Lycan Lore

LYCAN LORE

…Cray stood behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her backside against him. His warm breath tickled her lobe. Cassandra shuddered, trying to concentrate on the wall of foliage and not on the hardness pressing into her backside. As though sensing her dilemma, he pushed himself more firmly against her. Cassandra’s heart rate quickened. God, it felt so good to have a man do that. She wiggled her bottom, loving the way his dick poked her ass. Cray’s hand strayed to her center, cupping her mound. As his palm stroked her through her clothes, the crotch of her panties grew wet with arousal. Too much more of that and she’d leak through the thin material of her shorts. Fearing she might come right then and there, she stilled his hand. “You’re driving me crazy,” she confessed, turning to face him. Cray offered a boyish grin, indicating he knew damn well what he was doing. “We’ll pick up the Coastal Trail here and make our way around to the beach. There’s a bathroom up on Miner’s Ridge, in case you need it.” Bathroom? Were she not so horny, Cassandra would have slapped him. She didn’t need a bathroom—a blanket maybe, or an air mattress, hell, even a soft patch of grass would do. The idea that he purposely tormented her was infuriating.

Pulling away from his grasp, she regained her composure. “A bathroom would be nice,” she said coolly, casting him an irritated glare. Two could play his game. He stared at her a moment, his right brow cocked inquisitively. Then he shrugged and started down the path, following beside the stream. Cassandra fumed along behind him, pondering the many ways to get even…

ALSO BY S HANNON LEIGH Chinatown Buffet Greenwood Manor More Than Prophecy Nana’s Little Black Book Stairway To Heaven

LYCAN LORE BY SHANNON LEIGH

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

LYCAN LORE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2007 by Shannon Leigh ISBN 978-1-60272-137-1 Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To my family, for supporting me in all I do. And to my children, for filling my life with so much joy. .

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CHAPTER 1 “How’re ya comin’ over there, Cassie?” Heather yelled from the opposite corner of their tree-infested campsite. Cassandra grunted in response. She fumbled with her tent, wondering how she’d allowed herself to be talked into coming with Heather and Graham in the first place. While she had to admit she’d enjoyed camping with her parents as a child, and the great outdoors certainly afforded a serenity one couldn’t find in the confines of an apartment, she hadn’t camped in years. Oh, yeah, now she remembered. It was the promise of finding some brawny Tarzan in the depths of Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. Somehow, the prospect seemed highly 1

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unlikely. They’d been there nearly two hours already and she’d scarcely seen a male candidate that wasn’t either toting a spare tire around his midriff, or a female counterpart and a succession of kids. Throwing down a mess of bungee-corded poles with disgust, she debated just sleeping beneath the stars instead. Now she wished she’d paid more attention to her parents while they’d set up camp, instead of chasing butterflies and frolicking in the brush. Of course, she’d been just a little girl then, and kids didn’t think about those things. Cassandra worried her bottom lip. How the heck can I set up a tent when I can’t even get the frame together? Camping should be about roughing it. Where was the sport in erecting a man-made shelter of plastic dowels simulated to look like wood and flimsy flag material, when nature had provided them an abundance of trees with leaves so thick one could scarcely see the darkening sky beneath the hulking canopy? Besides, she had an air mattress, several pillows, and a brand-spanking new pink camouflaged sleeping bag—she loved pink. What else did she need? Aside from rain, a tent offered little protection against anything formidable. Except spiders. She groaned inwardly, watching as a gangly daddy long-leg scurried away from her discarded rods. She’d forgotten about those. Caterpillars, butterflies, even crickets were tolerable. Spiders were another matter. While she knew they weren’t poisonous, she’d hated them as a child, too. 2

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Perhaps she needed a tent after all. The thought of those creepy-crawlies converging on her whilst she slept made her shudder with distaste. Mosquitoes would be another problem. Refusing to subject her tender flesh to the barbarism of thousands of winged bloodsuckers, she snatched the crumpled instructions from the edge of the wooden picnic table next to her designated spot. “Step one,” she mumbled aloud, starting at the top. “Lay tent material flat, being sure to have reinforced floor on ground, and doorway facing desired entry direction.” Cassandra glanced at her deflated shelter. So far so good. “Step two, assemble frame poles by placing ends into attached metal sleeves. Set aside.” This was where she had problems. The instructions made assembling the frame sound far easier than it was. The darn sticks refused to slide into the metal sleeves. She’d already bent a few trying to force them into place. All right, Cassandra. You can do this, she assured herself, trying to be more optimistic than she felt. The stupid box depicted an adolescent kid and his father assembling the damned thing. Surely a twenty-seven-year-old woman with a bachelor’s of science in psychology could accomplish the feat. She rubbed her throbbing temples with the tips of her index and middle fingers. Graham would help if she asked, but dammit! She could figure this out on her own. She shouldn’t need a man’s help for something so trivial. There’s got to be a logical approach to this. 3

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After nearly twenty minutes of unwrapping and untwisting her lot of disheveled poles, she’d organized the mess of protruding sticking and knotted stretchy-cords into five neat piles, three of which had three-sections, while the remaining ones only had two. She figured there was a good reason for that, she just wasn’t too sure what it might be. “Does it matter which poles I put together first?” she called to Graham. “Nope.” He’s a lot of help. Grumbling beneath her breath, she laid one of the threesectioned poles along the ground, trying to line up the ends of each piece with its adjacent metal sleeve. Starting at the lower section, she slid the end of the stick into the connector, being careful to hold the pieces horizontal to one another. Surprisingly, it slipped into place without protest. Cassandra attacked the remaining piles with new fervor, feeling a little more confident in her abilities. When she’d finished all five, she consulted her instructions once again, picking up at step three. “Slide longer frame poles through sleeves on tent roof, crisscrossing them over the center.” She peered around the edge of her paper, eyeballing her flaccid shelter. How could a mass of flimsy, wrinkled material be so intimidating? Setting her directions aside, she took the end of one long pole and finagled it through the fabric sleeve across the tent’s roof, sliding the floppy dowel forward until she reached what she estimated to be the middle. Then she repeated the task with the remaining two poles. 4

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Cassandra scrutinized the results. Her tent looked like some kind of wounded animal with spears jutting from its innards. She shook her head. On to step four. “Starting with poles on either side of doorway, secure ends on ringed metal spikes. Repeat with opposite ends, carefully lifting center of tent into standing position. Note, this step requires at least two people.” Feeling sweat trickle along her scalp, Cassandra scratched her head. So much for doing this on my own. “Hey, Graham? I think I might need some help here.” He didn’t reply. Cassandra glanced over at Heather and Graham’s finished shelter and snorted with disgust. They know what they’re doing, she told herself, trying not to feel like an idiot. “Guys? You in there?” She walked over to their tent, listening intently for any telltale sounds of fooling around. The last thing she wanted to see was her best friend getting it on with her boyfriend. She knew the likelihood of them remaining celibate on this camping excursion were slim to none—frankly, she couldn’t blame them, she’d love to have someone to snuggle up with tonight—but she had no desire to witness what Heather described as some straight-up kinky sex. “Hello?” Cassandra peered through the doorway. Except for a double-sized sleeping bag laid neatly in the center, the inside was empty. A quick sweep of the rest of their site confirmed that they’d both apparently left. 5

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Damn! Now what do I do? She stared at her lifeless shelter, all skewered and deflated. Surely I can get the center up myself. With a determined huff, she tossed the heavy end of her thick braid over her right shoulder and started toward her tent. She’d at least give it her best try. If all else failed, she’d simply wait until the others returned, admit defeat, and ask for help. They shouldn’t be gone long. After all, it’d be dark in a couple more hours. Cassandra stooped next to the pole on the right side of the tent doorway. Taking hold of the jutting end, she bent the pliable rod into an arch. Then, using her free hand, she searched through the tent fabric and located the metal ring. The hollowed end of the dowel slipped easily into place. She released the skewered pole and stepped to the other side of the doorway. The weight of the fabric on the bowed rod immediately caused it to sway to the side. “Dammit!” Cassandra leapt forward, grabbing it before it hit the ground. Now she understood why the instructions suggested having an extra pair of hands. Chewing her lower lip, she debated her dilemma. Darkness approached quickly. The cover of trees above dimmed the light even more. Soon she wouldn’t be able to see at all. She didn’t have time to wait on Heather and Graham to return. Cassandra huffed, blowing a wayward lock of curly red hair out of her eyes. She decided to secure the rod’s opposite 6

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end before moving to the next one. Perhaps she could balance it once both were in place. Arching the pliant dowel, she tugged the fabric along the bend, slowly raising the center above her head. When she reached the opposite side without mishap, she began to feel a little more confident. Maybe she didn’t need help after all. Cassandra slipped the hollowed end onto the metal stake. Holding the taut rod with her right hand, she reached to the jutting dowel on her left. If she could just balance the first one while she secured the next… The floppy arch jutted sharply to the right. “Oh no! Don’t fall!” she begged, lunging for her collapsing shelter. Her fingernails scraped the fabric as it pitched beyond her reach. Just when she thought she’d been defeated, a thick muscled forearm shot over her head, catching the fleeting form. “Looks like you could use a hand,” a deep voice rumbled above. “Thanks,” Cassandra breathed heavily, a little taken aback by the man’s sudden appearance. Not knowing what else to do, she crawled out of the way while he pulled the bent rod back into place. Reaching the outer edge of the fabric, she stepped onto the ground and stood to face her timely savior. She wasn’t sure where he’d come from, but she was grateful he’d arrived.

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CHAPTER 2 Her assessing gaze slowly took in his full six-foot frame, starting with the weathered brown work boots adorning his large feet. They looked aged but comfortable, though their thick-ridged soles seemed more apt for climbing or hiking rather than work. Worn jeans clung to his brawny thighs and square hips, the softened material outlining the strength in his legs and sizable groin with unsettling clarity. Cassandra blushed, focusing instead on the ragged hole marring the material over his right knee. Hoping he hadn’t noticed her wayward investigation of his crotch, she continued her appraisal. A blue and red plaid shirt hung loose and open from broad 8

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shoulders and a wide chest, layered over a slightly stained white tank top that adhered nicely to his bulging pecs and taut abs. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing his darkly tanned forearms. A sprinkling of fine brown hair covered his skin. Her gaze settled on the dark curls blanketing his upper chest. She had the strangest urge to slide her hands through the wiry wisps, tangle her fingers within that glorious nest of manliness. She could almost feel the tendrils wrapping around her skin. God! She loved a hairy chest. The man cleared his throat, instantly drawing her attention to his face. Cassandra’s cheeks grew warm. How long had she been staring? Five, ten seconds? Oh, Lord! She must look a fool. Her stint of self-reproach halted the moment their eyes met. She vaguely took in the dark locks of chocolate-colored hair feathering his brow, the day’s worth of near black stubble covering his square chin and sharp jaw, and the appealing tilt to his firm mouth. But it was his eyes that held her captivated. Even across the span of five feet between them, they were such a piercing green they hailed her full attention. Not the color of emerald or forest, but rather the stark hue of spring leaves, so bright and radiant they must have been gifted by Mother Nature herself. Or perhaps the devil had granted that soul-startling stare, for there was certainly something feral within those neon depths that made her heart pound with a mixture of excitement and fear. 9

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It wasn’t until she gasped for air that Cassandra realized she’d held her breath. “Sorry, you kinda startled me,” she fumbled, feeling like an idiot. He chuckled. “You looked like you could use a little help.” The words caressed her ears, then trickled down her spine, causing her to shudder. Cassandra absently nodded. “Yes, thank you,” she replied tightly. Had his lips moved? She didn’t recall. Surely so. He had spoken, after all. Something about him struck her as odd. His clothes were old and a little unkempt. His hair hadn’t seen a comb in at least a day—nothing unusual for someone who’d been camping. Yet, its disheveled appearance only added to his rugged allure. Still, uneasiness knotted her insides. Something didn’t seem right about him. Where exactly had he come from? She inconspicuously glanced about the surrounding campsites. All were vacant. It was almost as though he’d simply emerged from the trees. “If you could just hold that in place, I’ll set the other posts,” she offered, then started toward the protruding dowel on her left without waiting for his reply. “So…are you camping nearby?” She hoped she didn’t sound too inquisitive. If he was some crazy serial killer, she certainly didn’t want to encourage him. However, if he were simply a fellow camper happening by, she wouldn’t mind finding out a little more about him. A quick glance at his bare left hand 10

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suggested he might be single. There was a long pause before he answered. Finding his silence a little disquieting, Cassandra glanced over at him. His eyes locked hers in a dominating stare, holding her gaze captive for several long seconds. Her pulse raced. She suddenly felt hot and sticky. More sweat trickled along her brow. Just when she thought she’d look away, he offered a strangely calming smile. “Actually, I’m up on Miner’s Ridge, above Gold Bluffs Beach. I was just on my way to use the showers when I noticed your distress.” Cassandra arched her right brow with suspicion. “Don’t they have showers where you’re at?” He grinned. “Not in backcountry. That’s primitive camping at its finest.” “Primitive,” she scoffed. “Camping doesn’t get much more primitive than this.” He chuckled at her sarcasm. “I guess that depends on whether or not you consider running water and flushing toilets a luxury.” “Oh.” She hadn’t thought about that. While their site was at the back of Elk Prairie campgrounds, the closest showers and flushing toilets were only a quarter mile down the road—well within walking distance. Thank God for modern conveniences. Returning to the task at hand, she slipped the metal spike into the frame post’s hollowed sleeve, then stepped around the 11

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tent to secure the other end. Even without looking, she felt his eyes follow her backside. Another shudder wracked her frame, and when she bent to place the pole, she noticed that her hands shook. Realizing she hadn’t eaten in hours, she knew she’d pushed herself a little too far. She’d squatted and crawled all over that damned campsite, fighting with her tent. It was time to take a break. Sweat drenched her shirt, causing it to cling to her moist skin. She needed something to drink, but the coolers were in the truck with Heather and Graham. Until they returned, she was pretty much shit-out-of-luck. Despite the twittering of birds overhead, the buzz of bees whizzing by, and the chirping of crickets in the brush, stillness had settled in the air. Cassandra drew in a long, tight breath, feeling the calm like a blanket over her head, stifling, suffocating. She felt weak and dizzy. Her head began to swim as she struggled to breathe. Although she was already crouched low, the ground tilted sharply and she sat down heavily on her backside. Stark panic gripped her insides. She was going to faint. Sensing her distress, the man instantly released the curved dowel and rushed to her aid. It lurched to the right, taking the raised tent with it, and landed on the ground with a clack! Dismissing the fallen structure, he squatted down in front of her. “Are you okay?” Concern knitted his thick brows. Cassandra tried to shake her head, but it merely lolled back 12

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on her neck as her vision began to fail. “I think I’m going to— ” “Hey! Don’t pass out on me,” he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders and preventing her from falling back onto the ground. “Can you hear me?” He gave her a hard shake. Cassandra forced her head up and her eyes open. She focused on his handsome face, mere inches from her own. “I need a drink,” she murmured. “Here, you can have my Coke. Can you sit without falling over?” She nodded and leaned forward onto her hands, propping herself up. He jumped to his feet and started for the picnic table, where he promptly retrieved his abandoned soda. “I just opened it,” he said, returning to squat in front of her once again. He held the can toward her. “I haven’t drunk out—” She snatched it out of his hand without waiting for an explanation. They could talk later. If she didn’t get some sugar in her system, she’d pass out for sure, and somehow the thought of being at the mercy of a complete stranger didn’t sound too appealing. After several large gulps, her hands ceased to shake and she felt a little better. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m fine now. I think all that squatting and standing made me dizzy.” “Don’t mention it,” he cut in, drawing a gentle forefinger along her jaw. “I’m just glad I was here to help.” 13

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Her skin tingled in its wake. “Me, too,” she murmured, her gaze fastened on his mouth. For a fleeting moment, she thought he might kiss her. The signs were all there, the dipping of his head, the parting of his lips. Unfortunately, Heather and Graham pulled up. Heather leapt out the passenger door of the old Ford pickup before its front tires had even come to a complete stop. “Cassie! Oh, my God! What happened?” She rushed toward Cassandra, unknowingly interrupting what might have been the best moment of the whole impending camping excursion. When the man stood up and moved aside, allowing Heather full access, Cassandra felt the absence of his closeness as profoundly as she would the absence of air. There was no denying the attraction between them. Damn Heather’s timing! “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Thanks to…” Cassandra glanced at the stranger, suddenly realizing she hadn’t even asked his name. “Cray,” he offered. “Thanks to Cray. He was helping me put up the tent—after you two deserted me,” she jibed. “And…I don’t know, I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in hours, and I guess I got weak.” With Heather’s insistent aid, Cassandra got to her feet, then shook away her friend’s lingering hand. “I’m fine now, really. Cray gave me his Coke. That’s all I needed.” “I’m sorry, Cassie. I had to use the bathroom and Graham 14

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wanted to find out where we could buy firewood.” “You can’t buy it here,” Cray explained. “You have to gather your own.” Graham nodded. “Yeah, I know.” His tone was anything but cordial. “A guy at the restroom told me.” Cray didn’t reply. Cassandra could tell by the narrowing of Graham’s eyes that he didn’t trust this guy. She didn’t know why he should be so suspicious; Cray’s appearance had come in handy, in more ways than one. And besides, they were the ones who’d left her at the mercy of a tent assembly from hell. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” Cray said suddenly. “I’m sure your friends can help you with your tent now…Cassandra.” He used her full name. Odd, she didn’t recall giving it. Heather had called her “Cassie.” Don’t be paranoid. Anyone with half a brain could figure out that “Cassie” is short for “Cassandra.” When she didn’t respond, Cray turned to leave. “Wait, would you like to stay a while?” she blurted, ignoring Graham’s disapproving frown. “I mean, I’m sure Heather and Graham still have some unpacking to do. I…wouldn’t mind your help with the tent, if you have a few minutes to spare,” she offered hopefully, not caring that she almost sounded desperate. Cray smiled. “Sure, I don’t mind,” he said, also ignoring Graham’s obvious unhappiness. “I’m free. Er…I mean…I 15

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don’t have other plans,” he hurriedly corrected, running a hand through his already disheveled locks. His tanned face reddened a bit. Noticing his embarrassment at the inadvertent proposal of his availability, Cassandra grinned. Perhaps she’d found her Tarzan after all. Suddenly, a few days out in the wilderness didn’t sound so bad.

