Wolf Hunter. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
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could be. How would you know?”
“Well, then, I guess I’d better go before you have a chance to provide the answer.”
“That might be a good idea,” he agreed.
Movement, though, was impossible. Turning her back to this guy would be a bad idea, no matter how friendly his approach had been. Big reminder: though he looked like a human, and talked like one, he wasn’t.
Feeling the weight of the cell phone in her pocket, Abby tried to remember that Weres weren’t the only treacherous faction in town. Her father, Sam Stark, was as deadly as any werewolf and quite possibly twice as lethal, since Sam had no tolerance for anomalies like this one, and his hatred was usually backed by an element of surprise.
She wondered what color this guy’s pelt would be. Bronze, like his hair? Golden, like the rest of him? With moonlight reflected in each strand of his sleek, slightly mussed mane, whatever color of wolf he turned out to be would amount to tons of cash for the Stark accounts if the team found him. He’d bring a small fortune and it shouldn’t be any concern of hers. This wolf and others like him hurt people when the moon was full.
How close to the surface is your wolf tonight? she wanted to ask. Are you a killer?
Any of those things spoken aloud would let him know she had pegged him for a hybrid, taking things from bad to worse in a hurry. The team’s plan had always been to drive Weres like this one into the open, into the moonlight that betrayed what they were, and strike fast, strike hard. No mercy.
But this wasn’t a killing night. Tonight her job had been only to locate some Weres. See who was around.
“And I found you,” she whispered as her interest in the gorgeous Were reached broiling status internally, as if her mind and body were engaged in a war of ethics, while the big fellow on the edge of the light continued to prove how good his acting skills were.
It was a standoff. Checkmate.
Who would make the first move?
Daringly, Abby let her gaze drift upward to his face before immediately wishing she hadn’t. His features were chiseled, with high cheekbones and a full mouth. He had a strong jaw and arched brows. She refused to meet his wide-set eyes.
Daring to speak again in a voice husky with strain, she said, “What are you waiting for?”
After a long pause, he replied, “Why don’t I walk you home?”
Abby shook her head. “Don’t think so, but thanks all the same.”
“There could be others out here, much worse than me.”
“Really? Much worse?”
“I can assure you of that.”
“Then why are you out here?” she asked.
“I like to walk and think.”
“In the dark?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe you’re some kind of danger junkie,” she suggested.
“It’s a possibility. What about you? Is danger your drug of choice, or were you trying to get somewhere and got lost?”
Unclenching her hands, Abby then fisted them again, rattled by the stilted repartee. The heat, both hers and his, had become suffocating. He had a gaze like a frigging laser beam that wouldn’t let up or miss much. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was whether this guy would try to hurt her, or not.
Why don’t you make your move?
“Danger isn’t really my thing,” she said.
“Yet here you are, in a place that attracts it.”
“Not for long.”
Listening hard, Abby separated the layers of city noises. Cars paraded down the boulevards in the distance. The faint buzz of insects reached her from the trees to her right.
The air was filled with the smells of dry, sun-drenched pavement and the bitter odor of crushed grass and leaves. Above those things something else, some other scent, surfed the night air. She tagged it as the not-so-sweet odor of the unseen.
Her scalp pricked. Her racing heart gave an extra thump. This Were’s wolf was close to the surface and getting stronger. Whatever lay inside him that she had easily connected to wasn’t going to go away with a bit of conversation.
Something else bothered her, needled at her. If this guy was an Alpha, he’d have a pack close by.
Her odds in favorably dealing with the situation plummeted. At the same time, her morbid fascination for the wolfman kept Abby focused. She wanted to know so much more about him, and about what went on here. Her appetite for those things grew by the second.
Abby held herself tightly to keep from squirming. If Weres like this one possessed animalistic superpowers, he’d have already noticed that she had become a heat-sensing Geiger counter for the very thing that should have had her screaming. Her fevered flesh and skin-ruffling gyrations were the equivalent of inviting the fiery hand of death to slide between her legs.
Hell with that. Due to his looks and masculine vibe, this Were probably had a harem of women willing to take him in. He didn’t need one more willing supplicant. Besides, wolves and humans did not mix, except when those things in an anomalistic fashion resided within one being.
The situation sucked. All outcomes seemed dire. Whatever outlandish thing was taking place between this werewolf and herself had gummed up logic. He was seducing her without any effort on his part at all. He didn’t have to be blatant about it because the seduction worked. All he had to do was stand there, looking like a sexy hunk.
Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. Get out. Get away.
You, she wanted to shout to the creature across from her, are the very thing my father and his teams despise. There has to be a reason for that.
Lifting her chin defiantly, Abby backed up a step. This is the final test. Will you pounce?
As it turned out, he didn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, he calmly asked her a question.
“Why do you hate the moon, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The question was as unexpected as the earnest ring of curiosity in his voice.
“You said you hate it,” he reminded her.
“I hate what the moon does to people,” Abby said.
Her companion glanced up at the light. “You don’t find the moon beautiful?”
“Its beauty is deceitful, as beauty often is.”
If he got the point and the allusion to himself, he didn’t show it. He took a step toward her, closing some of the distance separating them and setting off another round of sparks that burrowed well below Abby’s waistline. He continued to study her face as if whatever he sought there might be important.
What did he want? An apology for the atrocities her father and his team had inflicted upon his species? Did he want revenge, when he had to know how many humans Weres had killed in Miami in the past year alone?
In hindsight, she should have covered up the logo on her T-shirt that advertised a bar that just happened to also be a field office for Sam Stark’s hunters. She hadn’t taken the time to change, in a hurry to get outside, away from the crowd. Maybe this guy had already made note of it, which would be bad news.
Move, Abby. Hesitation is no longer an option.
No wolf could be allowed to discover where the team kept court, or seek to uncover the source of her own unusual connection to their breed. Those were secrets for keeping behind closed doors, under lock and