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“No, you don’t.”
Nearby, a squirrel darted from the bushes and took off across the yard. Even Loren sensed the warning in his tone. Any other day, she might have backed down.
This wasn’t one of those days.
“Yes, I do!” She raised her voice while his only got deeper.
“Loren—”
“I’m sick of you telling me what I want and what I need.” The words seemed to just tumble out. She had no idea where they came from, but it was impossible to stop. “You don’t know anything! Iknowwhat I want.”
You.
He shook his head. “You don’t have a fucking clue. And if you want to talk about this, then we’re not going to have a screaming match at five in the damn morning.”
Loren gritted her teeth, aware that her fingers were bunched into fists, nails biting into the flesh of her palms. The feeling pulsing through her veins wasn’tallself-righteous anger—he smelled different. A low, prickly fury bristled off him in waves. It was in his voice. His scent.
I’m warning you.
The danger didn’t frighten her. Not one damn bit. If anything, it was like a sick part of her fed off his rage. Her shirt felt tight. Whenever she breathed, all she couldtastewas fucking pine…
“Good.” He seemed to take her silence as a sign that she was listening, giving in. “Loren, go back inside and—”
“No.” The word seemed ripped right from the pit of her stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She turned, intending to march across the porch and jump off the other end, rather than pass him, but his voice yanked her back like a fish on a hook.
“You’re not thinking straight. You need to sleep. Get back in the house.”
“No.”
“Yes—” his tone made her belly quake. “Whether I have to drag you up to bed myself, or—”
“Stop.”
“Listen to me—”
“No!”
She remembered slamming the screen door and whirling to face him.
She remembered shouting…
But she didn’t quite remember the moment she leaped from the porch andlungedat him. No logical thought ran through her mind, just action.
But the element of surprise gave her the edge to catch him off guard. Her hands slammed into his shoulders, and he fell back with a startled grunt. She saw him hit the ground hard.
But something more shocking distracted her from any concern—her hands, weren’t really “hands,” but paws topped by sharp nails that bit into his skin…and the words tearing from her throat, weren’t “words” at all…
But growls.
22
Loren Connors was gone, and Bill could only gape at the creature growling in that meek woman’s place. It crouched over him, its body lithe, compact…
And purely lupine.
The wolf was barely half the size of his lycan form overall, but sleek and lean. A brown pelt covered her slender limbs, darkening to nearly black over a delicate snout. Her eyes were that same, unsettling shade of hazel—but both were wide with a horror he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
