. He reached in his pocket for his ever-present roll of antacids, popped two and impatiently motioned to Bubby to finish.
Though he’d grabbed his notepad, Colton didn’t bother to write anything down. Tall with long blond hair and shocking emerald eyes only described one woman in town. Jewel Smith.
“Do you think it was drugs?” Colton asked, hating the pity that flashed in the other guy’s face at his question.
“Nah.” Bubby shook his head, sending the sizeable wattle under his chin to wiggling. “Not everybody is using drugs, Colt. Just because your—”
“Then what was it?” Colton cut him off, well aware that most folks in Anniversary thought he carried his personal vendetta against drugs a bit too far. But then they’d never lost a child to drugs either.
With a shrug, Bubby indicated his lack of knowledge. “Don’t know. Some kind of epileptic thing, maybe. My grandma used to—”
“Did you see what she was driving?”
Bubby hadn’t, but several other witnesses had noticed the car.
“Beat-up old Buick,” one man said, scratching his head. “No AC either. She drives with the windows down.”
The description of the car clinched it. The woman was definitely Jewel.
“Thanks.” Hurrying back outside, Colton climbed in his truck and headed over toward the old Pryor place. He’d check things out for himself and make sure Jewel was all right. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be wandering around outside naked or worse, unconscious and alone, waiting for someone to awaken her.
Again the mental image of the desire that had darkened her eyes before she’d kissed him, of her lithe body, impossibly long legs and high breasts. He cursed out loud, though there was no one to hear him, furious at his instant arousal.
Pulling into her gravel drive, he parked behind her car. Her engine was still making clicking sounds and the hood was hot, telling him she’d arrived home recently.
His light taps on her door went unanswered, so he hurried down to the shore, carefully combing the woods. When he found no sign of her there, his worry mounted. Irrational yes, but he kept remembering her unconscious on the ground. Telling himself he’d touch nothing, only make sure she was safe, he went to the back of the house, where he knew the window was shaky.
As he’d suspected, due to its condition, the locking mechanism was loose, and a few quick wiggles of the frame unlocked it. Telling himself this was a fantastic opportunity to do some good investigative reporting, he pushed open the bottom and climbed up inside. Knowing he’d be in the kitchen helped, and he jumped down from the countertop with relative ease.
Standing stock still, he listened. The only sound he heard was the soft ticking of a clock. The place smelled like citrus, as if she’d just finished peeling and eating a juicy orange. But he saw no sign anyone had dined on anything. The house appeared deserted.