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CHAPTER 3 Watching Graham from the corner of his eye, Cray walked over to Cassandra’s tent and stooped to retrieve the collapsed center. There was something strange about her male friend, something that needled his suspicion. Wariness knotted his insides. His aversion was mutual. From the moment the two arrived, Graham had made his dislike apparent. He wasn’t sure what roused his apprehension, but Cray intended to keep an eye on him. When Graham finally jumped in the pickup and pulled off, he almost sighed with relief. It’d been a long time since another male had invoked his predatory sense of dominance, 17

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and that typically didn’t bode well. If his instincts were correct, Graham was definitely more than he appeared. Cray turned his focus on Heather, who’d busied herself with unpacking tubs of food and supplies. Reading her aura, he determined she was harmless. And human. For now. His gaze swung to Cassandra, who squatted next to one of the protruding tent rods. She fumbled with the end, trying unsuccessfully to fit it over the little metal stake. After letting out a string of curses that made him chuckle, she finally succeeded, flashing him an exultant smile before moving to the opposite side. At that moment, the gods saw fit to cast a final ray of sunlight through the thick canopy of trees above and baste her delicate features in a splay of fiery brilliance. Struck by her natural beauty, Cray’s breath hitched in his throat. He’d appreciated her comeliness before, but now he saw her inner splendor as well. Against his will, he felt the pull of a deeply rooted primordial calling. He wanted this female, he couldn’t deny, but giving in to such urges could lead to disaster. It was a risk he couldn’t take. Still, he’d been alone for so long. Surely one night would be safe. If she obliged. He mentally shook his head, relinquishing such irrational thought. His long years of celibacy clouded his judgment. If the old myths were accurate… As though sensing his stare, Cassandra glanced up from 18

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her hunched position. “You’re watching me,” she accused, a smile tugging the corners of her full peachy lips. “Sorry,” Cray mumbled, embarrassed at having been caught. You should have kept going, his conscience scolded. You shouldn’t have stopped. She’d have been fine without you. He thought about her bout of dizziness and had to admit that perhaps not. Perhaps his happening by was more than chance. What if she was his one true mate? Stop it, man! Before you drive yourself crazy. He’d given up on that notion a long time ago, accepting that his one true mate simply didn’t exist, that the idea was merely a lie created by his primal ancestors in an attempt to keep his kind from going insane. And yet, he’d lived his long years in fear of the old lore, yearning for its promise, while at the same time, cursing the cruelty of its terms. He refused to sentence anyone to such a horrid fate. “That’s it for the middle,” Cassandra announced, sufficiently drawing him out of his morbid thoughts. “Just two more for the ends, then we’re done.” Cray offered a half-smile, his stomach knotting painfully as he took in her triumphant expression. She was so beautiful with her soft hazel eyes, fiery red hair, pert breasts, and long slender legs. Unaware of his scrutiny, she turned to retrieve her instructions, offering him an unobstructed view of her backside as well. Her beige T-shirt, moist with perspiration, hugged her narrow shoulders and lean back like a second skin. Her arms, 19

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while still feminine, were slightly muscular and firm. She was trim—probably exercised regularly—and watched what she ate. Her braided ponytail slapped her spine as she walked. Cray’s tongue moistened his bottom lip. He wondered, when unbound, if her hair would hang in soft waves down her back. He inhaled deeply, drawing in a long scented draft. The aromas of peonies and white musk tickled his nose, tantalizing his senses. He savored her essence, wishing he could explore it further. Then his gaze dropped to her small waist and heart-shaped derrière outlined perfectly in her cutoff jean shorts. The suppressed carnal urges within begin to break free and his heart rate quickened. How he’d love to grip those shapely hips while he plundered her from behind. Suddenly realizing his lecherous thoughts had brought forth an unwanted reaction down below, he averted his gaze and turned his back, lest she notice his obvious arousal. He couldn’t be tempted, couldn’t take the risk. Knowing to stay much longer would only bring him more misery, he quickly set about helping her finish assembling the tent. Besides, he wanted to return to the house to consult his notes—there’d be no camping for him tonight. Tomorrow was the beginning of the full moon cycle; there were preparations to be made. If his hunch about Graham was right, Cassandra and her friend were in danger. Still, he knew he couldn’t just walk away without the chance of seeing her again. Against his better judgment, he 20

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asked, “How long are you planning on staying?” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Until checkout time Sunday. I’ll probably be bored to death by then.” Cray chuckled. “How do you feel about hiking?” Cassandra stopped fumbling with the tent, focusing on him instead. “I love it. Why?” “Well, I was thinking maybe I could show you some of the sights here. The James Irvine Trail is a good hike. It starts at the visitor center and ends at Fern Canyon. If we pick up the Coastal Trail there, I can take you to Minor’s Ridge. The view is spectacular.” She beamed with excitement. “Really? I’d love to.” Heather turned in their direction, her expression a little perturbed. “How long will that take?” Cray glanced from one woman to the other. “Oh, it’ll take all day. It’s an eleven mile hike.” “What’ll you do about food? Drinks?” Heather challenged. “I’ve got plenty of supplies locked up in bear-proof containers at my campsite. I’ll pack some drinks to take with—” “Bear-proof containers?” Cassandra cut in. “There’re bears here?” Concern laced her tone. “Black bears, coyotes, mountain lions, but don’t worry, the bears are more afraid of you than you are of them. The coyotes mainly stay on the prairies, and cougars tend to hang around the streams,” Cray explained, setting the last tent rod. “We’ll be fine.” “Don’t bears attack people?” Heather had stopped 21

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unpacking, and now faced him with her hands on her hips in a stance that clearly bespoke her unhappiness with the hiking proposal. Cray smiled reassuringly. “Bears are mainly omnivores. They eat plants, nuts, and berries. They do occasionally prey on small mammals, but humans aren’t typically on their diet. The cougars would be more of a concern than bears. As long as we stay together, we’ll be safe. Besides, there’s never been a reported attack on humans in the park.” Cassandra walked over to her friend, positioning herself between Heather and Cray. “Why are you so against this? I thought you’d be all for me meeting someone and enjoying this trip. Wasn’t that what this was supposed to be about?” Although her voice was scarcely above a whisper, Cray heard every word loud and clear. It pleased him to learn Cassandra was single. Not wanting her to think he was eavesdropping, he busied himself with securing the rain guard across the top of her tent. Heather crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose so.” “Heather, I don’t want to be a tagalong for Graham and you. I’m sorry, but that’s not my idea of a good time. I’d really like to see some of the sights. And this way, you can spend some alone time with your boyfriend without having to entertain me.” Heather leaned closer to Cassandra. “But do you trust him? I mean, you’ll be miles away from here. I won’t know if you’re in trouble or not. What if you get lost? What if he turns out to be a serial killer or something? I mean, come on, Cassie, 22

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think about it.” Cassandra shook her head with incredulity. “What if I take some mace? I have it packed in my bag. Will that make you feel better? Heather reluctantly nodded. “Good.” Cassandra turned back toward Cray. “What time are we leaving?”

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CHAPTER 4 Cassandra hated to see Cray go, but she couldn’t very well beg him to stay any longer—not without sounding completely and utterly desperate—and she had too much pride for that. But at least he’d promised to return in the morning and show her around the park. While she had to admit the assumption was a stretch, she took that as a date. Graham pulled up within moments after Cray left, bearing a shit-load of firewood and two bags of ice. Cassandra helped him unload the truck while Heather iced the drinks in one cooler and the food in the other. It was dark by the time they’d finished stacking the wood and starting a fire. Exhausted, Cassandra collapsed into one of the lawn 24

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chairs. This type of exertion wasn’t quite the same as going to the gym. If she weren’t so hungry, she’d have gone straight to bed. “You girls ready to eat?” Graham pulled a large roll of hamburger patties from the food cooler. His attitude was strangely jovial. “I’m starving!” Cassandra confessed, relieved Graham’s foul mood seemed to have lifted. “Me, too,” Heather concurred. Graham laughed. “Then these will be the best damned burgers you’ve ever had!” Cassandra’s stomach rumbled with anticipation. She hoped it didn’t take long. She planned on eating, taking a quick shower, and hitting the sack. She doubted even the chirping crickets could keep her awake tonight. Heather set about getting out chips, condiments, and drinks, while Graham grilled the meat in a flat metal basket that conveniently held the food in place between its compressed grates. Ever so often, he’d flip the contraption over to cook the other side. Too pooped to move, Cassandra lounged in her chair and watched. Grease dripped from the sizzling patties onto the fire, causing it to crackle and steam. The savory aroma of cooking hamburgers drifted to her noise. Cassandra’s stomach growled again. It wouldn’t be long. “How do you like your burger?” Graham asked, drawing her out of her famished daze where a vision of hamburgers danced in her head. 25

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“Huh? Oh, well-done, please.” His brows knitted with distaste. “Suit yourself, one charcoal-brick coming up.” “I don’t want it burned,” she corrected. “Just cooked through. No red in the center.” Graham glanced over at her from his hunched position by the fire. Perhaps it was the dancing flames or the play of light, but something flashed in his gaze that gave her a start. For the briefest moment, he didn’t look like himself. He was…something else. “But that’s the best part,” he admonished, a strange reddish flicker deep within his copper-colored stare. He sounded exasperated, as though not quite believing her taste. Cassandra nearly choked on her aversion. “That’s okay,” she gasped out. Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll stick with well-done.” “As you wish,” he replied, his tone a bit snippy as he returned his attention to the hissing meat. She watched in silence as Graham set aside two burgers that still looked far too raw to eat, then replaced the grilling basket and remaining patties over the flames. Grease seeped from the undercooked meat, filling the bottom of their plate with a pool of repulsive bloody juice. Cassandra turned away from the half-submerged burgers, unable to bear the sight. She hoped Heather didn’t eat one. It wasn’t safe. Raw hamburger carried parasites. Feeling a bit uncomfortable around Graham, she decided to help Heather fix the plates. “What can I do?” she asked, 26

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approaching the picnic table. Heather glanced at her and smiled. “Nothing. Just go sit and enjoy the fire. I bought individually wrapped chips—it’s easier than large bags. Here’s a plate, grab whatever you like.” Cassandra took the Styrofoam disc. She snatched a bag of cheese curls from the mound of assorted chips and placed them on the edge of her plate, then chose a hamburger bun and proceeded to garnish it with a generous amount of ketchup, mustard, and pickles. The onions she could do without. “Burgers are done,” Graham yelled. Praying they were cooked through—she didn’t dare ask him to grill hers any longer—she selected a can of diet soda from the cooler and headed toward the fire pit. After dropping her drink in the holder on the arm of her chair, she approached Graham and held out her plate. “Here ya go, my dear. Well done, just as ordered,” he cheerily announced. All traces of his prior irritation were gone. “Thanks,” Cassandra replied, sandwiching the burger within her prepared bun. She returned to her seat, her mouth salivating in preparation. Heather approached him next, plate in hand. Thankfully, she took one of the cooked burgers as well. That meant Graham would eat the remaining two. “Oh, yuck! Surely you’re going to cook those a little more. They’re friggin’ raw!” Heather wrinkled her nose with distaste. “Taste just fine to me.” Graham took a big bite out of one 27

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of his dripping burgers. Blood dribbled onto his chin. As though not wanting to waste a single drop, he quickly swiped it away, then sucked it from his fingertip. He flashed Heather a challenging grin. Cassandra gagged. Suddenly, her hamburger didn’t seem too appealing. She sat the half-eaten portion aside. Maybe she’d just eat cheese curls tonight. “That’s disgusting, Graham,” Heather rebuked. “You’ve never eaten your burgers like that. What’s gotten in to you? Ever since you came back from that trip with—” “You know, I’m sick of hearing you say that,” he snapped. “You’ve been on my case nonstop. I told you, nothing’s changed about me, babe. It’s you.” There was a cockiness in his tone Cassandra had never heard before. Her mouth dropped to her chin. What’s going on here? Graham and Heather never fought. They were like the perfect couple. Yet, she had to admit, he was acting peculiar, and uncharacteristically arrogant. Goose bumps infected her arms and legs as she thought about the feral red gleam in his stare, earlier by the fire. It reminded her of some sort of wild animal. Or… Predator. Cassandra mentally shook herself. You’re just tired. We all are. She refused to believe Graham was anything but himself. The last thing she wanted to be in the middle of was a lover’s quarrel. Not tonight. Deciding to intervene, she said, 28

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“So you just came back from a trip?” Ignoring his girlfriend’s furious glare at his preceding insinuation, Graham turned his attention to Cassandra. “Yeah! A hell of a trip,” he exclaimed, his expression brightening with something akin to excitement. “Me and some of the boys went camping up in Canada. It was great. Had a blast.” Cassandra nodded, smiling at his enthusiasm as she popped the tab on her soda can. “Did you do any fishing? Hunting?” she asked, hoping to keep him in his current good spirits. “A little bit,” he replied, his gaze growing distant as he pondered some secret event of his trip. “It was quite an…educational experience.” His voice became an eerie whisper. “Did they teach you to eat raw meat?” Heather cut in, obviously determined to continue their feud. “I learned a lot of things on that trip,” he snarled, the muscles in his jaw clenching with infuriation. “Things about myself I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate.” “Yeah, like you’re really a jerk!” she practically screamed. Throwing her plate along with her unfinished burger and bag of chips into the fire, she stomped off toward their tent. Cassandra stared after her friend, unsure of what to say. “Maybe she’s just tired,” she offered, hoping Graham didn’t retaliate. “Ah, the hell with her. She’s been nothing but a bitch lately, and I’ve about had my fill of it.” Cassandra glared at him from the other side of the fire pit. 29

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“You two really shouldn’t call each other names. It’s not healthy.” He snorted with contempt. “I guess you’d know. After all, you’re the shrink.” “I prefer the term ‘therapist,’” she countered with forced composure. He flipped his left hand with an air of indifference. “Whatever.” “I’m sure we’ll all feel better in the morning,” she murmured, taking a sip of her soda. Heather hadn’t mentioned anything about them having problems. She wondered how long it’d gone on. Graham leaned forward in his chair, his eyes piercing hers with that strange glimmer like before. “Do you believe in werewolves, Cassie?” Cassandra choked on her drink. “What?” she sputtered, wiping soda from her chin. “Werewolves,” he repeated, as though the question was quite within the norm. “Well, no. I don’t,” she replied. “Why?” “Why not?” His fixed gaze was relentless. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, Cassandra shifted in her chair. “Because they don’t exist.” “What if I told you I saw one, in Canada?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he stretched out his legs and leaned back in his chair. The heels of his hiking boots were mere inches from the metal fire pit. “More likely a wolf or something,” she countered with a 30

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diminutive laugh. “Um, you’re going to melt your shoes if you’re not careful there.” He pulled his feet in toward his chair. “And what would you know about wolves?” he scoffed. Cassandra didn’t care for his contemptuous frown. If he were looking for a fight, he wasn’t going to get it from her. “Nothing, but I do know a bit about lycanthropes and their link to schizophrenia.” That caught him off guard. His haughty expression faltered. “Lycowhat?” “Lycanthropes, people who believe they’re werewolves,” she explained, pleased she’d shown him up and wiped that despicable grimace from his face. “I did a study in college on therianthropy, the mental transformation of a human into some sort of animal form where the subject displays characteristics of both.” “What did you discover in your studies?” he said with a sneer. “That it’s all in their heads,” she replied, her tone nonchalant as she took another sip from her can. “In all cases, the subjects were determined to have schizophrenia. While they carried on like the animal they thought they were— crawling about on their hands and feet, snarling, growling, clawing at the air, even eating raw meat—none displayed any physical change.” As though to goad her, Graham devoured his second burger with fervor, once again making sure he didn’t waste a 31

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single bite. When he’d finished, he made a show of licking his fingers and hands, like a dog cleaning his paws. The whole display proved disgusting. “Graham, did you get bit or something? Because if so, you need to get yourself to a doctor. While I doubt you’ve become a werewolf, contracting rabies, however, is a possibility with any wild animal. You really shouldn’t eat raw meat, you know? It carries parasites.” He chuckled at her advice as though she were daft. Then he stretched, his entire body going rigid in his chair as he extended his arms above his head and legs out before him. Settling himself more comfortably in his seat, he resumed his vigilant stare. “You ever read Little Red Riding Hood?” he asked, his gaze making an obvious sweep of her seated frame before returning to her face. “Sure,” Cassandra replied, feeling naked beneath his invading scrutiny. “By the Grimm brothers. They wrote a lot of fairytales.” “Where do you think they got their ideas for the creatures in the stories?” The arrogance had returned to his voice. Cassandra shrugged. She really didn’t care. This conversation was obviously a lost cause, and there was no point in engaging him any longer. Graham could believe in werewolves, vampires, witches, whatever he liked. She was ready to go to bed. Graham grinned as though he’d finally gotten one over on her. Pleased by some inherent sense of superiority, he said, 32

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“Folklore had to originate from somewhere, Cassie.” Cassandra grunted. “Good imaginations,” she countered. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hit the hay. I’m beat.” Deciding to shower in the morning, she pushed herself out of her chair and turned toward her tent. “I heard you’re going hiking with that guy in the morning,” he called after her. “Don’t be out late, Cassie, tomorrow’s the full moon.” Cassandra’s step faltered. She glanced over her shoulder at him. While his lips had curled into a teasing grin, his eyes weren’t laughing. He was dead serious. Determined not to give him the pleasure of scaring her, she slipped into her tent, zipping the door shut behind her.

