LITMIR.BIZ

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had given her. He—whatever he was—crawled toward her, his movements smooth, stealthy. Deadly.

      Cassie jumped up and ran. For all of ten feet before she was falling.

      Oh, no. Not again!

      The wolfman cradled her as they hit the ground.

      “Damn, you’re fast.” Rolling Cassie onto her stomach, he immobilized her with the full length of his hot, hard body.

      “Get off me.” The more she squirmed, the more a wicked heat licked her skin. Fear was supposed to be cold and clammy, so what the heck had ignited those fiery flashes?

      “Easy there, Sunshine.” His deep, rich voice dripped like sickly sweet sorghum.

      Suddenly Cassie remembered a spilled bottle of syrup. Tasted the sticky sweetness on her fingers. Smelled the gingerbread cookies baking in the oven. Heard her mother’s tinkling laughter in the sunny kitchen of the run-down apartment where they had lived when Cassie was seven.

      Is this what it means to have your life flash before your eyes when you’re about to die?

      “Are you listening?” The wolfman’s insistent growl dispelled the memory. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened on the porch.”

      Cassie’s survival skills abandoned her. She tried to buck him off, but her body was too busy mooning over his mesmerizing accent to respond.

      “I’ll release you on two conditions. First, don’t run. The woods are too dangerous for you. Second, keep your knees away from my groin. They’re too dangerous for me. Agreed?”

      Considering her position, did she have a choice?

      Though she couldn’t bring herself to verbalize consent, Cassie nodded. His weight lifted, yet the heat from the intimate contact remained. She sat up, rubbing her arms.

      He squatted just beyond her reach, yet close enough to catch her before she could make it to her feet if she tried to run. Twice he’d caught her and not harmed her. Three times might break her luck.

      Moonbeams filtered through the trees, giving just enough soft light to make out the concern etched in his features.

      “Are you hurt?” His polished tone contradicted his appearance. Bits of leaves and pine needles stuck out of the waves of his thick black hair. A scruff of dark whiskers framed his determined jaw. Dirt smudges accented the sharp angle of his cheeks. A smear of blood crusted beneath his nose.

      “No.” Cassie struggled to remain calm, rational. “Well, maybe.”

      Nothing ached, yet something unbalanced her mind. Had she imagined the wolf or the transformation? Because the man invading her personal space was no delusion.

      The hard, sleek build of his scarred, muscled body pulsated with a raw, masculine strength and a primal vitality that made her shudder despite the heat flashing through her body.

      “Either you’re hurt or you aren’t.” Even though his expression remained neutral, she heard the frown in his voice. “Which is it?”

      “I might’ve hit my head when I fell. I’m seeing things.”

      The wolfman was on her in an instant. Hands in her hair, fingers caressing her scalp. His urgent yet gentle touch sparked an odd tingle that seeped into dark places no man had touched. Unsure of how to handle the startling titillation, she ducked out of his reach.

      “No bumps or cuts on your head.” Sitting back on his knees, he continued the inspection without the use of his hands. Inch by inch, his squinted gaze stroked her skin. Lingering here, then there as if memorizing the details of her body he couldn’t possibly see with clarity due to the filtered moonlight.

      The air between them became charged. Her muscles clenched to resist the palpable energy. The tension only magnified his phantom touch.

      It wasn’t the first time a man had looked at her with carnal interest. It was, however, the first time Cassie didn’t feel threatened.

      His scrutiny complete, his focus flashed to her face and fell to her breasts. The longer he stared, the more her budded nipples strained against the sweat-dampened baseball shirt clinging to her chest.

      Heat rushed to her face; pride kept her from turning away flustered. Instead, she returned the same intense inspection. Where her attention landed made her body burn as though she’d fallen into an inferno.

      In the bedroom, she’d intentionally looked everywhere but there. Now she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the long, meaty shaft arrowed toward his flat abdomen rippled with hard, sleek muscle. The temptation to reach out and touch it just to see how one felt in her hand was dangerous. And stupid.

      “Why do you think you’re hallucinating?” the wolfman asked, yanking her attention to his masculine mouth and the full, strong lips pulled taut in thought or pain or simple contemplation.

      “One second I saw a wolf. The next you were squatting in his place.” Pushing aside distraction, Cassie’s mind grappled for a logical explanation of his transformation. “Either I’m seeing things or you pulled a whammy of a magic trick on me.”

      “I’m neither a hallucination nor a magician. I’m Wahya,” he said as if that should explain everything.

      “Please tell me that’s a society of illusionists.” Please, oh, please. Oh, please.

      “Wahyas are wolfan shape-shifters. We can change forms at will.”

      Cassie’s heartbeat failed, yet the rush of blood rumbled in her head, and she wondered if the noise was the sound of madness.

       Chapter 3

      “Are you going to kill me?” Cassie lifted her chin, set her jaw and forced every bit of self-control to diffuse her panic.

      “If I wanted you dead, you would be.” At the wolfman’s bone-chilling matter-of-factness, fear slithered down her spine and along her nerves until she shivered.

      “What do you want with me?” She hugged her chest. “To turn me into a werewolf like you?”

      The whip of his narrowed gaze lashed her skin as he slowly counted to twenty beneath his breath. “The term werewolf is offensive, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use it to reference me.”

      “Give me a break,” she snapped as hysterical aggravation eked out over apprehension. If he wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t take the time to point out the political incorrectness of her word choice. “Don’t get all snarky with me, buster. This is all new to me.” Cassie shoved back the curls that fell across her face. “Who the heck are you, anyway?”

      “I told you.” He inched forward, his mesmeric gaze lasering straight into her soul. “I’m Brice Walker.”

      Cassie’s breath caught in her chest, and her heart missed a beat. The only times she’d seen Brice Walker up close and personal, he’d been mummy-wrapped and hooked up to a life-support machine. Each time she’d snuck into his hospital room, she’d had the same reaction of excitement and dread. Excitement that it might be the day he woke up for more than two seconds, dread for how he’d look at her when he did.

      Brice came from a respectable, well-to-do family, she from the likes of Imogene Struthers. Cassie couldn’t help her origins, but she would be forever grateful to Margaret Walker for helping her start down a different path when no one else would give her a chance.

      Oh, no. Did Margaret know what her grandson had become?

      Knowing Margaret, it wouldn’t matter. She loved Brice unconditionally. Nothing would ever change how she felt about him.

      “This is unreal.” Cassie swallowed the lump her heart had caused when it jumped into her throat. This wasn’t how she’d pictured their first actual meeting. Fully clothed at his parents’ resort, the hospital or even Margaret’s cabin at a reasonable hour

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