Page 49 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“There’s nothing I regret.” She cupped her hand around his muzzle. “It was, as you said, perfect. You are perfect.”

He made a sound that was a mixture of happiness and pain. “Never thought of myself that way. So few do.”

“But you are.”

“I’ve haven’t done that with anybody in this form,” he admitted. “Couldn’t ever trust anyone that much.”

Her eyes went wide. What that meant went straight to the heart of her. She brimmed with its significance. “I’m honored.”

He gathered her close, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his fur.

They held each other in this way for long moments, and then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the center of the clearing. He laid her down on soft grass before curling his massive body around her. She didn’t feel the dampness of her clothing, or the chill of night. All she felt was the heat of him, the solidness and strength.

“I have so many questions,” she murmured. Drowsiness stole over her, her body limp in the aftermath of countless climaxes.

“By and by, they’ll be answered,” he said throatily. “For now, sparrow, sleep.”

As she lay with him, her drowsy mind drifted, and it was as though she could see herself. A woman who had fled into the forest, now curled up with a wolf in the glen, their bodies lax after decimating pleasure. All the while, the full moon shone down on them.

And then, she slept.

15

Waking slowly, she knew gentle heat, and the softness of her limbs that came from a long, dreamless sleep.

But yet, she did have dreams. Of men transforming into wolves. A terrible fight. A thrilling chase through the forest. And then…joining her body with the most magnificent creature. Both wolf and man. Des.

Sunlight warmed her body. Eyes closed, she reached down to determine what the heavy thing lying across her waist was. Her hand met corded flesh, dusted with hair. A muscled forearm. Her fingers wove with the large hand at the end of the forearm, and the two hands curled together. There were no claws on this other hand, yet she knew who it belonged to, and what they had done.

There was a shifting behind her, the feel of a broad, powerful body moving. She let go of the hand so she could turn over to face him. Opening her eyes, she looked at Des, human now, smiling down at her from behind the curtain of his dark hair. He reclined on the forest floor, resting on a bent arm.

“You aren’t running away in horror,” he said, a kind of forced lightness in his tone, “so that’s a positive.”

“Why would I run?” She leveled herself up on her elbows and blinked.

Des was completely naked. And his body was stunning. Taut with defined muscle, long-limbed, every part of him sculpted by an adoring creator. Hair was sprinkled across his chest and trailed down his flat abdomen, reaching a thicker nest above his lax, and very impressive, cock. Morning light pierced the canopy and dappled across the silk of his skin.

He was a woodland god.

“Because,” he said, dragging her attention back to his face, “I’m a monster.”

He said this so simply, stating a fact, and yet glints of pain shone in the blue of his eyes.

“Not a monster.” She sat up fully now, as did he.

“Many others think so.”

“Do you hurt anyone?” she demanded.

“Not if I can help it. They usually attack first.” He glanced away, shadows behind his eyes.

“Who? Who attacks?”

He shrugged. “Anyone who finds out what I am. What we are. I’ve been chased, shot at, run from town to town. My…” He swallowed hard. “My parents were killed trying to defend me.”

“Oh, God, Des.” She reached across the space between them and rested her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“I was changing, from boy to man. That’s when it starts for us. As we mature, the wolf comes out. I didn’t know what was happening, and neither did my family. They did their best, trying to protect me from our small-minded neighbors. But then…”