by Rebecca York
She waited for frozen moments, almost expecting him to speak to her. But of course no words came out of his mouth, only a low growl that she took to mean, “Get back in the house while the getting’s good.”
“Yes,” she answered. Then added, “Thank you for chasingthem away.”
He nodded as though he understood her, then growled again, this time more sharply.
“Okay.” She spun on her heel and dashed back down the driveway, running at full speed.
When she reached the front porch, she turned and looked back, expecting to see him still standing there. But he had silently vanished into the woods.
Stepping into the house, she closed the front door behind her, then leaned back against the barrier, breathing hard. Her narrow escape was sinking in, and she knew those dogs would have torn her apart if the big gray wolf hadn’t arrived.
Wolf. Yes, he had to be a wolf. He’d faced them down, then turned to make sure she was all right before running off.
WEREWOLF Jacob Marshall breathed out a sigh. When he’d seen those dogs getting ready to attack Renata Cordona,his heart had stopped.
He could have followed the dogs. Instead he headed in the other direction, toward a spot about a hundred yards from the house, where he found what he’d scented when he first arrived. Raw meat, dumped on the ground. Meat that had attracted the animals. So what the hell was five pounds of chuck steak doing out here on this property? It looked like someone had deliberately put it there to lure the dogs.
He turned and stared toward the house—and stopped short. The dark-haired beauty he’d saved was standing at the front window, staring out. Looking for the dog pack? Or looking for the wolf who had saved her?
He took a step back, then another, fading into the woods. It wouldn’t do him any good to confront her now, not when he couldn’t talk to her.
He’d met her a few times. She was a real estate agent who had come to some of the meetings of the Howard County Citizen’s Association. But he had his reasons for keeping his distance.
There was something about her oval face, her dark eyes with their fringe of sooty lashes, her full lips, and that marvelouslong, dark hair of hers, that called to him in a way he couldn’t explain—except in the most basic terms of sexual attraction.
No, it was more than that. He kept fighting the uncanny feeling that he’d held her in his arms before. Made love to her before. Declared his undying love for her before. Althoughnone of that could possibly be true.
The fantasy had alarmed him enough to label her off-limits.But as soon as he’d seen she was in trouble, he’d stepped between her and those dogs. And now he had to make sure she was all right.
He’d passed a For Sale sign down at the entrance to the driveway, and he guessed that she’d come here to show the house. He’d been restless and out for a run in wolf form. Not long after seeing the sign, he’d picked up the scent of the dogs. Then he’d felt the dangerous vibrations coming off them. If he’d had to articulate what he’d sensed, he wouldn’t have been able to put it in terms a human could understand, but he could have described it to the other Marshall men, his brothers and cousins who also carried the werewolf gene.
While he could have told them how he sensed the dogs and the danger they represented, he couldn’t have explained exactly what he had done to make them break off the attack on Renata. It was more than a canine face-off. In his childhood,he’d discovered he had the ability to communicate with animals in ways that his brothers and cousins did not possess. He used that special talent in his job, working with damaged dogs at various pounds and shelters around the area. And he’d used it in the past to talk dangerous dogs out of attacking, one or two at a time. But he’d never faced down such a large pack of feral dogs before.
Thank God it had worked.
Now he wanted to know who the hell had put that meat there, and if it had anything to do with her specifically.
But going back was a problem, because when he changed to human form, he’d be naked.
He could run home, of course, although home was five miles away. But maybe there was a solution to the problem. A half mile from here, behind a rectangular cinder-block house, he’d seen a clothesline with a wash flapping in the breeze. He retraced his steps until he reached the clothesline.
Breaking through the cover of the woods, he approached with caution. No one was outside, and he was able to snag an almost-dry pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt off the line. After stashing them in the woods, he went back for a pair of muddy sneakers sitting by the back door. But as he went for the shoes, a guy with a shotgun came barreling out of the house.