Wolf Slayer. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

new and exciting.

      Maybe that’s why her heart was beating so rapidly she could barely draw a breath. Maybe it was also the realization that running wasn’t what had winded her. She was breathless because she found this Lycan so fascinating.

      He had seen her. The growl he issued was soft, low, and did things to her that Tess refused to acknowledge. She didn’t speak, didn’t reply. Couldn’t do either of those things.

      Though he was motionless, the werewolf wasn’t at ease. Tess sensed the tension flowing through him, and like an airborne contagion, that tension quickly transferred to her.

      He was looking at her, not as if she might be his plaything, but as though he wanted to say something to her that his shape-shift had prevented him from saying several minutes ago.

      Having witnessed his ability to manipulate his shifts so quickly, Tess observed him carefully, fully on guard. When she could draw a full breath, she said, “I don’t think I like whatever kind of game it is that we’re playing.”

      He sank to a crouch. In other werewolves, this would have meant he was ready to spring. This guy didn’t translate that kind of intention to her. It was as if he didn’t want to appear too large or menacing.

      He was still bare from the waist up and wearing faded jeans. The guy was a magnificent example of this species, and only by looking at him through narrowed eyes did Tess see the more wolfish parts. The harder she tried to zero in on those things—the extra layer of muscle and the claws—the less she saw. The wolf aura surrounding him hinted at the term werewolf, rather than anything pertaining to the purely physical aspects of his countenance.

      Tess had seen him run. She didn’t take her eyes from him now. Man and wolf were such an unlikely combination, who else but the few people in the know would have believed anything like this possible?

      She showed him the blade. “This is all I have at the moment. Will you challenge?”

      When their gazes connected, heat streaked through Tess that was akin to having gotten too close to the sun. Her pulse thundered in her neck, pounding out beat after merciless beat that lifted the skin beneath her ears.

      Her interest in him would be her death.

      “So tell me,” she said, pitching her voice low to hide any telltale signs of quavering. “Is the neat trick of attracting the hunters who are hunting you some special kind of power you possess?”

      The beast perched on the rocks above her couldn’t answer that question unless he used more of his magic Lycan voodoo to transform himself into a more vocal version of the one he presented to her at the moment. It was entirely possible that he wouldn’t change back, so that he could avoid answering her altogether.

      His tension had become like a separate living thing. Swallowing back a lick of fear and determined to ride this out, Tess asked, “Do you also have the ability to call real wolves? I’m wondering if they realize what you are and that you might at one time have been related.”

      The Lycan’s shoulders twitched briefly before quickly settling back to stillness.

      “Why don’t you jump? I’m standing here like an idiot, breaking every rule I’ve ever had pounded into me about dealing with the likes of you,” Tess said.

      The Lycan’s next growl was more like a touch than a sound and caused Tess to lean toward him. “Stop it,” she commanded. “I came here to ask you about another thing as well. That veil of darkness that blew in and passed over before you and your four-legged friend appeared on my doorstep.”

      Breaking eye contact, he turned his attention to the distance.

      “It rolled west, toward you,” Tess continued. “I liked it about as much as I like you. Still...”

      Her voice trailed off.

      The werewolf on the ledge above her took that jump and landed beside her. The blade in Tess’s hand was useless. Her lungs were useless, and so were her legs. She found herself in the Lycan’s arms, being swept off her bare feet.