Wolf Slayer. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

she demanded, though her voice was softer, lower, and almost a purr.

      Her tone stirred Jonas’s insides in a strange way, as if he could feel its vibration from where he stood. That purr melted into his skin, sparked his nerve endings in a way that created its own electricity.

      “I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you?” he asked.

      “What it would do is make things a whole lot easier.”

      “For whom? You?”

      “Yes. For me,” she said.

      “You believe that killing every Were you meet will bring your parents back? And that every Were is bent on carnage and destruction?”

      She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

      “Then you don’t know much, wolf hunter, and your education has been sorely lacking.”

      She spoke quickly. “You’re suggesting that you are not like the others? That you’re different?”

      “I can’t speak to the actions of those others. I can only repeat that I mean no harm to you or anyone else around here and leave it at that.”

      “Can you prove what you say?”

      “I can prove it by turning my back and leaving you alone and in one piece.”

      “Or by showing yourself,” she suggested with more tension on the string of her bow.

      Okay. If you say so...

      Jonas stepped into the moonlight, allowing the rain of silver light to wash over him. The wolf inside him barreled upward so fast, his shape-shift was completed in the few seconds it took him to reach Tess Owens. So fast, she didn’t have time to use her lightning-fast reflexes and let loose of that arrow.

      She might have been primed and fighting fit, but she was no match for a full-blooded Lycan who had been shifting since his teens. She was no real match for a werewolf who was twice as fast as any werewolf in his pack and shifted without recognizing the pain of each physical transformation.

      And she was no competition for a Were whose sole purpose in life currently was to guard the sister who stood on the brink of death.

      He had the bow in his hands before Tess could blink or utter a groan of protest.

      He had her knife in his fingers, her hand in his, and the tip of the razor-sharp blade she carried tight up against his chest. Her blue eyes, wide with shock, met his.

      Growling was the only way Jonas now had of speaking to her. That growl rumbled menacingly as he held her gaze and pressed the tip of the blade into his own flesh.

      Do it if you don’t believe me, wolf hunter. Go ahead.

      Whether it was the shock of his shift, his appearance, or his speed that stayed her hand...

      Or maybe it was the look in his eyes as they met hers...

      Tess Owens didn’t make that thrust. She stood there, staring at him as if momentarily confused.

      And since the advantage belonged to Jonas, he took it.

       Chapter 3

      The werewolf in front of her was huge, muscled, and faster than anything Tess had ever seen. The adrenaline punch that hit her when she looked into his eyes was a stunning blow to her confidence.

      His eyes were blue and way too human.

      Those eyes were intelligent and intense.

      And the face...the werewolf’s face...was disturbingly human, as well.

      He had angular features and no sign of anything that even hinted at a wolfish outline. No five o’clock shadow, let alone the typical werewolf’s layering of fine hairs and elongated bone structure. This guy actually was different. He was resetting the stats on everything she had known about werewolves. Meeting him, seeing him like this, sent the damn rulebook spinning.

      Why had he turned the knife on himself? One thrust of the blade and he’d be toast. One plunge into that broad, naked chest with the sharp end of her silver dagger, and she would come out the victor.

      That’s what she had to do. That’s what she had been trained to do. Raised to do. Taught to do. Remember... Too many hesitations and death will be the result.

      Then why didn’t she edge that knife deeper into the wolf’s flesh? And why wasn’t he tearing her apart? He made no move to hurt her. The damn werewolf was waiting for something. She thought she saw a flash of curiosity in his eyes.

      “Who are you? What are you?” she asked after a long overdue breath.

      Because of their closeness, the next growl that rumbled from the Were’s throat also rumbled through her. Tess kept a tight hold on the hilt of the knife. Her bow, along with the arrow, lay on the ground where he had tossed them, and far from reach, but they wouldn’t have helped in this awkward situation anyway.

      Push the damn blade.

      He’s not human.

      None of them are human. They ate my parents and made me a freak.

      The wolf’s response to her question was to inch closer. A trickle of blood began to seep through the small hole where the blade pierced his flesh, and yet he didn’t blink.

      What was he doing, though? Did he want to die, or was this merely a tactic to confuse her?

      Well, damn it, she was confused, and had to either get her mojo back or suffer the consequences in the next few seconds.

      One of you killed my family...

      Nevertheless, whatever he was trying to do with this odd turnaround stayed her hand. After several more seconds of alarming eye contact and a lot of pulse acceleration, Tess stepped back with her heart beating way too fast and the bloody knife clutched in her hand. A brand-new kind of fear was setting in. She had never come up against anything remotely like this Were.

      “If you think this changes anything, you’re wrong,” she said. “We’re on opposite sides of the game, and in any game, there can only be one winner.”

      She watched the alarmingly large Were shake his head as if he understood what she had said, as well as the promise in it. True to his word though, he didn’t make any move to harm her. This close to him, she couldn’t see his claws or imagine what he might gain by holding back on his end.

      So she waited for his next move, already planning hers. She’d duck to the side, come up to his right and use the knife. She wouldn’t be facing him then, wouldn’t have to look into those sympathetic blue eyes.

      Yes, that’s what she had seen in them after the flash of curiosity. Sympathy.

      “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded in a voice that didn’t sound as strong or as confident as she meant it to be. “One of us has to do the honors. If that’s you, so be it. If it’s me, all the better. That’s how this works.”

      When he failed to respond, Tess’s gaze went to the blood dappling his broad chest. Red blood. Half men, half beasts had red blood like the humans they emulated.

      She continued to eye the tiny hole in the Were’s chest until he began to back away. Given some distance, Tess’s nerves fired up, white-hot. Her arms began to quake with the need to do something—show him who she was and what she could do. She’d just had an intimate tryst with death and was still standing.

      The Were was a good three feet away now and facing her. Tess’s first real look at the whole package he presented, head to foot, was another nerve-jangling revelation.

      In this incarnation, the Were actually did seem more man than beast. Well over six feet of undulating muscle and sinew made it appear that he was moving when he wasn’t.

      He had chiseled cheekbones,