She inhaled again. Her ears swiveled toward the sound of paws padding closer.
Another werewolf.
Male.
The wildness inside her churned in a different direction, heightening her carnal senses. Sex now would be good.
Very good.
Sex would let her escape reality, however briefly, much more than going wolf did.
Werewolves were territorial, and though O’Connell hadn’t been home very long, he would have realized if another wolf was close by and would have driven him off. Or been driven off.
Since he still lived there, that obviously hadn’t happened. So the wolf was either him or Sully.
The wolf moved closer, and she recognized the scent.
Sully.
Then he was there, pushing his way between two scruffy bushes, and he was magnificent. Almost completely black with a hint of brown in his undercoat peeking through as his fur shifted with the breeze. Broad chest and large paws, and an alert stance that clearly indicated he was alpha. Amber eyes stared at her with intelligence and a hint of wariness in their depths.
That was unusual—an alpha unsure of himself. Or perhaps it was that he was so newly turned and that was where the uncertainty lay. And, she saw as she looked more closely, more than a hint of self-loathing darkened those amber eyes.
She walked forward with measured steps, taking care not to make any sudden moves that would startle him or, worse, move him to aggression. She got quite enough of that from her pack.
When she reached him she paused. Strike now. He wouldn’t be expecting it.
She hesitated. That damned vulnerable look in his eyes cut her to the core. It was her fault he was in this predicament. Her fault he held loathing for himself.
And he’d hate her, the one who’d created him.
After all, she hated her creator, too.
Strike now.
She brought her head forward and gave a delicate lick to the side of his muzzle.
A quick kiss “hello.” A gesture meant to put him at ease.
He responded with a low grumbling growl, not one of irritation but rather one of interest. She gave him another lick and, before he could anticipate her plan through her stance or expression, she lunged and fastened her teeth in his throat.
Sully reared back under the unexpected attack. The she-wolf’s change in demeanor shocked him, as he suspected it had been meant to.
Damn. Bitches were bitches the world over, no matter what form they took.
Instinct—both that of his wolf and of his hand-to-hand combat training from the Yard—took over. Instead of fighting her, he relaxed. It threw the she-wolf off balance, and she stumbled backward, loosening her grip on his throat.
It was enough. Sully shook himself free, ignoring the white-hot agony searing through him as fur and flesh were left in her mouth. He pushed through the pain and launched his own attack.
She managed to dodge his first strike, but after feinting to the left, he ducked past her flank and bit down across the back of her neck. Using his greater bulk and strength he forced her to the ground.
He swallowed the blood filling his mouth, never loosening his grip on her, fighting the primal urge to finish her. He didn’t want this strange wolf dead. He wanted answers.
Beneath him she shuddered with the large breaths she took, though she growled at him instead of whimpering in surrender.
She was beaten but refused to accept it.
He admired her tenacity even as it rankled.
The she-wolf bucked against him, trying to dislodge him, and he held firm. He knew his bite hurt, but it wasn’t a fatal one. Merely one to keep her down until she acquiesced.
With one last shudder she lay still. He felt muscles moving beneath him, felt fur receding. He let go of her and stepped away a foot or so as she continued to metamorphose back into her human form. Not wanting to give her an opportunity to get away but knowing he needed to be human in order to get any answers from her, Sully focused on changing back to his human form.
He rode through the agony of muscles and bones sliding into another shape, his body quaking. When the shift was finished, he rose to his feet, still shuddering from the pain. His cock rose like an iron rod. He had the fleeting memory of Declan telling him that he would be aroused after shifting from wolf to man, but in his anger he hadn’t paid much attention. In his first time shifting from wolf to man, he gritted his teeth against an agony completely carnal in nature.
The other werewolf, also in human form, knelt in the sand, her head bowed, long, dark hair obscuring her face. Beaten.
Submissive.
The taste of her blood lingered on his tongue. His heart racing from the heat of the life-and-death struggle, Sully realized that, for the first time in years, he felt alive. Finally felt more than just going through the motions of life. More than just putting one foot in front of the other; getting through each day on a job that, while he loved it with his entire being, held more cynicism than hope.
And that more was something rich and dark. Primal.
He looked at the woman with one thought—his. He’d fought her and won. She was his.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice rough with anger and arousal.
She didn’t respond.
With a muttered oath, Sully strode forward. Bending, he grasped her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet. He gave her a little shake. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m nobody.” Her voice was low, throaty. Sexy as hell.
He licked across suddenly dry lips. Crooking his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face to him. Clear blue eyes dark with pain met his. He caught his breath at the emotion reflected in her gaze. It was from more than the physical pain, he knew. Declan had told him enough so that he understood a shift from one form to the other brought about accelerated healing.
After all, his throat was fine.
No, the pain he saw in her eyes went soul deep.
Even as it made him wonder, his aggression still rode high.
She gazed down his body and stopped at his cock. Her nostrils flared.
Amid the scents of anger, fear, and defeat, another smell arose.
Lust.
His erection engorged even further.
She reached out toward him, and he knocked her hand away. She’d just tried to kill him. As much as he’d like to feel her hands and mouth on him, no way in hell was he letting her anywhere near such an integral piece of his anatomy.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” When she made to move away from him he tightened his grip on her arm. “Tell me who you are.”
She looked at him again. He saw something shift in her eyes, courses of action considered and discarded until she made a decision. “You can call me Marie.”
Marie. Probably not her real name, but it was better than Oi, you! “Marie it is.” He studied her a moment. “Mind telling me why you just tried to kill me?”
She sighed. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Hmm. Sorry she made a mistake—which he wasn’t so sure he bought—or sorry she hadn’t been successful?
She shifted her stance, widening her legs, and a fresh wave of the scent of her tangy arousal wafted to his nostrils. She put her hands on her hips and moved her shoulders back, thrusting out her breasts. “Well? Am I forgiven?