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CHAPTER 5 Cray arrived bright and early, just as promised. Cassandra remained seated by the fire pit, sipping her instant coffee and watching as he approached. She might not be so good at tent assembly, but she sure as hell could start a fire. Morning coffee was a must. Watching him above the rim of her mug, she took in his full form with open appreciation. His worn jeans clung in all the right places, hugging his ample groin and powerful thighs as he walked. While no hole marred his right knee like the other pair, this one had thinned a bit in the crotch, making Cassandra wonder if he wouldn’t bust right through with sufficient stimulation. 34

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The idea proved tempting. She moved her investigation higher, to the stark white of his tank top. Unlike the one he wore yesterday, this one bore no stains. A red flannel shirt draped casually over his shoulder, held in place with his right hand. Cassandra couldn’t help but notice his bulging bicep. With his thick legs, narrow waist, flat stomach, and wide chest, she guessed he probably worked out. Few were lucky to maintain such a powerful physique without some sort of conditioning. “Mornin’.” He stopped a few feet in front of her. Giving him a coy grin over the rim of her mug, Cassandra sipped her drink. “Mornin’ yourself. Would you like some coffee?” Cray shook his head. “Already had some. Thanks. You ready? It’s a long hike, we should get started.” His gaze slid to Heather and Graham’s tent. Cassandra could read the unasked question in his expression. She really wished Graham and he could get along; it would be fun to do things as couples. The thought gave her a pause. Couples? She was getting a bit ahead of things. He’d asked her to go on a hike, nothing more. No point in getting her hopes up just yet. “They’re still asleep. I doubt they’ll be up before noon. Honestly, I don’t see how anyone would want to waste away the day in bed.” Her cheeks burned as she realized the implication of her statement. Cray’s mouth curled into an impish grin. “I suppose that 35

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depends on what they’re doing.” The seductive purr in his voice made her insides tingle. A bolt of longing shot through her apex. Had he not been watching, she’d have squeezed her thighs together to stifle the tingling sensation between her legs. Sweet Jesus! She wanted him bad. Perhaps she’d gone too long without a man. While she generally didn’t jump in bed on the first date, she’d have gladly taken him into her tent and fucked his brains out had he offered. His smug grin suggested he’d guessed the line of her thoughts. Cassandra felt heat scald her cheeks. Trying to regain some measure of dignity, she cleared her throat. “Let me get my bag. I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I just packed a change of clothes.” Cassandra wanted to crawl under her chair when she realized that she’d just incriminated herself even further. A change of clothes. Great! Now he’d think she’d planned on spending the night with him. “That’s good. You’ll probably want to change once we get to the beach.” He held out his hand to help her out of her chair. Cassandra’s palm tingled when she placed it in his. “The beach?” “Yeah,” he said with a boyish smile. “I thought you’d like to go to the beach, maybe play in the tide pools a while. There’s usually an abundance of sea life there, if you like that kind of stuff.” He pulled her to her feet, then released her hand, much to 36

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her chagrin. She rather liked the feel of his warm skin against hers. She didn’t doubt the rest of her would enjoy his touch equally as much. If she were lucky, perhaps she’d find out before the day’s end. Cassandra finished the rest of her coffee in one gulp and set the mug on the picnic table. “I told Heather not to expect me back until late,” she said, snatching her tote and tossing it over her shoulder. Cray grinned. “Good.” Reclaiming her hand, he guided her down the path toward the Visitor Center. “I need to grab my pack from the truck. It’s parked at the visitor center. We’ll pick up the trail there.” Cassandra mutely nodded, more focused on the feel of his hand than their impending hike. At that moment, she didn’t give a rat’s ass where they started or ended, just as long as the in-between included him. She expected today would be unlike any she’d had in a long while and thoroughly looked forward to it. *

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Cray loved the feel of Cassandra’s small palm within his; his skin tingled at her touch. And while he longed to pull her close for a mind blowing kiss, he knew better than to test fate. Until he assured himself of his control around her, he didn’t dare venture for more than holding hands. He could tell she wanted him. He’d seen it in her face—the unwavering gaze and rounded pupils, the blush-kissed cheeks and quickened breaths, all gave away her attraction. He’d been 37

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around long enough to know the signs. Had she not been wearing that confounded sweatshirt, he imagined her nipples would have pointed toward him like little icebergs atop twin peaks. His own breaths quickened as he thought about her pert breasts. He’d love nothing more than to wrap his hands around those firm globes and lave their tips with his tongue. With her red hair and fair skin, he imagined her nipples would be a delicate pink, soft and pale like fresh carnations, just the way he liked them. His cock stiffened at the thought of spewing his seed across her jutting mounds. He wondered if she’d like that. Of course, her cotton shorts weren’t helping his willpower either. They embraced her groin with perfection, showcasing her small feminine vee with tantalizing clarity. By the way the soft material dipped into her middle, he could tell her channel would be a tight fit. Cray grit his teeth as his dick strained his jeans. Using his free hand, he shifted his package a little to the right. Stifling a groan, he willed his member to soften; this would be a trying day. Oblivious to his torment, Cassandra squeezed his hand. “You may have to slow down a bit.” Her musical voice played his innards like the strings on a harp. “I’m afraid my stride isn’t quite as long as yours.” Cray glanced down at her. Seeing the exertion on her face as she struggled to keep up, he instantly felt guilty. “Sorry.” He slowed his pace. 38

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When they reached his truck, Cassandra stood by the wayside while he retrieved his things. “That looks heavy,” she appraised, eyeballing his pack as he slipped it over his shoulders. “It’s not too bad. I wanted to make sure I brought some drinks. Don’t want you passing out on me.” She blushed and dropped her gaze to the ground. “Yeah, well that was my own stupidity,” she fumbled. “I was running on empty before I tried to tackle that tent.” Cray grunted. “The trail starts over there.” He pointed to a sign clearly labeling the James Irvin Trail entrance. After locking and shutting the truck’s door, he turned to face her. “It’s a long hike, you sure you can make it?” A look of challenge crossed her face. “Are you suggesting I can’t?” She folded her arms over her chest, her eyes sparkling with defiance. He chuckled. “We’ll see.” With that, he turned on his heels and started for the trail. *

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Cassandra followed Cray in silence for a long while. She wanted to grab his hand, but from the stiffness of his spine and determination of his stride, she wasn’t too sure how he might respond. She almost sighed out loud when he finally spoke. “Watch your step. These leaves can be slick.” He stopped to help her over a fallen log, wrapping his fingers around hers. “Did you know gold miners used this trail in the 1800s?” Cassandra shook her head. “Really?” She noticed he 39

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hadn’t released her hand. It seemed whatever had been bothering him before had left. She was glad; she wanted today to be fun, and his brooding silence was a bit unnerving. Besides, she couldn’t very well seduce him if he were in a foul mood. After hurdling several fallen trees, Cray pulled her to stand on the side of the trail. “Look up,” he said, his voice full of contagious awe. Cassandra did as he instructed, lifting her gaze from the base of the tree and craning her head back. Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my.” The trees towered above them as far as the eye could see, their soaring trunks interrupted only by a canopy of foliage and vines several hundred feet up. She gulped, captivated by the sight. Soil mats blanketed the air above her head, enmeshed by tree limbs and elbows, creating an elevated habitat for plants and animals. “It’s like another world up there,” she gasped, breathless with wonder. Cray chuckled. “That awning is similar to what’s found in a tropical rainforest. It’s an entire ecosystem growing in the sky, qualifying this place as a World Biosphere Reserve.” Cassandra didn’t know what to say. It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. But what astounded her even more was Cray’s expertise on the matter. How did he know these things? “You see those thick mats of soil?” He pointed to what looked like a leafy blanket about six feet in diameter that was 40

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trapped in the crook of a tree limb nearly two hundred feet above their heads. Cassandra nodded. “That probably weighs close to a thousand pounds.” Being that the thing would have squashed them both had it chosen that moment to fall, Cassandra had the overwhelming notion to step aside. “Geez, I feel safe.” Cray chuckled at her unease. “Don’t worry. It won’t fall on you. A tree trunk maybe, but not that. There’s so many vines and limbs holding that thing up there…I’d say it’s better constructed than anything man-made.” She wiped moisture from her brow, smoothing back a few tendrils of loose hair. “Why’s the air so wet?” He brushed a wayward curl from her cheek. “The Pacific Ocean is close, which creates fog. That’s why these trees and their microenvironments do so well. It provides the humidity and dampness they need to flourish.” Cassandra tilted her chin a bit, lifting her mouth toward his. “Unfortunately for me, it’s like curl activator for my hair. It’s going to be a mess by the end of the day.” Cray laughed, tucking the errant lock behind her hear. “I like your hair,” he said, dipping his head down. “It’s beautiful, like the rest of you.” Before she could respond, his mouth closed over hers in a soft but thorough kiss. Cassandra’s arms crept up his chest, sliding along his muscled pecs to find their way behind his neck. Pressing herself more fully against him, she returned his affection, letting him know without question that she was open 41

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for more. But as though he’d momentarily forgotten himself— participating in an action he’d had no intention of—he gently pressed her away. With an apologetic smile he said, “We better get moving if we’re going to reach Fern Canyon and Gold Bluffs Beach today.” Hiding the pain of rejection in her acquiescent nod, Cassandra was glad he didn’t take her hand again. She’d obviously been mistaken about his intent. He had hiking in mind, nothing else.

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CHAPTER 6 They’d walked for nearly an hour and a half without relent. Cassandra hadn’t eaten breakfast, and now her stomach grumbled with rebellion. Fearing Cray might hear her groaning innards, she grabbed her midriff. Sweat trickled between her breasts, soaking her bra. She’d love nothing more than to take off all her clothes and dive into the refreshing breakers of the Pacific. Her gaze swept her tourguide’s backside from his broad shoulders down to his athletic posterior, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he might feel about skinny-dipping. “How much farther before we reach the beach?” She tiptoed through a shallow stream, trying her best to 43

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keep her tennis shoes from getting soaked. Not that it mattered. Every part of her was wet from either the foggy moisture in the air or her own perspiration. She’d removed her sweatshirt a long time ago. “We’re almost to Fern Canyon. From there it’s just a short way to the beach. You tired?” Cassandra snorted. “Not at all.” She’d never admit to it. Cray chuckled in response. “Well, I am.” A weakness! Thank God. She was beginning to wonder if he had one. “So tell me about these mountain lions and bears,” she asked nonchalantly as she straddled a large log. “Do I need to be concerned?” She watched as a small jay hopped along the forest floor, scavenging for any morsel of food it might find. Finding an insect that caught its fancy, it dove forward, snatching the unsuspecting critter within its pointed beak before it had a chance to escape. Satisfied with its bounty, the bird disappeared into the thick canopy above. “Not the bears so much,” he said, stopping to reach into his pack. He handed her a soda. Cassandra took the can without question, popping the lid and taking a large gulp. Cray waited for her to finish. Satisfying her thirst, she nodded for him to continue. “They’re beggars,” he explained. “As long as you don’t feed them, they generally don’t come too close. They’re naturally curious, but cautious as well. Unfortunately, many campers don’t use bear-proof lockers or containers, leaving 44

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their food and scraps open for consumption. A fed bear becomes a dangerous bear, increasingly aggressive in their demand for more.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What happens then?” “The park ranger has to put ’em down.” His voice held no emotion. Cassandra choked on her soda. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she sputtered. Cray shrugged. “You might feel differently at the sight of a three hundred sixty pound male charging toward your picnic table.” Stopping before a massive rhododendron bursting with fuchsia blooms, he reached above his head and picked a large cluster, then offered them to her without saying a word. Biting her lower lip, she took the beautiful bouquet, her heart racing at the romantic gesture. Holding them to her nose, she inhaled their delicate scent. “Thank you.” He smiled, then turned on his heels and started down the trail. “Cougars, on the other hand,” he called over his shoulder. “Can be another matter.” Feeling a sudden chill, Cassandra raced to catch up. She had no desire to fall too far behind. Tucking the flower bunching into the top of her tote, she fell in pace beside him. “I guess they’re not interested in hotdogs and potato chips.” Cray grunted. “The thing to remember about them is never turn your back to run away. They’ll chase you down.” Wonderful. 45

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“So let’s say one jumped out onto the trail ahead of us. What would you do?” Cray glanced down at her, smiling with reassurance. “Well, first of all, we’re hiking together. They generally won’t attack unless you’re alone. And children are more likely to be targets than adults. But if you ever happen to find yourself on a cougar’s path, you should shout and wave your arms over your head, giving yourself the appearance of being larger. If it attacks, fight back as aggressively as you can.” Cassandra snorted. “I doubt I’d have much of a chance.” “Don’t be so certain,” he purred, his eyes taking on an ethereal glow. “I bet you can hold your own.” The radiance of his gaze was unsettling, causing her to take a step back. It reminded her of the disconcerting flicker in Graham’s eyes the night before, but unlike his, there was no hostility in Cray’s luminescent stare. No, what she saw was a different kind of hunger. Before she could respond, he said, “That reminds me. Do you carry any sort of weapon for protection? A pocket knife, gun—” “Mace,” she chimed, lifting her nose with an air of superiority. “I keep it on my keys in case I’m ever attacked in a parking lot.” Cray pursed his lips and nodded approval. “That’s good. But you need something a little more convincing. Some males…I mean men aren’t deterred by mace. You need a knife.” He dug into his front pocket. “This should fit your hand 46

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quite nicely,” he said, producing a four-inch knife with a small picture inlaid in its gold-plated handle. Curious, Cassandra held out her hand. Cray placed it in her palm. His fingertips tickled her skin, causing warmth to spread up her arm. Suddenly chilled, a shiver wracked her frame. Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the infectious tingles racing down her spine and focus on the knife’s imprint. An Indian warrior holding a feather-decorated spear stood proudly atop a snow-crested peak. Moonlight danced on his bronzed skin. A large wolf stood stoically by his side. “It’s beautiful.” She carefully pulled out the knife’s fourinch, stainless steel blade. Cray repositioned the opened weapon in her hand, turning it around so that the cutting edge jutted out past her little finger. Then he situated her hand up in front of her face, turning her wrist over so that the knife confronted any potential threat. With an approving nod, he took a step back. “There. If you’re ever attacked, that’s how you should hold your blade.” With her elbow stabilized next to her ribs, Cassandra arced her arm from side to side, creating a slicing motion with the knife’s exposed edge. “Like this?” Cray smiled. “Perfect.” He showed her how to close the knife without cutting herself, then tucked it into her tote. His hand brushed her waist. Leaning forward a bit, Cassandra pressed her hip against his. “You’re making this very difficult,” he charged, the words 47

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a heady exhalation of breath. With an almost pained sigh, he dipped forward and captured her mouth with his. Wasting little time, his tongue barged through her pursed lips, stopping only when it butted against hers. Then he proceeded to tantalize her with a thorough if not aggressive kiss. By the time he’d relinquished his claim, Cassandra was shaken and out of breath. She blinked several times in succession, trying to clear her staggered gaze. Were she not clinging to his forearm, she would likely have sunk to the ground in a quivering mush of wanton need. “You kissed me,” she breathed, refuting his accusation. Cray brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “So I did.” His gaze lingered a bit, then he said, “We better get going. We’re almost at Fern Canyon.” Cassandra rolled her eyes; she couldn’t care less about ferns at the moment. But one thing was for certain, she could tell by the way he’d just kissed her that Cray wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. His reason for hesitance was a mystery; one she intended to crack. She followed along behind him in silence, secretly studying the way the muscles in his posterior flexed as he stepped over various obstacles along the path. She imagined how his athletic derrière would flex as he pumped his stiff cock in and out of her. The vision made her insides clench with anticipation. She pictured him a giving lover, one who took great care in pleasuring his mate. First his hands would transverse her 48

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body, causing havoc in their wake, then his lips would follow. And from the way his tongue had possessed hers, she could only speculate on the wonders it would invoke on her clit. A spear of excitement shot through her apex, making her gasp. Catching her foot on a rock, she tripped. Cassandra stumbled forward a bit before catching her balance, miraculously managing not to fall flat on her face in the dirt behind Cray’s heels. He glanced over his shoulder, his brow arched with concern. “You okay back there?” Cassandra’s face burned with humiliation. “Just twisted my ankle,” she lied. “I’m fine.” Cray grunted. “There are some steps up ahead leading down into the Canyon. They can be slick so watch your step.” The trail began a downward slope, bringing them to the top of a mundane set of wooden stairs that looked to have seen better days. Following along behind Cray, Cassandra descended, being careful to place each foot firmly upon the preceding step. It emptied onto a spacious, stone-encrusted path that hugged a shallow stream. Enormous walls of vegetation comprised of massive ferns dripping with moisture shadowed the meandering stream, a formidable barrier between them and the cliffs of Gold Bluffs Beach. Flabbergasted by the towering greenery around her, Cassandra stared in awe. They were at least thirty feet high. Cray stood behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her backside against him. “Some of those ferns have ancestry dating back to three hundred and twenty49

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five million years ago,” he whispered next to her ear. His warm breath tickled her lobe. Cassandra shuddered. “That’s pretty amazing,” she breathed, trying to concentrate on the wall of foliage and not on the hardness pressing into her backside. As though sensing her dilemma, he pushed himself more firmly against her. “Yes it is,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on her nape. Cassandra’s heart rate quickened. God, it felt so good to have a man do that. She wiggled her bottom, loving the way his dick poked her ass. Cray’s hand strayed to her center, cupping her mound. As his palm stroked her through her clothes, the crotch of her panties grew wet with arousal. Too much more of that and she’d leak through the thin material of her shorts. Fearing she might come right then and there, she stilled his hand. “You’re driving me crazy,” she confessed, turning to face him. Cray offered a boyish grin, indicating he knew damn well what he was doing. “We’ll pick up the Coastal Trail here and make our way around to the beach. There’s a bathroom up on Miner’s Ridge, in case you need it.” Bathroom? Were she not so horny, Cassandra would have slapped him. She didn’t need a bathroom—a blanket maybe, or an air mattress, hell, even a soft patch of grass would do. The idea that he purposely tormented her was infuriating. Pulling away from his grasp, she regained her composure. 50

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“A bathroom would be nice,” she said coolly, casting him an irritated glare. Two could play his game. He stared at her a moment, his right brow cocked inquisitively. Then he shrugged and started down the path, following beside the stream. Cassandra fumed along behind him, pondering the many ways to get even.

