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A delusion? A hallucination? Perhaps a fever dream? Because right now her skin was so on fire she thought she might explode.
It had certainly not been a memory. No matter how much it might have felt like one.
And who the hell was Ted?
Her senses heightened. She heard the dirt sifting beneath her as she moved, smelled her own blood on the breath of the Nahual that continued to watch, eyes so bright they hurt her head.
Gina looked away and became distracted by hair the shade of mahogany, which had sprouted all the way up her arm.
Slam.
She left her body again. This time she flew across familiar terrain, past the crooked tree and the place where her parents had died. Ahead two blond girls giggled and sang as they walked toward a tent.
Her body was a wolf’s, yet she was smoke. She called out, a howl of triumph and hunger, then swooped low and carried one of the girls off. The shrieks of the other were music to Gina’s invisible ears.
And the blood. The texture, the scent, the flavor—glorious. It had been so damn long.
The smoke that was also a wolf lifted his head and howled to the moon, the sound echoing across the plain. He was weak; he needed sustenance to fuel both his body and his magic. The creature swirled lower, gaze touching on a boy, an old woman, an old man.
Duck. Duck. Goose.
Gina crashed into her own body once more, the memories of the Nahual when he had taken first Ashleigh and then Mel alight, and very real, in her mind.
Her spine arched, bones reshaping, realigning. She didn’t fight; instead she gave in to the change. She welcomed it; she’d begun to crave it as she craved the moon. Those thoughts that had been like memories had brought an understanding of what the Nahual had meant.
Monsters don’t love; they lust—for the kill, the blood, and that blessed, silver moon. Beneath it they became something nearly indestructible. Once Gina was a wolf very little could hurt her. If someone tried to take away her ranch, she’d eat them.
Problem solved.
She sniffed at the air, recognized the scent—oranges and sunlight—and her stomach contracted with need. There was still enough of her left to fight that need, but that part was shrinking fast. Once she was a wolf, all she would care about was the blood.
“Gina?”
Gina lifted her head. Her eyes met Teo’s, and the voice that came from her moving, changing mouth hovered between woman and wolf.
“Run.”
* * *
The Nahual made a hacking, snorting, wheezing noise that sounded like laughter—or as close to laughter as a wolf could get. Matt didn’t wait around to see what was so funny; he already knew. The Nahual was riding McCord’s brain, and Matt had no doubt McCord would find it hysterical when Gina killed him.
He wasn’t going to get away. A human couldn’t outrun a regular wolf, let alone a werewolf, and Matt wasn’t at his best. His head felt like it might crack open and spill agony down the front of his face.
But Matt ran anyway. He couldn’t help himself.
The moon shone like a beacon, lighting his way, revealing the dips and rolls of the rocky ground. He began to duck behind one rock, then scoot to another. Staying out of sight might keep him alive a few seconds longer, though he was certain Gina could follow his scent without too much trouble.
He had little memory of how he’d gotten here, which meant he had no idea how to get back to the ranch. Not that he’d ever make it that far.
No, he was stuck here to face—
A triumphant howl lifted to the moon.
Her.
Would Gina remember him if he spoke of his love? Of hers? He doubted it. When she’d lifted her face, when she’d told him to run, that had been the last bit of Gina left.
A low, rumbling growl rippled across the night, bringing to mind a stalking lion instead of a wolf. The click of claws against half-buried rocks announced her arrival an instant before a shaggy reddish-brown head appeared around the edge of the stone formation to Matt’s left.