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CHAPTER 7 The Coastal Trail to Gold Bluffs Beach wasn’t nearly as far as she’d expected. After exiting the forest, they walked along the bluff in silence, the sounds of ocean life filling the void. Gulls hovered in the air above, crying out their unhappiness even as they feasted on small creatures caught in tidal pools along the water’s edge, while sea lions barked warnings to any winged predators brave enough to enter their assemblage of blubbery frames lining the shore. Cassandra stared out at the choppy whitecaps of the Pacific. The windswept breakers rolled toward land, disintegrating into blankets of frothy foam that spread across the sand, then retreated. Like the purple crabs scampering at 52

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the water’s edge, the luring waves beckoned her to frolic in the shallows. The back and tail of a gray whale emerged from the distant waterline in a graceful arc, releasing a powerful geyser of seawater before disappearing into the cerulean depths below. Unable to contain her excitement, Cassandra grabbed Cray’s arm. “Did you see that?” He smiled down at her. “If we sit on the shore long enough, you’re bound to see more. Come on, I’ll show you the trail up to the bathrooms. But I warn you, they’re not much more than a hole in the ground.” Cassandra offered a half-smile. She hated port-a-potties. Their stench could be overwhelming. After leading her to the narrow path, Cray pointed out a secluded place on the beach, hidden by a massive pile of driftwood on one side, and a cluster of rocks on the other. “I’ll be over there,” he said. Cassandra was grateful he didn’t accompany her up the hill; she needed a few minutes away from him to recuperate. Refusing to let her sexual frustration ruin the rest of the day, she decided to set her annoyance at his indifference aside. Perhaps he’d change his mind. When she returned from the bathroom, Cray had gotten a little more comfortable. With his gorgeous body stretched out on a flannel throw on the sand, he looked like some deity of the Pacific who’d been washed ashore by an errant wave and left for discovery by the next passerby. Offering up a silent thank you to God for her good fortune, she joined him on the 53

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blanket. He’d removed his tank top and unbuttoned his jeans, leaving them slung low across his waist. With his sculpted upper body propped up on one arm, top leg bent, and hips opened wide, he looked all too inviting. Calling on the rational side of herself, she refuted the notion of sex and tried to focus on the small creature in his hand. She wished he’d make up his mind though. One minute he was tickling her tonsils with his gifted tongue and pressing his hardness against her, and the next he acted as though she’d offended him in some way, holding her at arm’s length. Did he want her or not? Cassandra pondered his irrational behavior. It was almost as though he were afraid to get too close. It wasn’t like she expected a lifelong commitment. One afternoon of great sex would do just fine. She tried not to dwell on the tantalizing curls covering his chest, or the dark trail that disappeared into the open waistband of his jeans. There were more important things to attend to at the moment than sliding her fingers along that enticing path. The prospect, however, was tempting; especially when he looked at her as though drinking her in. A chorus of barking sea lions erupted in the background, efficiently drawing her attention away from his groin. Whatever the issue with him was, she had to respect his wishes. It was just that each time he kissed her, she drew closer and closer to the point of ripping both their clothes off and ravishing him on the spot. 54

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She’d been out of the dating loop for a while, it was true. But when did men start playing hard to get? Somehow, it didn’t seem right. “If you cut one of their legs off,” he said, pointing to one of the sea star’s five appendages, “it will grow back. Did you know that?” Cassandra nodded. Actually, she did. She’d taken marine biology in college for one of her electives. Momentarily rolling away from her, Cray placed the creature back into the shallow pool a few feet away from their blanket, then rolled back toward her. “Come here,” he ordered, his deep voice strangely husky. Disregarding her previous plan to stop making herself seem too easy, Cassandra eagerly did as he asked, crawling across the short span between them on her hands and knees. Perhaps a direct approach worked best with this one. Besides, she was much better at seducing than playing coy. *

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Before he could change his mind, Cray pulled her on top of him. His mouth sought hers, claiming it in a possessive kiss. Gripping her waist with his hands, he held her in place while he pressed his groin against her crotch. Her heady sigh made his member swell with anticipation. While he knew he couldn’t possess her as he wished—join their bodies as one—he refused to let the day slip by without tasting her essence. Surely he could control his own urges long enough to satisfy her. 55

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Grabbing her top by the hem, he pulled it over her head. Quickly unhooking her bra, he slipped the straps from her arms and tossed the confining contraption aside. Freed of their restraint, her pert little breasts pressed temptingly against his chest. Rolling her over, Cray proceeded to remove her shorts, then slipped her panties down her long shapely thighs. Holding the garments to his nose, he inhaled deeply, tattooing her scent in his mind. Now he’d never forget. He tossed the articles aside, letting them fall unheeded on the sand. Leaving her briefly to remove his jeans, he worshipped her flawless body with his eyes. She was perfect, beautiful, like he knew she’d be. Her pink nipples hardened beneath his gaze, seemingly begging to be kissed. He gladly obliged. Rejoining her on the blanket, he possessed each one. His tongue laved the first peak, tantalizing it into a pebblelike pea, then moved to the other, renewing her torment. Cassandra arched her back, pressing herself more firmly against his mouth. With a heady moan, she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him in place. Opening his mouth a little wider, Cray drew in the entire peak, tasting as much of her breast as he could without causing her pain. Then he cupped her small mounds, pushing them together as he dipped his tongue deep into her cleavage. She moaned again. His mouth followed the contours of her narrow ribs, placing soft kisses on each ridge before moving to the flat 56

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planes of her belly. He lingered there, his tongue teasing the circle of her navel and the curve of her waist before moving lower. She squirmed against his slow descent, her small hands pressing on his shoulders in an attempt to hurry him up. But Cray had no intention of rushing. He wanted to explore each crevice with his mouth, his hands, his tongue. He wanted to taste her, smell her, and feel every inch to be felt, as much as he could without risk. He wouldn’t waste or hasten a single moment. His mouth glided over the crest of her hip before dropping soft kisses along the planes of her outer thigh and groin. Following along the fiery curls shrouding her center, he outlined her feminine vee, memorizing her body while working his way ever so slowly to the awaiting prize. Gently parting and lifting her legs, he opened her for a more intimate inspection. *

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Cassandra gladly gave him access to what he sought. Her whole body trembled in anticipation. She hadn’t felt so alive in a long while. He touched her as though he’d known her forever, like lovers for years gone by. And as much as she yearned to feel him deep inside, she never wanted it to end. If only it weren’t for one day. His stubble-roughed face felt like sandpaper against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh as he moved toward her apex. The disparity aroused her even more, causing her thoughts to 57

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scatter. Opening her legs a little wider, she invited him to taste her nectar. His warm breath tickled her outer lips as he hovered above her, sampling her scent. Her clit tingled, eager to be licked. It’d been so long, if he teased her much longer, she’d surely die of anticipation. His tongue traced her opening, not quite dipping inside. Cassandra gasped, wanting him to taste her so bad it hurt. “Please…” she managed, her insides quivering with need. To her relief, he finally obliged. Gently parting her petals, he delved his tongue inside, seemingly reaching for her core. Cassandra moaned and tilted her hips, giving him full access to what he sought. He sampled her fully, his tongue filling her channel before withdrawing, then burrowing once again. Cassandra gasped. She’d had oral sex before, but this was somehow different, more intimate, as though he sought to drink her very essence. Then he did something unusual. Curling his tongue upward, he pressed it against her inner wall, stroking that elusive area that brought a woman intense pleasure. Her insides clenched. Much more of that and she’d come for sure. Her clit throbbed in rebellion, reminding her that it wanted to be stroked, too. Sensing her dilemma, he withdrew his marvelous tongue and licked upward, heading for the next destination. Using his fingers, he gently pulled back its protective hood and exposed the head of the little pulsating bead. Fearing she might explode, Cassandra gripped the blanket, 58

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readying herself for his touch. The tip of his tongue gently flicked her pleasure pearl, sending a spark of electricity through her pelvis. She shuddered in its wake. He waited for her to recuperate, then grazed it again, refreshing her torment. Unable to take much more, Cassandra tangled her fingers in his dark hair and coaxed him to continue. Just another sweep or two and she’d be there. His lips encircled the skin around her clit in an intimate kiss, rendering her nub a prisoner to the impending ministrations of his tongue. Cassandra’s breath quickened, anticipating what came next. She’d scarcely prepared before he began a rhythmic up and down flicking movement with the tip. Her stomach tightened as pleasure radiated through her belly. Fisting her hands in his hair, she held him in place as she rocked her hips and pressed herself more firmly against his mouth. Soon her breaths became pants and her insides began to clench. “Cray!” she gasped, feeling herself rush toward climax. The muscles in her limbs began to tremble as she teetered on the edge of bliss. She spread her legs even more, opening herself wide to his spectacular kiss. Mere seconds separated her from ecstasy. When he added a finger to his technique, slipping the digit deep into her tight pussy, she was lost. Her back arched, body stiffened, and with a wanton cry she exploded in a blinding peak. Her head thrashed from side to side as wave after wave of 59

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excruciating pleasure crashed against her core. Unable to take much more, she gripped his forearms with fingers of steel, begging him to stop. Despite her plea, Cray wouldn’t relent; he drove her to near exhaustion before finally giving in. As though to evaluate his performance, he leaned back onto his heels, kneeling between her thighs while his gaze searched her face. Her juices coated his mouth and chin with a glistening sheen, evidence of his success. Then he grinned, pleased with the apparent havoc he’d wreaked on her mind and senses. Cassandra managed a weak smile in return, her body still weak and trembling. The best was yet to come. Despite her fatigue, she longed for him to fill her insides. Holding out her arms, she beckoned him to rejoin her. *

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Cray longed to oblige her wish, to fill her insides with his hard rod and stroke them both to oblivion. But his sense of responsibility reined in his rampant hormones. He couldn’t make love to her as he’d like, but there was a way they could both leave satisfied. Guiding her hand to his crotch, he encouraged her to touch his hardened shaft through his briefs. To his delight, she eagerly obliged. Shifting to her hands and knees, she pushed against his chest, coaxing him onto the blanket. Stretching out on his back, Cray tucked his hands behind his head and let her take control. There was no hesitation or uncertainty in the way she eased his briefs over his hips, 60

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taking care to release his erection before pulling them down his thighs. Slipping them off his feet, she tossed them aside. Starting at his ankles, she rubbed her hands up his legs, spreading her fingers as wide as she could. Cray closed his eyes, loving the feel of her palms on his skin. Her touch was like fire against his flesh, setting him ablaze with longing. She stopped briefly to knead his calves, then continued upward. By the time she reached his thighs, Cray’s breaths had become pants. Fearing he might grab her shoulders, toss her onto the blanket, and drive his length into her hot little pussy, he locked his fingers behind his head. Her fingertips trailed his groin, just grazing his balls. They tightened, pulling up against his shaft. Cray groaned, wondering if this was such a good idea. When her lips touched his hip, it was all he could do to stay still. “Cassandra…” he breathed with warning, seriously debating his sanity. She ignored him, grasping the skin between her teeth in a playful nibble. He gasped, his eyes flying open when his stomach muscles clenched in response to her mischievous bite. He never knew he was ticklish there. She cast him an impish grin before moving on to her next target. As her small hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, Cray held his breath. He watched, his eyes focused on her mouth as she dipped forward. As though to amplify his torment, she stared back up at him, her hazel eyes unblinking even as her lips closed around the head of his penis. A shudder wracked his frame as the 61

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warmth of her mouth enveloped him. Unable to help himself, he tangled his fingers in her hair, part of him wanting to stop her and the other goading her to finish what she’d started. But Cassandra obviously had no intention of stopping. Gripping him firmly within her palm, she balanced herself with the other hand on the ground and rose up on her knees. Hovering above his groin, she began a slow and methodical process of torment. Her hand moved along the pliant flesh of his shaft, sliding the accordion-like skin up and down the hardened structure beneath, while her mouth sucked the head. Each time she pulled up with her hand, she’d push him through her lips as far as she could comfortably go. The release was almost as excruciating. A pressure quickly built in his lower belly. Cray knew it wouldn’t take long. It was just as well, the longer he held back his release, the more likely he was to disregard his concern for the old lycan lore and bury himself within her. Bending his knees, he grasped her by both sides of her head, carefully holding her in place while he thrust his hips up and down. “That feels so good,” he moaned, craning his neck to watch his dick slide in and out of her mouth. Undaunted by his aggression, she increased the pressure of her hand, squeezing him even tighter as he slid himself through her clenched palm. As though eager to get him off, she pressed her tongue along the underside of his cock and sucked a little harder. Cray felt his balls tighten. Fluid rushed to the end of his rod. Knowing he was about 62

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to explode, he tried to pull back. But she wouldn’t have it; her hand worked him even more. Clenching his eyes shut, his head dropped to the blanket. Beyond all control, he pumped his hips faster, driving his cock through her fisted hand and into her willing mouth. His body began to shake. Before he could give her fair warning, a white light exploded behind his lids and an orgasm unlike any he’d felt in a long time shook him to the core. Her name was lost on an almost pained cry as he yelled out his peak. But even then she didn’t relent; she worked him long and hard until he finally begged her to stop. His mind devoid of conscientious thought, his body a quivering mess, Cray stared up at her through blurred eyes. Never had a woman pleasured him with such intent—a human one, anyhow. Her passion paralleled that of a lycan. The realization was unsettling. As common sense returned, he thought again about the lore. What if she were the one? Could he selfishly set aside the guilt of condemning her to an immortal life in order to claim her for his own? Cassandra dropped down to lay across his chest, scattering his deliberation. With her shapely frame draped over him and her small hand splayed on his chest, Cray couldn’t help but want to hold her there forever. He groaned inwardly. What had he gotten in to?

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CHAPTER 8 Cassandra hated for the day to end, but it was near dark and she knew Heather was probably worried to death. She and Cray had spent several hours lying naked on the beach, caressing, kissing, massaging. Yet, not once had he attempted to complete their lovemaking. She wasn’t sure what to think. He’d pleasured her again, taking his time to taste and touch practically every inch of her body. But she still longed to feel him deep inside her. They followed the James Irvine Trail back to the Prairie Creek Visitor center in silence, neither seemingly wanting to tarnish or sully their wonderful afternoon. When they reached Cray’s truck, she asked for a piece of paper and pen. After 64

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scribbling down her address and number, she handed it to him. He’d tucked it in the front pocket of his shirt. “Will I hear from you?” she asked. He nodded, then kissed her goodnight. “Soon.” She watched him drive away with a mixture of confusion and sadness. There was something about him that she just couldn’t seem to put her finger on. With a depressed sigh, she started toward the campsite. “I was about to call the ranger,” Heather scolded when she walked into camp. Cassandra rolled her eyes. “It’s not that late.” She dropped into a vacant chair by the fire, letting her tote bag fall unheeded on the ground. Some of its contents spilled free. She glanced down at them through uncaring eyes. “Are you hungry? I think there are some hamburgers left.” Pushing herself up from her seat, Heather started toward the picnic table. “No, no. I’m fine,” Cassandra interjected, holding up her hand to stop her friend. “Cray had packed some sandwiches and snacks. I just ate a little bit ago.” Shrugging, Heather sank back into her seat. She stared at Cassandra a long moment, her brows furrowing with concern. “Is something wrong?” she asked, leaning forward a bit. “You look like you just lost your puppy. Did he do some—” Cassandra shook her head. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.” Heather studied Cassandra a little harder, her eyes narrowing with disbelief. “You had sex with him, didn’t you?” The question sounded like an accusation. Cassandra 65

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winced at the hostility in her friend’s tone. Why should she care? “No. Yes. Well, not exactly,” she fumbled, feeling like she’d been caught behind the yellow tape of a crime scene. “You either fucked him or not,” Graham announced, choosing that moment to emerge from his tent. Heather hissed her disapproval at him. “Oh, for God’s sake, Graham, do you have to be such a jerk?” She squinted her eyes with disgust. He shrugged. “It’s a simple question.” Turning his attention to Cassandra, he said, “So did you, or not?” Cassandra opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell when he added, “Wait, let me guess. He got his rocks off, then left you unsatisfied.” The arrogance in his voice and the superior smirk on his face was more than she could handle. Cassandra had had enough of Graham’s vulgar mouth and over-inflated sense of self worth. Pushing herself up from her chair, she shoved the spilled contents back into her tote and snatched it off the ground. “You know what? That’s none of your business. But I can assure you, he knows exactly what he’s doing in that department.” She started toward her tent. “Oh, and he’s really good with his tongue,” she jibed, haughtily lifting her nose a bit. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.” Ignoring Graham’s fuming silence, she ducked into her tent, emptied out her tote, then started to repack it with her 66

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toiletries and a change of clothes. Maybe she’d never noticed before—then again, she rarely was around him long enough to make such a judgment—but Graham was a real dickhead. She hoped Heather dumped his ass. She deserved much better. “Why are you being this way?” Heather’s words floated into the tent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby. What way?” Graham’s tone seethed with conceit. “Don’t touch me,” Heather snapped. “You’re drunk and offensive.” The sound of scuffling feet ensued, as though Graham might have tripped. Or maybe Heather had pushed him away and he’d lost his balance. Cassandra hoped he’d fallen flat on his ass. “Come on, baby. I’m horny,” he whined. “I just want a little pussy. I’ll make it good for you. Don’t I always?” Fucking arrogant asshole. Cassandra seethed in silence. The thought of them having sex a mere twenty feet away was enough to make her gag. She hoped to God Heather refused him. With the way he was acting, she’d tell him to go fuck a raccoon. Or a mountain lion, she decided with a wicked giggle. Maybe it’d bite his dick off. “I said no! Now get off me.” Cassandra didn’t like the way things were progressing. Remembering the knife Graham had given her, she picked it up from her discarded pile of hiking stuff and dropped it into her tote. It was there if she needed it. 67

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And if that doesn’t intimidate him, I’ll mace the shit out of him. She tossed in the mace as well. A reverberating slap cut through the air, followed by an enraged, “You fucking bitch!” Cassandra practically leapt from her shoes. Realizing things were about to get ugly, she hurriedly stuffed the rest of her shower essentials into her tote, grabbed a flashlight, and lunged for the exit. Throwing the tent door wide open, she charged out into the tension-filled air. “That’s enough, Graham! She said no.” She stopped a few feet from the fire pit. “You’ve obviously had a little too much to drink,” she scolded, shaking an accusatory finger in his direction. “I think you should go to bed.” Turning to Heather, who cowed behind a chair purposely placed between herself and her aggressor, she said, “And you need to come with me until he sleeps off some of that liquor.” Heather nodded. “I could use a shower,” she hurriedly agreed. Slipping past Graham, she disappeared into their tent. Graham stared at Cassandra, his eyes ablaze with fury. That strange, unearthly gleam had resettled in their depths. Perhaps it was the limited lighting, but his features seemed to shift and thicken. Cassandra blinked, feeling the hairs on her neck stand at attention. Her pulse quickened. What was going on here? Thankfully, Heather emerged from the tent before she could ponder it further. Cassandra sighed inwardly with relief. 68

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“Ready?” Heather nodded. Graham tossed an irritated scowl in Heather’s direction. “I’ll deal with you later.” Heather froze in place, the terrified expression on her face saying far more than any words could express. She glanced from Graham to Cassandra, as though not knowing what to do. Taking a deep breath, she gripped her bag to her chest and walked toward the trail. “I’ll be sleeping with Cassandra tonight.” Her brave declaration was scarcely above a whisper. The muscles in Graham’s jaw tightened as he grit his teeth. “Fine,” he snarled. When he returned his contemptuous gaze to her, it was all Cassandra could do to not reach for her mace. He looked fit to skin her alive. She gulped down a lump of fear when he rounded the fire pit and blocked her path, a murderous scowl on his face. “I wouldn’t linger on the trail,” he said with a sneer. “It’s a full moon tonight.” Refusing to bow to his intimidation, Cassandra snorted with derision. “I don’t believe in fairy tales,” she mocked, trying to appear undaunted as she walked past him. He chuckled. It was a deep, mischievous sound that made her spine stiffen. Grabbing Heather’s arm, Cassandra tugged her along as she started toward the showers. “You’ll be easy prey,” he said, following a few paces behind them. 69

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Cassandra shuddered at the threat. “Well, then, I hope werewolves like clean food,” she scoffed, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. Werewolves were the least of her worries. Graham was real and his intimidation was distressing. At the moment, the only thing scaring her was him. She quickened her stride, trying to outpace him and whatever remark he chose to make. “We’ll soon find out,” he growled behind her. “Just ignore him,” she whispered the Heather, who clung to her arm, trembling in fear. When his steps halted, Cassandra exhaled with relief, thankful he didn’t intend to follow them any farther. She didn’t know what she’d have done if he’d chosen to get violent. But even in the absence of his menacing presence, his poignant warning haunted her all the way to the showers.

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CHAPTER 9 Cassandra and Heather had just exited the shower-house— wet towels in hand—when they heard what sounded like a low, feral growl from the dark thicket on their left. “What the hell was that?” Heather asked, inching a little closer to Cassandra. “I don’t know,” she gulped, straining to see into the darkness. “Cray said mountain lions typically didn’t come into the campgrounds, but let’s get going, just in case.” “It came from over there,” Heather said, pointing to the shadowy brush several yards away. “I know,” Cassandra whispered. “Hold your bag up, so you’re bigger. Cray said it makes you look more aggressive.” 71

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Both women lifted their totes up to their chests. “Now what?” “Just back away, nice and slow,” Cassandra explained. Another growl rumbled from the darkness, louder and more distinct. Whatever it was, they or their bags didn’t intimidate it. The bushes shook, as though the thing crept even closer. Before Cassandra could stop her, Heather let out a terrified shriek, turned and fled. “Heather! Stop!” Rather than leap from its hiding spot as she’d expected it would, the thing in the brush darted along the outskirts, unsettling bushes and limbs as it followed Heather’s fleeing form. Cassandra quickly pulled her flashlight, mace, and the knife Cray had given her from her bag, tossed the useless tote to the ground, and started after her friend. All she could think about was Cray telling her that if a mountain lion attacked, she should fight back, aggressively. From the way the thing moved, she doubted it was a bear. It was too fast. Heather didn’t stand a chance on her own. Then again, the two of them together might not fare any better. She hated to admit it, but Graham would sure come in handy right now. Fumbling in the left front pocket of her jean shorts as she raced past empty campsites, Cassandra located her cell phone. At Cray’s suggestion, she’d programmed the ranger’s number on speed dial. They definitely needed help. Struggling to hold her flashlight, mace, and knife in one 72

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hand while she wrestled with her phone in the other, she lost her grip on the mace. It hit the ground somewhere to her left. “Shit!” Not wanting to take the time to find and retrieve it, she continued after Heather. Holding the phone up in front of her, she hit number 9 and talk. It rang twice, then connected. “Hello? Hello? I need help. I think my friend is being stalked by a—” An all-too-familiar jingle followed by a woman’s annoyingly calm voice interrupted her plea. “I’m sorry, but the PCS service you’re trying to reach is unavailable.” “No! No, no, no. This can’t be happening.” Cassandra tried to call again only to receive the same distressing message. She didn’t know Graham’s number, or if he even had a cell phone. Stuffing the useless thing back in her pocket, she flicked on the flashlight and aimed it down the path in front of her. Heather was gone. Slowing her pace, she arced the flashlight’s beam from one side of the pathway to the other. Heather hadn’t been that far ahead, where did she go? A piece of white fabric at the opening of an overgrown trail caught her attention. It dangled from the slender digit of a gnarled limb, its billowing form taunting, teasing, as though daring her to follow. Her heart fell to her stomach. Heather’s shirt was white. She cautiously approached the trail, then leapt back from the opening at the sound of a hair-raising scream. Heather! Cassandra bordered on the verge of panic. What do I do? 73

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The closest occupied campsite was still several hundred feet away. Not that it mattered; the teenagers inhabiting it were probably drunk or high and would be of little help. The park ranger was unreachable—thanks to her inadequate cellular service—and the only weapon she had now was a paltry pocketknife. Realizing she was the only chance Heather had, Cassandra started down the trail. With the knife held out before her, she swept the narrow path and surrounding brush with her light, hoping the thing didn’t double back. The air seemed unusually quiet. “Heather, where are you?” she called softly, listening intently for any further indication of her friend’s whereabouts. Branches snagged her sweatshirt and towel-dried hair, but she didn’t care. Heather needed help, and from the sound of her scream, she needed it fast. With only a flashlight and a few sparse snatches of moonbeams along the dirt trail to light her way, she jogged almost blindly through the stifling forest. She wasn’t too sure how far back Heather might be, but surely she couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards or so. The scream had sounded close. “Where are you?” she repeated, then stopped, fearing her pounding feet might mask a response. A whimpering to her left caught her ear. “Heather?” Her voice shook as she recognized a growing sense of fear. Trying to quell her panic at the realization of her own peril, she took a deep breath and stepped off the trail into the brush. Carefully spreading branches apart with the end of her 74

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knife to afford her deeper passage, she disappeared into the undergrowth. A tearing sound caused her to pause. What the heck was that? It almost sounded like ripping fabric. Or…flesh, she concluded, feeling a chill grip her innards as alarm hit her full force. Instinct suggested her life was in danger. She couldn’t help Heather if she were dead herself. Perhaps finding some help was a better course of action. She started to retrace her steps. Another spinestraightening suggestion of ripping followed by a moan of pain broke the dark stillness around her. A moist gurgle pursued its wake. Cassandra froze. Heather would be dead before she returned. What if it wasn’t a mountain lion. What if it was a werewolf? She couldn’t just leave her. “Please…” Heather’s voice murmured through the stillness. Oh, for God’s sake, you’ve been listening to Graham’s ridiculous chatter for too long. Cassandra started forward once again, disregarding the noise she made as she picked her way through the thick brush. Cray had said to yell and be aggressive. If it were a cougar, perhaps the clatter would scare it away. Besides, there’s no such thing as— Catching her foot on an exposed tree root, she tumbled forward, bursting through the other side of the bush in a clamorous rustle of leaves and snapping branches to land 75

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painfully on her hands and knees on the outskirts of a small clearing. Stunned by the fall, she leaned back on her haunches and wiped the remnants of dirt and twigs from her palms. Her flashlight rolled away, coming to rest several feet beyond her reach. Despite a hard knock on the ground, it remained lit, though its beam was dull. And her knife had disappeared somewhere within a mound of leaves on her left. When she finally glanced around her dim surroundings, she realized that she’d just happened onto the scene of something akin to a horror film. Cassandra opened her mouth to scream, but terror choked the sound from her throat. All her psychological profiling of lycanthropes fizzled away like water subjected to flame, for the shadowed creature before her—a strange mix of man and dog—couldn’t be anything human. Werewolves… This couldn’t be happening. Bears and mountain lions were like house pets compared to the monstrosity before her. As though to add a little more excitement to the situation, her flashlight chose that moment to flicker and go out, leaving the moon as her only source of light. The reddish brown pelt covering the creature’s back bristled, standing on end like the fur of a startled cat. Pausing over its feast of woman flesh, it turned toward her, a menacing growl rumbling deep within its thick, corded throat. And despite the night around them, its glowing red eyes pierced the darkness, fierce and bright, like the taillights of a braking car. Cassandra gulped hard when the creature riveted its cold76

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blooded stare on her. It took a step toward her, kicking the latent flashlight back toward her. Its beam snapped on, strong and steady, fully illuminating the tiny clearing and its inhabitants with chilling clarity. The beast clenched and unclenched its dagger like claws, readying for a second kill. Then its lower jaw dropped open, revealing a mouthful of razor sharp teeth, and issued an ominous snarl. Cassandra felt the blood drain from her face. Heather suddenly let out a gurgling groan, sufficiently distracting the creature long enough for Cassandra to jump to her feet. Knowing she’d never be able to fight her way through the brush at her back and make it to the trail leading to the campsites before the thing ran her down, she quickly scanned the near-black foliage surrounding them. She spied a partially hidden trail to her left. Taking advantage of the temporary diversion, she snatched her flashlight and shot across the clearing, disappearing down the path without so much as a backward glance. She could only pray the creature deemed her not worthy of a chase. An infestation of overgrown branches stabbed the air, jutting across the pathway. With their drawn swords prepared to strike, it was as though the trees themselves sought to prevent her escape. Nature was not on her side. They slashed at her face and legs as she raced through their formidable blockade. But she paid them little heed, preferring to be scratched and clawed at by some harmless branches than be gutted alive by the werewolf’s dagger nails and razor teeth. The guilt of leaving Heather behind gnawed at her 77

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conscience, but there was nothing she could do for her. If she made it back to the campsite, she and Graham could use the truck to try and locate the park ranger, though the possibility seemed daunting. There were almost forty miles of vehicleaccessible roadways through the entire park, and she had no idea how many rangers patrolled at night. An ear piercing, skin prickling howl followed by the crashing of limbs alerted her to the verity that the thing had given chase. From the way it barreled through the brush behind her—a raging juggernaut on a mission—Cassandra knew it was only a matter of moments before she’d be caught. Finally finding her voice, she drew in a large gulp of air and belted out a sharp scream. The outcome was easy to guess. It would rip her to shreds, devour her tender innards, then leave the rest of her to rot. Of course, by the time the scavengers came behind to clean up the mess, there’d likely be little to nothing left. You’ll never be found! The realization fueled her step. Despite the protesting muscles in her legs, Cassandra forced herself to run faster. She didn’t relish the idea of being werewolf fodder. Unable to hold the flashlight steady as she ran, its beam bounced along the trail, making it difficult to see. The path suddenly made a sharp turn to the left, catching her off guard. Letting out a startled yelp, she fell headlong down a large embankment. Equally surprised, the werewolf followed suit only a few feet behind. 78

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Her arms and legs flailed wildly as Cassandra tumbled heels over head for several hundred feet, striking what felt like her entire body on various trees and stumps along the way. It wasn’t until she landed on a consortium of small boulders that she came to a stop. Luckily for her, the creature missed the cluster and continued rolling down the slope. Cassandra tried to move but couldn’t. Her limbs were as heavy as stone. It felt as though she’d been run over by a truck. Moisture trickled down her brow. With a shaking hand, she touched the gaping wound on her head. A sticky wetness coated her fingertips. She knew it was blood. Her thoughts swam on the brink of unconsciousness. With a low moan, she let her head loll back, the pull of sleep nearly irresistible. Her mind screamed at her to get up, while her battered body welcomed the pain-free alternative of oblivion. You have to try! Despite her fading coherence, she knew it wouldn’t be long before the beast’s descent came to a halt and it returned to finish her off. The jagged rocks were nothing compared to the savagery the werewolf’s teeth and claws would wreak upon her. What a terrible way to exit life. Maybe she’d get lucky and it’d be dead. Then she heard the crunching of leaves and the feral pants of exertion as it scrambled back up the slope. Her luck was about to run out. She heard the thing closing in, the sounds of approach only ten, maybe twenty feet away now. She couldn’t just lie there, become a meal so easily. She had to get moving. 79

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Struggling against the pain that wracked her body, she shoved away from the rocks and stumbled upward, grabbing trees and branches for support. Despite her physical misery, she was able to climb amazingly fast. She chanced to glance over her shoulder, confirming her worst fear; the thing was nearly upon her. Even though she struggled harder, pulling herself up the hill at an impressive speed—one does tend to move quickly with the jaws of death at their back—Cassandra knew she was done for. There was no way she could outrun it. She had neither the build nor strength to scale the grade as adeptly as the beast that pursued her. Letting out another earsplitting scream, she propelled herself forward, refusing to give up. Then a sight up above caused her to halt. Something large and furry crashed toward her as hastily as the thing that ascended from below. Oh, God, there are two of them! Cassandra quickly changed direction, darting to the right just as the one behind her leapt for the kill. Now she knew how a deer felt during hunting season. Only her death wouldn’t be so quick—no bullet in the head or arrow through the heart—no, she’d die painfully slow, one excruciating bite at a time. Without her flashlight, her steps were near blind upon the swarthy forest floor. Yet she continued onward with her hands out before her, feeling her way through the wooded sentinels blocking her path. Unable to see more than vague shadows at best, she didn’t consider the dark mound beneath her next 80

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step. The log’s decaying spine snapped under her weight, giving her a start. But it wasn’t until she went to push off with her feet that it began to slide. Feeling herself descend with it, she let out a defeated cry. The air in her lungs was forced out her mouth in one powerful gush as Cassandra hit the ground on her side. Rolling onto her back, she fought to inhale, but the air simply wouldn’t come. Not that it mattered; she’d be killed before she took her next breath. A shadow blocked the sliver of moonlight overhead as one of the beasts briefly hovered in mid-pounce. She watched, her focus surreal, and waited for its massive weight to crush her paralyzed frame. Mere inches before it hit, the thing was suddenly hurled to the side. Shocked by the unforeseen blow, the creature let out a pained yelp. The two hit the ground several feet below in a jumble of furry bodies and thrashing limbs. The weight of their bulky frames carried them down the embankment and they soon rolled out of sight. Hearing the telltale signs of a fight—the gnashing of teeth, slashing of claws, and beastly war cries, Cassandra rolled over and crawled along the ground on her belly, hoping to slip away unnoticed while the two scrapped over which one got the kill. Maybe they’d do each other in and she’d be spared. But from the way her luck had run thus far, she doubted she’d be so fortunate. A series of pained yelps ensued, similar to those of a 81

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scalded dog. It was obvious one wolf had succeeded in dominating the other, though she didn’t know which. Not that it mattered; neither bode well for her. She was just a meal. Echoing yowls of retreat sounded in the distance as one of the beasts took flight, outdone by his superior. Cassandra’s lungs heaved in rebellion as she crawled faster, causing her to gasp against her constricting pipes, while blinding pain from the blow to her head made her mind swoon on the verge of incoherence. Exhaustion would soon overcome her, preferably before being attacked. The rustling of limbs and dried leaves alerted her to the fact that the remaining beast had found her. She wasn’t forgotten so easily. Unable to continue, she rolled onto her back and awaited her fate in acquiescent silence. A shadow appeared in the darkness by her feet. It seemed larger than before. The new arrival must have prevailed. How ironic, to have fled from one beast only to be eaten by another. At least she’d die knowing that werewolves really did exist— not a comforting revelation. Straddling her immobile frame, it pierced her with its glowing eyes. Paralyzed with dread, Cassandra couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. The last thought she had before pain and terror finally pulled her into unconsciousness was of the familiarity of the creature’s unnatural green stare.

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CHAPTER 10 The warmth of sunlight splashed across her cheeks, drawing Cassandra out of a dreamless slumber. She shielded her eyes against the sun’s bold glare, its orange tinted luster making her head thump even more. Struggling to sit up, she realized it wasn’t the ground beneath her palms; she was in a bed. “Where the heck am I?” She propped herself against the headboard. Her mind swam, and, for a brief moment, she thought she might faint. Then the horrible details of the night before came rushing back and she was instantly alarmed. Throwing the black and tan paisley coverlet aside, she scrambled for the 83

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edge. She’d barely gotten her legs over the side before a restraining hand gripped her upper arm from behind, halting her escape. “Hold on a minute, not so fast. Your body’s taken quite a toll, and you’ve got a pretty nasty gash on your head.” She knew his voice. Turning to face him, relief flooded her insides. Cray lay next to her on his side, his brawny frame a welcomed sight. With a distressed whimper, Cassandra launched herself into his arms. She hugged him fiercely, clinging to his thick neck with something akin to desperation while she released her terror from the night before. Cray drew her close, holding her tightly against him while she wept. Finally pulling herself together, Cassandra wiped the moisture from her cheeks and disentangled herself from his grip. “How did I get here? Last night I…” She was hesitant to explain, afraid he’d think her crazy. But if last night hadn’t occurred—which the scratches and bruises marring her arms and legs pretty much attested it had—how, exactly, had she ended up in his bed? And better yet, why wasn’t she dead? “I heard your screams. Luckily I was in the vicinity. You were already unconscious when I found you.” Even though he offered a reassuring grin, the blank emotion in his stare was unconvincing. Cassandra swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. He was hiding something, she could tell. Uneasiness settled in her belly. She’d only known him a 84

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couple of days. Perhaps she should just get dressed and leave. “Where are my clothes?” she ventured coolly, knowing she couldn’t very well walk out of there in her pink chemise and panties. His gaze strayed to the scooped neckline of her top, then inevitably to her breasts. His tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip. Responding of their own accord, her nipples strained the thin cotton material, two hard little buttons begging to be touched. For a brief moment, the flash of desire in his effervescent green eyes suggested he might oblige. “You’re cold.” He brushed the back of his knuckles alongside her breast. Cassandra gasped, covering her chest with her arms. His effect on her was disconcerting, especially at such an inopportune time. “A little,” she confessed, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed when he finally tore his attention away. “I needed to clean your wounds. Some of them were pretty deep. Your clothes were torn and dirty so I threw them away. I’ll give you something of mine to wear, if you’d like.” She nodded. “I’ll have to have something before I leave. At least until I get back to the campsite.” She thought about her friend, abandoned somewhere along that overgrown trail. “Oh, my gosh, Heather! I’ve got to find—” Before she could turn away, Cray grabbed her upper arm once again. “I think you should stay here for a while,” he said, piercing her with a commanding frown. “At least for tonight. 85

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Maybe tomorrow as well. You’ve been through a lot. I’ll look for Heather.” Cassandra’s pulse throbbed in her throat. It seemed strange that he’d said it that way, almost as though he knew about the attack. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Suddenly feeling thirsty, she licked her bottom lip. “What time is it?” Cray stared at her, his expression solemn. “It’s early, only about seven. Cassandra…” His words trailed off and his gaze slipped to her mouth. “About Heather…you have to understand…I probably won’t find her. If I do, she’ll be dead.” Her breath caught in her throat. “No.” She shook her head, refusing to believe it. “She was still alive when it came after me. I heard her moan. She could be—” His hand tightened on her arm. “Please, Cassandra, you have to believe me. One way or another, your friend is gone, and I need you to stay here for a few nights.” “Am I a prisoner?” she croaked. As though realizing how scary he must seem, Cray instantly released her arm. “No, no. Nothing of the sort. I’m just…concerned about your safety, is all.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “My safety? Do you think I’m in danger?” Skepticism permeated her tone. Cray inclined his head. Cassandra’s mouth felt even drier. “From what?” His eyes met hers, a strange dread in their green depths. “What do you remember of last night?” 86

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She dropped her gaze to her lap. “Heather and I were leaving the showers when we heard something in the bushes. When Heather got scared and ran, it chased after her. I thought it was a mountain lion, but when I found her…” She paused, embarrassment flaming her cheeks. She wasn’t sure what she could say that wouldn’t make her sound insane. “It wasn’t a cougar. I’m not sure what it was.” Cassandra glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to read his reaction before she continued. His expression was blank, as though no human emotion dwelled within that unearthly green stare. If he thought her story odd, he didn’t show it. “I tried to get away, but I fell down a slope and struck my head. I could have sworn I saw two…but then I blacked out.” Cray merely nodded, his thoughts unreadable. Cassandra chewed the inside of her cheek as she returned his scrutiny in silence. She didn’t understand how he could have found her without getting attacked himself. Or at the very least, how she’d escaped death. The thing was upon her when she’d fainted. Why didn’t it finish her off? Maybe he’d scared it away, she reasoned. But no, that didn’t make sense. She’d watched that thing go after the other one without haste. Not even Cray’s lumberjack frame would be a deterrent. Something wasn’t right. “It might have been a bear,” she said. Bears were feasible, or at least, believable. Cray solemnly nodded. “Some of the bears have gotten 87

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brave.” An unsettling hint of secrecy flittered through his unwavering gaze, giving her the impression that he wasn’t really talking about the bears. Discomfiture crept along her spine, causing her back to stiffen. This didn’t seem like the same man with whom she’d gone hiking yesterday. She scooted her bottom a little closer to the edge in an effort to get farther away from him. “You said you were camping on the primitive side. But if you have a house close by, why would you pick there to camp? In fact, why camp at all?” Running a hand through his hair, Cray glanced away. He seemed nervous about her question, taking his time before answering. Cassandra wondered if he wasn’t stalling to come up with a realistic excuse. “I enjoy primitive camping,” he tentatively explained. “Redwoods’ campgrounds are convenient, close to home.” Unconvinced, Cassandra grunted. “And where is home?” “Crescent City, about thirty miles North of Prairie—” “I know where it is,” she cut in. “Why weren’t you hurt? That…thing was right on top of me. After what the other one did to Heather…” Her voice cracked at the mention of her friend. “I shouldn’t even be alive. Why did you bring me here, Cray? Why not the hospital? What is it you’re not telling me?” His expression distraught, Cray rolled off the bed. He strolled to the cherry fireplace mantle across the spacious room. With his back toward her, he placed both palms on the 88

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stained wood and leaned heavily against its intricately carved edge. “Some things just can’t be explained, Cassandra.” Suddenly feeling chilled, she grasped the edge of the discarded comforter and pulled it to her chest. “After last night, I think I can believe just about anything,” she countered, her fixed gaze on the broad expanse of his shoulders. The muscles tightened in his back. “It’s best you don’t know.” “But I can’t just leave Heather to bleed to death out there somewhere,” she persisted. “I have to find—” “Heather is dead.” His tone was empty, emotionless. “How can you be so sure?” Cassandra shot back, sliding her legs off the bed. “Graham is probably looking for both of us right now. I have to go—” “No! You have to stay here,” he barked. He whipped around to face her so quickly that any strength she’d had in her legs to stand instantly fled, and she collapsed onto her bottom on the bed. Shocked by the determination in the long strides that carried him toward her, Cassandra rolled over and scrambled across the king-sized mattress, planning to escape off the other side. She didn’t even reach the edge. His hand closed around one of her ankles and he dragged her back toward him. Incensed by his brutish behavior, she kicked and screamed for him to let go. Her hands clawed at the sheets with desperation, ripping them free at the corners as she struggled to get away. Feeling 89

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his fingers grip her waist, she let out another furious scream and swung her hand around. Her nails caught him across the face. Stunned, his hands loosened. Wasting no time to celebrate a lucky shot, Cassandra resumed her crawl across the bed. But in the next instant, she was flipped onto her back. Before she could scarcely take a breath, Cray had straddled her hips and pinned her wrists to the bed. She pulled against the restraining grip, but he was simply too strong. Tasting the bitter flavor of defeat as her strength gave out, she began to cry. “What do you want from me?” she bawled, tears streaming her cheeks. After the horror of last night, this was just more than she could take. “Dammit, woman! I’m not going to hurt you!” he snapped. “After yesterday, surely you know that.” Telling herself to get a grip, Cassandra swallowed back a sob. Deep down, she did know. Forcing herself to look at him, she immediately felt guilty by the angry red slash marring his left cheek. She’d drawn blood. His green eyes had taken on an even stronger glow and were laced with something akin to admiration, as though her rebellion had impressed him in some way. The strange feeling of déjà vu washed over her as she returned his hard stare. Those eyes…she’d seen them last night. No. Her mind refused to believe. Cray wasn’t a werewolf. Sure he’d managed to show up 90

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just in the nick of time and save her life, but he wasn’t some fur-sprouting, fang-growing, moon-constrained monster of the night. Was he? Cassandra clenched her teeth. Regardless, he had no right to demand she stay and force her against her will. She was a grown woman and would go where she damned well pleased. “At least this time I can fight back,” she declared, trying once again to pull free of his restraining grip. “You probably enjoy that, don’t you? A little bit of a fight?” As though amused by her insinuation, Cray released her wrists and leaned back on his heels. “You think I brought you here to ravish you?” he asked, releasing a derisive laugh. “I don’t make it a habit of kidnapping women for sex. Do I look that desperate? Besides, if I recall, you were more than willing to give me whatever I wanted yesterday. Why would I want to fight you for it today?” Before he could say another word, she swung her right arm around, catching him across the cheek with the palm of her hand. A loud smack reverberated through the air. Despite the fact that she’d given him her best blow, his head barely moved, turning only slightly at the contact of skin on skin. A red handprint appeared almost instantly, indicating the force of her assault. Rather than retaliate as she expected, he simply clenched his teeth. The muscles along his jaw tightened as he inhaled deeply, obviously struggling to maintain his composure. “If that were my intent, I would have just taken you right there in the woods and left you to the mercy of whatever other 91

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creatures happened by. You weren’t exactly in any state to fight, you know. You’re lucky I came along, before your bear returned.” “Yeah, well, how is it you just came along anyway?” She shoved at his thighs in an effort to push him off. Realizing his weight might be too much, he slid over to the side. “I told you…I heard your screams,” he insisted. Free of his bulk, Cassandra scooted a few feet away, preferring to keep some distance between them. Okay, so he was just a good citizen who’d come to her aid. That still didn’t explain how he’d avoided getting attacked as well. “I know what I saw, Cray. You must have seen it, too.” Cassandra wiped a renegade tear from her cheek. She hated to cry; it made her feel like such a baby. Of course, she supposed she had just cause in this case. His strained expression made him look much older than he appeared. The brilliance in his green eyes faded a bit. Reluctantly, he nodded, confirming her accusation. Feeling a little more at ease, Cassandra leaned against the headboard. At least I’m not crazy. “Look, I’ll try to explain what’s going on.” He leaned forward to place a reassuring hand on her upper thigh. “But first I’ve got to figure out some things. I’ll go try to find Heather right now. Just promise me you’ll stay here. Please.” “And Graham?” Cray’s jaw twitched. “Yes. I’ll look for him, too.” Cassandra read the seriousness in his stare. He really did think she was in danger. Perhaps she should stay, just in case. 92

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Besides, she had no desire to return to the woods. Those things were still out there. His thumb caressed the curve of her neck, scattering her thoughts. Cassandra closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his work-roughened touch. Despite her anger at him for making her abandon her friend, she was glad he’d brought her there. She couldn’t deny that he made her feel safe in his presence. She opened her mouth in a wide and very unladylike yawn. Though she’d already slept a few hours since the attack, she still felt exhausted. A long nap would be nice. Her limbs grew slack; her mind began to drift. Perhaps a short one, while he was gone. Somewhere on the brink of incoherence, she heard a comforting voice. “Sleep now, Cassandra. I’ll guard and protect you. Always.”

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CHAPTER 11 Cray stood in the doorway, sipping a cup of coffee and watching Cassandra as she slept. He could tell by the way she tossed and turned that she struggled within the throes of an unpleasant dream. He could only imagine what that might be. She’d dozed most of the day, waking only long enough to use the bathroom and take a few sips from the glass of milk on the nightstand—the sandwich was left untouched. He supposed the blow to her head had a lot to do with that. Stress was likely another factor. His thoughts shifted to the night before. Her terrified screams had cut through him as efficient and sharp as a carbon steel blade. The stark terror in her cry had sent fear like he’d 94

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never known coursing through his veins. He’d scarcely made it in time. Another few seconds and she’d have been dead. Or worse, turned into the very thing he hunted and killed. “Werewolf…” he whispered, so as not to wake her. His circumstances were rather complicated, being a lycan himself. Only his heritage made a difference. Unlike the bloodthirsty beasts that hunted and killed three nights of every month, their state of being forced upon them by a survived attack some time in their past, he’d been born that way, a product of his parent’s union and love. While his father had taught him how to restrain his urges, master the wild creature within, his control had brought with it a harrowing responsibility. He’d spent his long life hunting down and eliminating renegade werewolves, lest the world become overrun with them. He protected humanity against his own kind. It wasn’t a pleasant job. How did one relish the idea of killing something that, for all outward appearances, was human twenty-seven days of the month? Many had families— husbands, wives, children. It was a haunting duty. A whimper from the bed drew his attention. Cassandra shifted beneath the covers, her body squirming as though trying to escape. Concerned, he approached her. She rolled her head from side to side, her expression pinched with fear. She panted, struggling to breath, and gripped the coverlet so tightly her knuckles turned white. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed a reassuring hand on her 95

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chest. “Shh…Cassandra, it’s all right,” he crooned. “You’re safe.” She instantly stilled and her expression relaxed. Against his better judgment, Cray stroked the exposed flesh on her arm. His fingers trailed her silken skin from her delicate shoulder to her inner wrist. Her pulse raced beneath his touch. Afraid he’d awaken her, he instantly removed his hand. There was no point in tormenting himself. He couldn’t have her. Not like he wanted. Hoping her nightmare had ended, he gently rose from the bed, trying not to jar the mattress. He paced by the window, watching as nightfall approached. Now was not the time to get sidetracked, it’d soon be dark. He’d returned to the campgrounds as promised. But just as he’d suspected, Heather’s body was gone and Graham was nowhere to be found. It made no matter. Their time would come. He’d stopped by the visitor’s center to see if there’d been any animal attacks reported. There were none. No missing persons reports had been filed either. Graham’s hit had been sloppy. He’d left Heather alive. Whether by choice or accident, it mattered not. By month’s end, she’d be like him, and he’d have two to eliminate instead of one. If she were lucky, Graham would kill her tonight in his next bloodlust. But somehow, he doubted Graham would be so 96

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kind. No, he expected his loneliness would lead him to do what most lycans did at some point and make himself a partner. Last night, he’d worried about that with Cassandra. Just one bite… He’d searched her unconscious form from head to toe, praying she’d escaped her attack unsullied. He didn’t know how—Graham’s pursuit had been vigilant—but it appeared as though she had. No puncture wounds marred her skin. He glanced toward the bed, taking in the healthy glow on her beautiful face. Thinking of what might have been, Cray shuddered. A few more seconds and he’d have been too late. But her ordeal wasn’t over yet. Once a werewolf got scent of its prey, it wouldn’t stop. Graham would come back for her. Cray ran a hand through his hair. How could he protect her? He doubted the man would be so bold as to attack tonight, especially at another lycan’s lair. No, he’d likely wait, watching from a distance until Cassandra was alone. Then he’d make his move. She’d either be slaughtered or…made like him. Cray knotted his fists at his sides. He couldn’t allow it. But he also couldn’t very well keep her against her will. There was only one way. He had to tell her everything and pray she didn’t think him insane. If she understood her danger, perhaps she’d stay with him until he could track down Graham and eliminate him. He doubted she’d be willing to wait until next month’s cycle—thirty-three days was asking a lot. Two nights 97

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remained in this phase. It had to be now. Graham would kill tonight. He was sure of it. While it meant more lives lost, it would at least give him a trail. Tomorrow he’d find and finish what he’d started last night. Cray exited the bedroom and turned down the hall to his study. He needed to research all killings within the last month, see if anything looked suspicious. Maybe he could get a general idea of where to start. The newspapers and television reports always referred to the deaths as having the appearance of an attack by wild dogs. Cray knew the difference. No dog could rip someone to shreds—a child perhaps—but not a full-grown adult. Graham’s movements had been sloppy, uncoordinated, not those of a seasoned wolf. He was new at it; his turning hadn’t happened long ago. A month perhaps. Two at most. A scream halted his steps. Blood curdling and stark with terror, it made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Cassandra… He raced back to the bedroom. She bolted upward, eyes wild, expression disoriented as she scanned the room, searching for a means of escape. When her delusional gaze spotted him, she screamed again, then scrambled for the opposite side of the bed. Realizing she relived the night before, Cray instantly stopped his advance. “Cassandra, it’s me. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, hoping to snap her out of her sleep-drunk terror. She instantly halted her retreat, one foot on the floor, the other leg on the bed. Gripping the blanket to her chest, she 98

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slowly turned to face him. As her gaze cleared and she realized she wasn’t back in the woods but safe in his room, she burst into tears. Cray crossed around to the other side of the bed and gathered her in his arms. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he murmured, stroking her hair as she wept against his chest. “I was so scared.” She sobbed. “No matter how fast I ran, I just couldn’t get away. And Heather…poor Heather. I couldn’t save her. I tried.” “I know you did. But you’re here now. You’re safe,” he assured. “I’m not going to let him get you, too, Cassandra. I promise.” When she didn’t respond, he gently took her cheeks in his palms and forced her to look up at him. “I mean it, Cassandra. I’m going to protect you.” A tear trickled down her cheek, catching in the hollow along her upper lip. Cray brushed it away. His thumb lingered at her mouth, slowly tracing its sensual curves. “Heather is dead, isn’t she?” Her voice was a sorrow-filled whisper. Cray nodded. There was no point in lying. The Heather she knew would soon be dead to everyone, replaced by something horrible. Cassandra’s tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip. Unable to resist, Cray leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers. Then he pulled back, afraid to linger lest his selfcontrol break free. He didn’t know if he’d be able to exercise restraint like he 99

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had on the beach. Not again. The desire to bury himself deep within her warm, moist haven was all too inviting. Once he did, he’d be lost. But Cassandra obviously had no intention of letting him go so easily. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down for a deeper kiss, boldly pressing her tongue through his lips without reserve. Before he knew it, she’d wiggled herself beneath him. Cray’s blood roared in his ears. She tasted innocent and fresh, like sunshine on a new spring day. Despite his worries, he responded with matched fervor, drinking her in with parched thirst. He liked the feel of her small frame beneath his. It was something he could get used to. Maybe just this once… “Make love to me,” she whispered against his plundering mouth. Reality pelted his wits as effectively as if someone had dropped a load of gravel on his head, reorienting him to the issues as hand. He had to stop. Pulling back, he hovered above her, propped on his hands. “I know you want me.” Her small hands gripped his forearms, preventing his escape. “The way you touched me yesterday…no one has ever made me feel that way. I want to feel you inside of me. Please, Cray. Erase the horrors of last night,” she begged, her eyes swimming with a mixture of desire and need. “You don’t know what it is you ask,” he rebuffed, trying not to succumb to his own craving. 100

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He inhaled deeply, drinking in her scent. Her pheromones rode the air around his head, tickling his nostrils and tantalizing his senses. The lure of her essence was strong, almost overpowering. His body instantly responded, growing hard and ready. “I’m asking you to touch me, possess me, own me,” she persisted, holding onto him with what felt like desperation. “Even if for only one night.” Cray brushed a loose tendril from her cheek. “One night would never suffice,” he countered. “I’d want more. You’d regret it later on.” “I don’t care about later, only right now,” she insisted, briefly holding his hand against her soft cheek before encouraging him to investigate the smooth skin of her neck and throat. Cray groaned, his erection pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. His mind told him to run, leave the house, let her be. If there was a chance the old lore was true… His sense of duty demanded he not give in, but his carnal need begged for satiation. It’d been so long since he known the pleasures of a woman’s body. If the myths were nothing more than lies… Did he dare test fate? Struggling between reason and recklessness, he stroked the silky flesh along her exposed hip. His fingertips grazed the edge of the blanket, the only barrier between his tingling digits and her inner thigh. This was more pressure than he could take; he had to stop. 101

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“I can’t sentence you to a life like mine. To do so would be selfish and cruel,” he said, removing his hand from her leg. “I won’t—” “I’m not asking you to marry me,” she cut in. “Just make love to me.” Cray was set to deny her once again, to listen to the voice of reason in his head and do what was right. But when her palm slid along his groin and bravely cupped him through his jeans, he lost all sense of rationality, giving in to his burning need without further reservation.

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CHAPTER 12 Forcing himself away from her brazen grasp, Cray wasted few precious moments removing his pants and briefs. She watched him, her eyes never leaving his as he quickly undressed. When he’d finished, he pulled up the hem of her chemise, slipping it over her head, then removed her panties. He stood above her, staring down at her beauty for several moments. As though eager for his touch, she held out her arms, beckoning him to rejoin her on the bed. Without further hesitation, Cray readily obliged. Slipping between her thighs, he positioned himself above her. Cassandra spread her legs even farther and tilted her hips, encouraging him to delve inside her heaven. He knew her 103

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body was ripe and receptive, but before he allowed himself the luxury of filling her insides, he’d taste her once again. She whimpered with protest when, instead of sliding his hard length inside her, he moved downward. “Cray…” Ignoring her soft plea, he touched his lips to her navel. Her belly contracted, her stomach muscles tightening in response. Cray grinned, loving the affect he had on her. She squirmed beneath his lips as he kissed his way down the flat plane of her belly. Grasping her firmly by each hip, he held her in place while he continued his torment. It wasn’t until he reached the sensitive flesh of her groin that he released her hips, and then only to take hold of her thighs. Pushing up and back behind her knees, he pressed her legs onto her belly, fully exposing her center to his ministrations. The sight of the glistening moisture coating her entry excited him. She was wet and more than ready for him. Holding her thighs open with one hand, he used the other to trace her slit, spreading her glossy juices around her outer lips. Then he slipped one digit inside her slick sheath, loving how her warmth enveloped him. His cock jumped in response, eager to replace his finger. Soon, he assured his impatient member, knowing he couldn’t hold out much longer. Cassandra moaned and arched her hips as he stroked her inner wall. Using a circular motion, he caressed her to the point of release, then stopped. Wetness trickled down his hand and onto the bed as he removed his finger from her channel. Her frustrated pouts made him grin. He knew she was 104

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disappointed; he could smell her excitement. But before he was through, she’d have an orgasm that would brand her memory forever. Pressing firmly against the back of her thighs, he held her open as he leaned down and kissed her outer lips. She gasped, then held her breath. He kissed her again and she issued a low, heady moan. His own breaths quickened. The musky smell of her need teased his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, permeating his senses with her arousing scent. “I love the way you smell,” he whispered, dipping his head forward to press his lips against hers. Cray relished the taste of her honey as he slipped his tongue inside Cassandra’s small opening. Everything about her drove him crazy, from the scent of her excitement to the flavor of her pleasure. Even the way she whimpered and wiggled her hips while he stroked her pussy made him randy with need. He pressed his tongue in deeper, withdrew, then delved again. Using his thumb and forefinger, he exposed the head of her clit. It was red, swollen, and begged to be teased. Pressing his lips around the erect little bead, he drew it in and out of his mouth with a gentle sucking motion. Cassandra’s breaths quickened. Tilting her pelvis forward, she pressed herself more fully against him. As she neared her peak once again, her body began to tremble. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she attempted to hold him in place, prevent him for stopping her climax a second 105

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time. But Cray had other plans. He wanted to be deep inside her when she came. “You’re killing me,” she practically sobbed when he stopped short of completing the task. He merely chuckled. “Be patient, love. I promise you won’t regret it.” Using the comforter, he wiped the moisture from his face. Being careful not to crush her with his weight, he propped himself on his elbows. When she looked up at him with her beautiful hazel eyes, his breath caught. “My God, you’re so beautiful.” A soft blush stained her cheeks and she smiled in response. He kissed her long and hard, enjoying the taste of her lips mingled with the lingering flavor of her pleasure. The arousing blend of milk and honey coated his tongue, making him thirst for more. He could drink her essence forever, never tiring of her gifts. Her hands cupped his jaw, and she returned his kiss with equal fervor, making her desire all the more apparent. Reaching down between them, Cray placed himself at her doorway. Only one thrust away from bliss, he hesitated, thinking about the potential cost for one night of ecstasy. It wasn’t too late. If he stopped now… But Cassandra wouldn’t have it. He’d taken her to the brink of rapture, and she wanted more. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pressed herself upward, forcing the head of his cock into her tight vessel. It was all the encouragement he needed. Lore be damned. 106

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He’d have this female and deal with the consequences later. Before his conscience could protest, he drove forward, burying himself deep within her womb with one plunge. If his blunt entry had pained her, she didn’t show it. She thrust her hips upward, eager to take him all. As her warmth enveloped him, wrapping his erection in a pliant cocoon, Cray’s body shuddered. He paused, trying to get a hold of himself. She felt so good he feared he might spew before he even got started. “Sorry,” he whispered next to her ear. “It’s been a long time.” She giggled and entwined her arms around his neck. “That’s all right. It’s been a while for me, too.” For some reason, that knowledge pleased him. The thought of her with another man was unsettling. He wanted her all to himself. He moved within her, slowly at first, withdrawing to near the end of his shaft before plunging back in. Feeling a little more in control, he quickened his pace until he reached a rhythm that suited them both. Undaunted by his strength or size, Cassandra matched him stroke for stroke, arching her pelvis into his thrust with perfect time. They stayed that way a long while, their bodies working together. When he felt himself nearing his peak, he stopped, refusing to let their magic end. Sensing his limit, she responded by tightening her legs around his waist, holding him still until the danger of an early completion had ceased. He’d promised her an explosive orgasm; he wouldn’t 107

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renege. “Let me show you something.” Grabbing two pillows from the headboard, he placed them on the edge of the bed. “Put you bottom up here,” he said, patting the piled cushions. Cassandra scooted around and positioned herself as instructed. Wrapping his hands around her upper thighs, Cray held her atop the pillow as he slid his hard length back inside her. Then he propped one foot on the bed for better leverage and began a slow and steady pump. He could tell by the way she gripped his forearms that he was hitting the right spot; it wouldn’t take long. Cassandra’s breaths became pants as he worked her long and steadily. Her fingers bit into his arms and her knees began to spread. Feeling her insides tighten, Cray increased his pace. “That’s it, baby. Come for me.” She moaned softly, her hips rocking in time with his thrusts. Tilting her head up, she watched as he entered and withdrew, seemingly wanting to take everything in. Seeing the hunger in her unwavering stare excited him. He drove a little harder. He felt the muscles in her legs tighten beneath his hands. Dropping her head to the bed, she grabbed the comforter on both sides of her hips and arched her back. In the next instant, her entire body stiffened like a board and she let out a cry of pleasure that nearly did him in. When the walls of her pussy constricted around him, it was all he could do not to join in her bliss. Gritting his teeth, Cray 108

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concentrated on maintaining his thrusts as she writhed and trembled. Her insides gripped and pulled at his shaft, drawing him in even farther. Cray panted, trying desperately not to come. He wanted her climax to last until she collapsed with exhaustion. Only then would he seek his own pleasure. As her peak began to wane, Cray realized his fallible thinking of before. One time wouldn’t be enough. If he’d only have tonight, then he planned on making love to her the whole night through. With that thought in mind, he pulled the pillows out from beneath her behind, knelt on the edge of the bed, and encouraged her to roll over. Biting her lower lip to hide an impish grin, she did as he wished, positioning herself before him on her elbows and knees. Grasping her shapely hips, Cray thrust himself in from behind, filling her hot channel with his throbbing cock once again. If he thought to take charge he was mistaken, Cassandra pressed herself back onto his rod, rocking her body forward and back, setting her own pace. She rode him hard, her rounded bottom slapping his thighs as she impaled herself without relent. Cray’s mind began to swim. He wanted to hold out, make it last a little longer, but he felt the blood rushing to his head. Both of them. Unable to restrain his climax any longer, he gripped her waist tighter and thrust as fervently as she. Fluid coursed through his penis, racing for the tip. His stomach muscles clenched and tightness pulled at his groin, 109

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almost as though he’d been hit in the balls. His breaths became feral pants as the beast deep within him threatened to take over. Just a little more, he begged, knowing he bordered on change but needing this release. As though to answer his request, his body suddenly stiffened and his orgasm broke free, hurling him into a brief few moments of ecstasy where he not only lost track of his worries, but relinquished his hold on the monster within. The force of his climax was strong. His body began to tremble, struggling between riding out his bliss and shifting into the terrible beast he fought to restrain. It wasn’t until a gratified growl rumbled in his throat that he realized how close he was to taking true form. Cray instantly halted his thrusts, knowing he’d reached his threshold. Refusing to succumb to the change, he held her body in place, keeping himself deep within her until he felt it safe to move while he focused on regaining control. Like his brother wolves of the wild, his shaft swelled even more, preventing him from pulling free had he wanted to. It was nature’s way of ensuring the procreation of the species, allowing a complete exchange of the male’s semen to the female’s womb. As he felt the last of his seed spill forth, his guilt kicked in full force. Oh, God. What have I done? His last bedmate—a temporary fling—had been like him, a born lycan, so it hadn’t mattered, there was no danger of conversion. But Cassandra was human, innocent, and he might 110

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just have condemned her to a life like his. Immortal, yes, but damned all the same. Only time would tell if she was his destined mate and the lycan lore rang true. It’d take a full cycle, thirty-three days hence, for his gene to infect her body and kill off all that was mortal and pure. For all outward appearances, she’d look the same. No one would see what took place inside. Other than feeling ill, perhaps a little fatigue, not even she would suspect his treachery. It wouldn’t be until the next full moon, when the excruciating pain of her first conversion wracked her frame and she became the thing that terrorized her dreams, would she understand what he’d done to her. He prayed she didn’t hate him forever. To suffer eternity at odds with his mate would be unbearable. As much as he wanted her, for her sake, he hoped it didn’t occur. Then she moved her hips, wiggling herself more firmly against him, and Cray’s fears fled. What’s done is done. He ran his hands across her skin, tracing the contours of her back and spine. His fingertips tingled at the contact and his softening cock hardened once again. Deep down inside, he already knew the outcome.

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CHAPTER 13 Cassandra stirred against his shoulder. Her small hand, splayed across his chest, began to move, caressing his pecs before moving to tantalize his nipples. They hardened in response. If she kept that up, so would something else. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on her palm. She giggled, then moved to look up at him. Her hazel eyes sparkled with content. “Good morning,” she said, offering him a shy grin. “Afternoon,” he corrected. “It’s nearly two.” She sat straight up, her expression troubled. “Two? My God, I’ve done nothing but sleep the weekend away.” Cray chuckled. “We were up all night, if you recall.” 112

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Her freckled cheeks reddened. “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember.” He stroked her blushing flesh, relishing the warmth against his fingertips. “Are you hungry?” She nodded. “Starving! I haven’t eaten since…” Her words trailed off and fear crept into her stare. Cray’s heart clenched. “We need to talk about that,” he murmured. “Let’s eat first. What would you like?” She worried her bottom lip, too embarrassed to admit her desire. “Steak and eggs,” she finally confessed. “But I’d kind of like to take a shower first.” He grinned. “My kind of meal.” Jumping up from the bed, he started for the bathroom. *

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Cassandra watched the flexing muscles of his naked posterior until he disappeared into the other room. His movements were powerful and stealthy, like a well-oiled machine. In fact, everything about him seemed flawless, perfect. It was almost unnatural. He reappeared in the doorway, catching her lingering stare. Flashing her an elated smile, he asked, “Did you miss me?” Damn! Cassandra blushed and dropped her gaze to her lap, trying to hide her culpable grin. She’d been caught. “Maybe,” she admitted, glancing up at him through a veil of dark lashes. Cray chuckled. “I like that.” His words were strangely 113

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sincere, as though holding some unspoken meaning. “I laid out a towel and washcloth for you. There’s soap and shampoo in the shower. I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re done. It’s down the steps and to the right.” Cassandra nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” Twenty minutes later, she descended the stairs wearing one of Cray’s plaid shirts. Pantiless, but clean. She’d worry about underwear later. She was just happy to finally wash away the remnants of her horror filled trek through the forest two nights ago. Despite multiple scrapes and bruises from her tumble down the hillside when she’d landed on the rocks, she felt fine. Good in fact. Surprisingly, her wounds had already begun to heal. Following the sounds of sizzling meat, she found the kitchen. Cray was positioned at the stove, busy with their meal. As though sensing her presence, he glanced over his shoulder at her. His appreciative stare swept her from head to foot. “That looks better on you than it does on me.” Cassandra smiled. “Thanks.” Picking a chair at the ceramic tiled bar separating the cooking area from the rest of the spacious kitchen, she watched him work. Dressed once again in only a pair of worn jeans, he was certainly a pleasant sight to behold. The muscles in his strong back flexed as he reached for some plates in the cabinet on the left. Her stomach clenched and an excited thrill shot through 114

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her pelvis as she remembered the previous night’s events. She’d lost count on how many times they’d made love, but each session was better than the one before. The man was insatiable. Her cheeks grew warm as she thought about her own inhibitions. No one had ever made her feel so sexy, so alive, so adored. She’d never regret last night, only that it had ended. “What are you thinking about?” His deep voice shattered her thoughts. Cassandra glanced up at him, her face growing hotter when she read recognition in his unwavering stare. At a loss for words, she fumbled for a comeback. He grinned, amused by her embarrassment. “Let me guess,” he almost purred. “From the glaze in your eyes and the stain on your cheeks, I’d say it has something to do with last night.” Normally, such arrogance would have infuriated her. But somehow, coming from him, it sounded more like a secret between lovers, a reminder of pleasures shared. And perhaps, those yet to come. She was grateful when he set a heaping plate of food on the counter before her, efficiently changing the subject. “Thanks,” she murmured, focusing on her meal. Rather than sit on the stool beside her, he remained standing, his plate across from hers. Cassandra could feel his lingering stare. It was as though he caressed her with his eyes. She clenched her thighs together, stunting the tingle at their juncture. 115

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Picking up her fork and knife, she cut a bite from her steak, trying not to wince when she saw the slightly pink center. She hadn’t told him how she’d wanted it cooked. At least it wasn’t raw like Graham’s hamburgers. Deciding to give medium-well a try, she tentatively took a bite. Surprisingly, the warm juices coating her tongue were quite appealing. She was used to her meat being a little tough, but this was tender and flavored just right. “Taste okay?” Cray’s inquiring tone made her realize he’d been waiting to see what she thought. Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she swallowed the half chewed morsel and gave him a reassuring smile. “Yes. Very good. I don’t normally eat anything that isn’t well-done but…this is really good.” His brows knitted. “I can cook it longer if you want,” he offered, reaching for her plate. “I should have asked—” “It’s fine,” Cassandra cut in, pulling her food aside. “Really, it’s good.” He stared at her a moment, his expression a little perplexed, then picked up his own utensils and started to eat. Other than the sounds of knives scraping and forks stabbing against their ceramic plates, they ate in silence. After several long moments, Cassandra couldn’t take the quiet any longer. “So…what did you want to tell me about the other night?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood. Cray wiped his mouth, then set his unfinished meal aside. He drew in a long breath, his heart obviously heavy with something unpleasant. From the troubled look on his face, 116

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Cassandra wished she hadn’t asked. “It can wait,” she offered. He shook his head. “No. It can’t.” Turning away from her, he leaned against the sink and stared out the window. His back was tense, spine ramrod straight. Nauseated by whatever impending gloom he had to share, Cassandra pushed her food aside. “The other night, what you saw…it was real. Both of them.” Cassandra’s hands began to shake. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up her orange juice and took a sip, only partially registering the acrid burning in her mouth as the pungent liquid hit her tongue. It tasted old, as though it’d gone bad, but she didn’t care at the moment, the solid glass in her hand offered some kind of reality, something to hold on to. Cray paused a long moment, contemplating his next words, then said, “Both of us.” The glass crashed to the countertop, shattering against the ceramic surface and spilling juice all over the place. “Us?” she squeaked, not sure she’d heard him right. He turned to face her, a strange sadness in his eyes. “Yes. Us. One of them was—” “You!” Cassandra leapt from the stool, recognition hitting her like a punch in the gut. She grabbed her stomach and doubled over in pain. “I can’t believe you didn’t…that we…oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.” “Cassandra, I wanted to tell you.” He skirted the counter and started toward her. 117

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“Don’t come near me!” He stopped in his tracks. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he explained, holding his hands up before him. “Please, sit down. Let me explain. Your life is still in danger.” She let out a sarcastic snort. “Yeah, I’m here having sex with a werewolf! What, do you play with your food first or something?” He audibly exhaled, his expression slightly pained. “No. No, it’s not like that. We’re not all the same, Cassandra. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” “You all turn in to mindless killing machines, don’t you?” She inched a little closer to the door. “No. We don’t. A few of us have control over our actions when we’re in lycan form,” he rebuffed. “Great! A werewolf with a soul,” she jeered. “Do you save the world from evil, too?” The muscle in his jaw tightened with displeasure. “In a way, I do. And we all have souls. We’re not vampires.” When she merely stared at him, her eyes wide, mouth slack, he added, “Yes, vampires exist, too. Now would you sit down? You won’t make it to the front door, I promise you that. I’m not going to let you leave, not until I’ve found Graham.” Cassandra gripped the doorjamb to keep from falling. Graham? What does he have to do with this? “I don’t…” she fumbled, not sure what to believe, if she should run, or if she should get a hold of herself and listen to what Cray had to tell her. 118

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She had to admit, if it hadn’t been for him, she’d be dead right now. He could have killed her any time he chose. So why hadn’t he? “The other wolf was Graham, Cassandra, and he’ll be back for you. Once a lycan scents its prey, it won’t ever stop hunting it.” His firm voice and somber expression told her that he wasn’t lying or making things up. He was dead serious. Cassandra gulped hard, trying to absorb this bizarre twist on things. She thought about Graham’s strange behavior the other night. Heather said he’d been acting strange since the camping trip in Canada. Then there was that discussion about werewolves. It was too coincidental. “But why would he try to kill me?” she whispered, her legs weak, energy drained. “He knows me.” Cray’s broad shoulders sagged a bit. “Because in that form, he’d kill his own mother. He doesn’t know friend from foe. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. When the cycle comes again, he’ll resume his hunt, if not before.” “What about now? Does he remember the other night? If I run into him will he be like, ‘Sorry I tried to kill you, see you in a month’?” Cray chuckled at her cynicism. “He’ll remember changing, hunting, and killing. I don’t know if he’ll recall much else. Some do. Some don’t.” He offered his hand. “Would you please sit? There’s still a 119

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lot to discuss.” Cassandra debated the outstretched palm. It seemed strange that the hands he’d caressed her with so passionately, could turn into to something so deadly. Then she looked into his green eyes filled with a burdened mixture of pain and sincerity and she realized that somehow she’d known all along.

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CHAPTER 14 Cassandra sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. Her mind swam with thousands of disturbing details. All her psychological profiling, her years of study, basically meant squat. Werewolves did exist, as well as a slew of other nightmarish creatures. She understood why Cray hunted and killed his own kind—she’d probably do the same in his position—but the fact that one of them might be her best friend disturbed her. If Graham hadn’t already killed Heather, then she’d change into a werewolf and suffer the same doom. Only lycans born into their fate had control over their urges, but even that took extreme discipline. Cray could 121

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change at will; his shifting didn’t rely on the lunar cycle. And unlike Graham and others who’d been changed by an attack, his senses remained while in wolf form. It saddened her to ponder such a miserable existence, to know what you were, what you did three days of the month, then try to deal with the horror of it all. No wonder so many went insane. Most normal people couldn’t rip someone else to shreds, then carry on with their daily lives as though not fazed. In a way, killing them was merciful. It ended their pain. It also saved countless lives in the end. Then there were others, ones who enjoyed their lycan powers and took their immortality to the cruelest extreme— serial killers with a whole new way to torment their victims. Cassandra shuddered. Their kind deserved death most of all, for they not only killed innocent people, they enjoyed it. The papers hadn’t reported Heather’s death. It stood to reason she’d survived. If so, she’d become like Graham. The burden of guilt shrouded her shoulders with a cumbersome weight. Even though Cray tried to console her shame, she knew it was her fault. She’d interrupted her death. Now Cray had not one, but two werewolves to kill. She understood how quickly the numbers could rise. If it weren’t for him, and others like him, humankind might cease to exist. Something else bothered her though, a topic he’d noticeably dodged. “What about me?” she finally asked, meeting his pinched expression with an unwavering stare. “And don’t lie, just tell me the truth. I think I’ve handled things fairly well thus far. How bad can it be?” 122

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He took a deep breath. “I guess it depends on how you look at it.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed with warning. Reading her thinned patience, he let out an audible sigh. “I guess you’ll have to know some time.” Cassandra felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. “I’ll become one, too. Won’t I? Because of last night.” Her tone wasn’t laced with fear, but rather a condemned dread. What else could it be? His words the night before echoed in her head. “I can’t sentence you to a life like mine.” If her instincts were correct, apparently he had. Cray hesitantly nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.” “What do you mean you don’t know. How could you not know?” He pushed away from the table, stood, and began pacing the floor. “You weren’t bitten by Graham, as far as I could tell. The only other way…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “According to lycan lore, a pure blood male can change his one true mate through an act of love.” “Sex,” she said angrily, somehow feeling deceived. “Yeah, if you want to call it that.” His words were pained, as though she’d dealt him a low blow. Cassandra instantly felt bad about her accusatory tone. She was partly to blame. After all, he had tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. Hadn’t she said she didn’t care about regrets? Now she understood why he’d held back on the beach. 123

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He’d been trying to protect her. She caught his forearm as he walked by, halting his relentless trek. “I’m sorry. It’s just…this is a lot to absorb.” His hurt expression softened into one of understanding. “I know. I should never have put this on you.” He kneeled on the floor in front of her, coaxing her to turn and face him. “Cassandra, I’ve avoided physical contact with women for…let’s just say a very long time, out of fear of actually finding my mate and making her like me. Then you came along…” His words trailed off and he ran a shaky hand through his disheveled locks. “It was so hard not to lose myself with you on the beach. Last night I just couldn’t help it. I had to have you. I’m sorry I was weak.” “The circumstances,” she said, understanding his anguish. “If it weren’t for—” “No,” he rebuffed. “It’s you. I knew it at the campsite. There was just something about you that drew me like a magnet. I wasn’t even heading that way when I found you struggling with your tent. I’d started out in the opposite direction, and before I knew it, I looked up and there you were, like it was fate or something. I knew I should have just walked away, but I couldn’t.” Cassandra’s heart rate quickened at the implication of his confession. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I was attracted to you, too.” He merely stared at her, his expression drawn. 124

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She cleared her throat. “How will we know if I’m going to be all grrr?” Trying to provoke some humor in this, she made a slashing motion with a clawed hand. Cray finally laughed, amused by her morbid sarcasm. “We’ll have to wait until the next cycle.” Cassandra bit her bottom lip as another thought occurred to her. “Will you have to kill me, too?” He cupped her face with his hand and caressed her jaw with his thumb. “No. You’ll be like me. But it’ll take time for you to learn your limits. I’ll have to keep you…contained during your cycles. Until you can control when you change.” Cassandra nodded acceptance. She’d rather be locked up than take the chance that she might hurt someone. The realization of everything was overwhelming, and she found herself holding her breath. “What about tonight?” “Tonight won’t affect you,” he assured. “But Graham…” “Will be out and on a hunting spree…for me.” Cray nodded. “That’s why I want you to stay here. He’ll not likely venture into another male’s domain, even to catch his prey. I’m hoping I can find him first.” Cassandra swallowed hard. “What are you going to do?” Cray stood and resumed his pacing. “I need to know where he lives, where he works, and frequents. He’ll likely follow a normal routine today, so if I can intervene before tonight…” “What about Heather?” Cray looked at her, sadness filling his gaze. “If she’s still alive, then she’s been changed. I’ll have to eliminate her 125

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before the next cycle.” Cassandra nodded understanding. “It must be very hard for you,” she said, watching his rhythmic stride. “To have to kill people, I mean.” He stopped his pacing and turned to face her. “Make no mistake, Cassandra. Graham is no longer human. His outward form is a farce, the true being lies beneath, always watching, always waiting to be released. Once you’ve accepted that, it makes killing them a whole lot easier.” “And what about you, Cray? What are you?” He stared at her long and hard, his green eyes illuminating in their sockets, giving her the briefest glimpse of the thing he held inside. “I am what I am.” Cassandra dropped her gaze to her folded hands on the table. Best I never forget. “I should call my parents, let them know I won’t be home tonight.” Cray nodded. “What about Heather’s?” “Her parents are dead.” Even as she spoke the words, she couldn’t help but wonder if Graham hadn’t planned this all along. Heather had no family to speak of, a negligible job, and very few friends. She wouldn’t be missed. No wonder he’d seemed so unhappy about her presence. He’d wanted Heather all to himself. It was Heather’s idea she come with them on their camping trip, not his, and now Cassandra understood why. Tears blurred her vision. Despite Heather’s interference, 126

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Graham had still succeeded in his plan. One way or another, he’d killed his girlfriend. “You okay?” Cray wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, then nudged her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Cassandra nodded. “Yeah, just trying to absorb some new revelations. Graham knew all along. He knew he was going to kill Heather. You should have seen him the other night, after I got back from hiking. He was like an animal. He kept pushing Heather for sex, and he was being such an asshole.” Cray stroked her hair. “That’s typical before a change, especially for a male. Their first instinct is to mate. Then kill.” Cassandra gasped. “So if I hadn’t made her go with me to the showers, he’d have forced her to have sex with him, then murdered her when he’d finished?” Cray dipped his head in affirmation. Her eyes rounded with new apprehension. “When he comes for me, he’s not going to expect me to…” “That depends on whether or not he’s already changed. If not, then yes, he’ll try to…force himself on you.” Pushing up from her chair, Cassandra let out a derisive snort. “I’ll cut his dick off first.” Cray cringed. “I’m glad you’re rather partial to mine.” Cassandra couldn’t help but giggle. Stroking him through his jeans, she said, “So I am.”

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CHAPTER 15 Fear rioted her insides as she watched Cray pull away from the house in a black Charger. The car stopped briefly at the cast-iron fence guarding the front of the property, waited for the massive gates to swing open, then pulled through and turned left onto a narrow road. Within seconds, the vehicle disappeared, swallowed by the dense forestry surrounding them. It was seventy-five miles to Eureka, CA—where Graham lived. If he took Highway 101, he could get there in about an hour. But that meant an hour’s return trip as well. Cassandra shuddered. The thought of him being gone so long terrified her. While he’d saved her from Graham once, 128

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she doubted he’d get back in time to do so again. If Graham managed to find her at the house… Even if he didn’t come for her, she still faced an objectionable fate. While she wasn’t so sure about the whole “one true mate” idea, something inside told her things had changed. She had changed. Whether because she was Cray’s destiny—as he’d so described it—or simply because they’d been intimate and he’d introduced the werewolf gene into her body, she knew she’d never be the same. However, given a choice, she’d rather be like him—able to control her lycan form—rather than become a bloodthirsty killer like Graham. They’d talked a long while about what to expect should her time come, and about them. But until Cray found and killed Graham, nothing else really mattered; her life would remain in jeopardy. Once that threat had been dealt with, they’d worry about the rest. As though Mother Nature sought to add a little more excitement to the mood, a flash of lightning split the late afternoon sky, followed by a crack of thunder. Large wet spots dotted the sidewalk below. The ominous clouds parted and a thick sheet of rain blinded her view. “Wonderful.” Cassandra returned to the bed. The full moon was still several hours away, yet she felt the approach of darkness as deep and soul withering as the approach of death. Each minute ticked away the countdown of her precarious fate, inescapable as daylight surrendering its hold to the night. 129

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She fingered the small revolver nestled on top of the sheets. Cray had left it, just in case. She couldn’t help but laugh as she thought about the fact that it was filled with silver bullets. Apparently, Hollywood had gotten a few details right. She practiced holding it. The gun’s cold metal felt like ice against her skin. With a shaking hand, she lifted her weapon and aimed at the doorway, trying to line the barrel with an area midway up the jamb—where Graham’s heart would be. A shot to the chest or head is what she needed for a kill. He’d survive a wound anywhere else, and be mad as hell. Of course, the whole idea of having to shoot him at all was repulsive. She lowered the gun to her lap and glanced back toward the window. Cray had promised to return before dark. He expected she’d be safe until then. She’d given him several addresses where Graham might be—work, home, gym—the ones she knew, anyhow. Heather’s, too. If her friend wasn’t dead, they were likely together. Now all she had to do was wait. A sudden chill swept her spine, making her shiver. She knew nothing about Cray’s house—where he kept his weapons, where to hide. Then it dawned on her—neither did Graham. Sitting there, waiting for either man to show seemed idiotic. She had to protect herself. While she knew there was nowhere to hide that Graham wouldn’t eventually find her—his heightened senses were not in her favor—perhaps she could at least buy herself some time 130

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until Cray got back. Taking the gun with her, she began looking through each room, familiarizing herself with the house’s layout. Two hours later, she’d found a nice stash of weapons, as well as several hiding places. Feeling a little more confident in her ability to survive should Graham show up, she placed several knives and revolvers in various positions throughout the house, then returned to Cray’s study. She didn’t mean to snoop, but she couldn’t help her curiosity about his notes, which he’d left scattered across the mahogany desk. Tucking the pistol in her waistband, she sank into his lambskin chair, appreciating the soft feel of the fine material against her bare legs. He certainly has good taste. She paused on that thought, an image of him selecting his prey from an attractive lineup coming to mind. Then she laughed. He’d assured her that he never hunted for food, only other werewolves. A thorough investigation of his larger-than-normal kitchen pantry and double door, stainless steel refrigerator confirmed that he certainly like food. Human food, that is. She found no evidence to suggest otherwise, no body parts or organs tucked in Tupperware bowls on the back shelves of his fridge. Spying a sizeable cluster of maps on the top right corner of his desk, she picked up the top one. It was a replica of Redwoods Park’s campgrounds. He’d circled and dated in red her campsite, as well as a small area an inch or so off the main trail leading to the showers. 131

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“That’s where Graham attacked Heather,” she said to herself, feeling the loss of her friend once again. Setting the map aside, she picked up another one. Also a campground, though she wasn’t sure where. This time, there were four red circles—one campsite, three attacks—but each was X-ed out with black. Three night cycle. Three deaths. A note in the top corner caught her eye. John Smith eliminated, March 13, 2007. She grabbed the next map, then the one after that, continuing until she’d reached the end of the pile. Most of them had a similar notation in the top corner, either a John Smith or a Jane Doe, as well as an elimination date. She assumed the few without meant those targets hadn’t been found. “I wonder why he uses the same name over and over again,” she mused aloud. Then it dawned on her—it was much easier for him to stay detached, unfeeling, if he didn’t recognize them as once being human. Calling them John Smith or Jane Doe simply denoted their sex, nothing more. What a terrible job. Cassandra realized something else. She quickly scrolled through the maps again, rechecking their elimination dates. When she’d finished, she leaned back heavily in her chair. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. They were all from this year. She looked at the numerous filing cabinets along the lefthand wall. Unable to resist, she went to the first one and opened the top drawer. It was packed with folders, all tabbed 132

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with dates from 2006. She opened the next drawer down, 2005. The one after that, 2004. And the bottom drawer held 2003. “There are so many.” The enormity of his job hit her full force as she stared at the remaining five cabinets. Taking a few steps back, she added the number of drawers and counted the amount of years. He’d been keeping humanity safe for at least three decades. “That’s a long time,” she whispered. Two small rectangular buttons housed within a brass switch plate on the wall behind the last filing cabinet caught her eye. She circled the drawers to get a better look. Then she noticed the crevice within the wood paneling, as though the entire section slid aside to reveal a… Secret room. Her finger itched to press the top button, see what happened. She reached forward, drew her arm back to contemplate, then reached for it again. She had to know what was in there. “Let’s see what’s behind door number two,” she whispered to the vacant room, then pressed the button. Despite a lot of groaning and squeaking, the panel pulled back a few inches, then slowly slid to the right, disappearing behind the remaining wall to reveal an adjoining room containing what looked to be a massive filing system. Cassandra gasped; she’d never seen anything like this. Her mouth agape, she cautiously stepped inside. Seven rotating filing machines stretching from the front of 133

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the room to the back wall comprised about one-third of the space, leaving plenty of room for more. Each contained five rows of suspended files arranged on a circular system— similar to a Ferris wheel. With the push of a button, the rows would rotate forward and down, providing access to the one above. At first glance, she thought each row one was one machine. But as she studied the system a little closer, she realized there were three in each, lined side by side. All in all, there were twenty-one motorized cabinets, each containing hundreds of files. Staggered by her find, Cassandra leaned heavily against the row behind her, inadvertently hitting the power button. She jumped forward with a startled yelp when the dangling files began to rotate. The next row stopped at eye level. Biting her bottom lip, she pulled out one of the folders and opened it. The top page inside displayed an elimination date, just like the maps on Cray’s desk. Only this time, rather than John Smith, a man’s real name was listed instead. The file contained photocopied maps with the familiar red circles X-ed in black, as well as articles about the kills. It was dated 1969. After a few moments confusion as to how he had things filed, she figured out it wasn’t alphabetically, rather by elimination date, and carefully replaced the folder where it belonged. Wanting to know the initial elimination he’d recorded, she walked to first line of machines along the far left hand wall. Hitting the power button, she rotated the files forward until 134

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she’d reached row number one. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out the first folder in line and slowly opened it—1472. A crash from somewhere upstairs gave her a start. She yelped and dropped the folder. Her heart leapt in response. “Oh, God. He’s here.” Disregarding the fallen file, she crept from between the rows of cabinets and started for the door. Cautiously peeking her head into the study, she found it was empty. A blast of rain pelted the window and she yelped once more. “It’s just the weather,” she assured. Instinct suggested otherwise. Her apprehensive gaze swept the room. Nothing. She crossed the floor, her bare feet silent on the burgundy carpet. Slipping the gun from her waistband, she held it against her chest. This time, she welcomed the cold metal within her hand. Until Cray returned, it was the only security she had, if she could aim and take a shot before being ripped to shreds. On legs that felt more like spindly stilts, she exited the study and tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest; her pulse roared in her ears. She’d be lucky to hear anything at all…if she didn’t have a heart attack first. She took the steps two at a time, keeping her back pressed firmly against the wall so she could watch both above and below as she climbed. Despite the roaring wind outside, the darkened house seemed disturbingly quiet. Reaching to top level, she began a methodical search of each room. Gun held out before her, she stopped at the first door. 135

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Mimicking the cops on TV, she poked her head in first, then retreated. Taking a deep breath, she rounded the doorway and stepped into the room. Nothing. No indication of forced entry. No broken glass. Satisfied the room was secure, she backed out, closing the door behind her. While the time seemed to stretch into hours, it really only took her about five minutes to complete her sweep. Closing the last door, she started once again for the stairs, descending in silence. Part of her debated on hiding in Cray’s bedroom until he returned, but she refused to simply wait until Graham came for her. After what Cray had said about a male wolf’s desire to mate before changing, the last place she wanted to be if Graham showed up was in a bed; no need giving him any ideas he didn’t already have. If he was in the house, she wanted to find him first, get the upper hand. She just hoped she had the nerve to shoot him when she did. Cray, please come back.

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CHAPTER 16 It wasn’t quite dark. The moon had yet to rise. He’d still be in human form, making her odds of survival slightly better. Dammit, Cray! Where are you? As she neared the bottom step, a flash of lightning illuminated the entire foyer in an eerie blue glow. A movement down the hall near the kitchen caught her eye. She froze, her gaze riveted in that direction. Nothing. She blinked, her eyes straining to see into the stygian walkway. She wasn’t sure if she’d seen something or not. Perhaps it’d been a trick of light. Shivers raced up her spine as her bare feet stepped onto the foyer’s cold marble floor. She padded toward the kitchen, 137

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stealthy and silent, like a cat stalking its prey. Reaching the doorway, she paused, listening for any telltale signs of movement within. When several seconds passed without sound, she chanced to peek around the doorframe. With the raging storm outside and the fast approach of night, the day’s light had faded more than she’d realized. Dark shadows met her sight. She bordered on the verge of panic. This was crazy. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t some great hunter, closing in on her prey. She didn’t know how to use a gun. “I’m gonna die,” she whispered, sliding her hand around the doorjamb to reach for the light switch inside. Finding the scrolled edge of the metal plate, she stretched a little farther to reach the dual switches. Heart pounding, pulse racing, she held her breath and flipped them both up. The kitchen was bathed in stark, man-made light. Cassandra blinked and shielded her eyes, not anticipating her momentary blindness. Fighting against her blurred vision, she searched the kitchen’s interior. While she saw no evidence of an intruder, she did notice the pantry door stood ajar. Her heart leapt to her throat. She knew she’d closed that before. Trying to calm herself, she reasoned that perhaps she hadn’t shut the door completely, and it had simply swung open on its own. Silently treading the white tile floor, she crossed the kitchen, gun in hand. The end of the barrel shook as she tried to hold it up in preparation, should she need to take a shot. Her nerves at wit’s end, she doubted she’d hit anything but air. 138

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Reaching the pantry, she cautiously peered inside. Nothing but shelves of canned goods and boxes of food. Sighing with relief, she started to close the door. “Hello, Cassie,” Graham’s voice sounded from behind. Cassandra let out a startled scream. Some instinctual will to survive kicked in and she swung around so quickly she surprised even herself. Her finger responsively pulled the revolver’s trigger and the gun fired a stray shot, its discharged bullet hitting the cabinet door mere inches from his head. Graham leapt aside, cursing as wood splinters pierced his face. He wiped his cheek, then pulled his hand back to assess the damage. Blood stained his palms. As though disregarding the fact that she still held a gun, his livid gaze swung back to her. “You fuckin’ bitch!” Then he lunged forward, a murderous glint in his red eyes. Cassandra fired again, this time hitting him in the right shoulder. The blow stunned him, knocking him back a few feet, but it wasn’t enough. Before she knew it, he was coming again, his forward motion fueled by nothing less than hell’s fury. Accepting that she was a poor shot, she gave up the hope of hitting him in the chest or head, and opted to run. She’d scarcely reached the door before he yanked her back by the hair. In the next instant, she and her weapon went sailing through the air, her gun unfortunately in one direction and she in the other. Her terrified cry was harshly cut short when she landed on the kitchen table and the air was ripped from her lungs in one 139

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big whoosh. The structure, while more than sturdy, wasn’t used to such a burden and collapsed under her weight. She landed on the floor in a heap of broken granite and busted wood. Cassandra gulped in a breath. Pain tore through her body as she struggled to roll onto her side. Ignoring her misery, she crawled on her hands and knees, trying to separate herself from the wreckage before Graham came again. Using a bar stool for support, she pulled herself to her feet. Her frantic gaze swept the kitchen in search of her attacker, but it was as though he’d disappeared. Then the sounds of stretching and suctioning, like pulling a wet rubber glove that’s two sizes too small from one’s hand, drifted from behind the bar, just beyond her sight. Cassandra trembled with a whole new dread. Even without seeing it, she knew Graham was changing into his werewolf form. Fueled by a motivation that outweighed her pain, she fled the kitchen. Where do I go? her mind screamed as she raced down the hall. Without her gun, she was pretty much helpless. Then she thought about the study with its secret room on the side. Maybe she could trap him in there. The sounds of crashing furniture echoed from the kitchen, followed by a furious howl as he realized she’d escaped. Cassandra darted into the study, not bothering to glance behind her. She knew he’d be coming. She backed into the attached chamber, trying to devise 140

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how she could get him in and herself out without crossing his path. Bloody tracks followed her. She glanced down, noticing the large gash on her right leg. An idea came to her. He’d likely follow the trail. Praying she didn’t get trapped, she turned around and raced to the last line of filing cabinets, then down the row to the back wall. Oh, thank God, she breathed silently, seeing there was just enough room for her to squeeze through. Graham would never fit. Cassandra stopped and listened intently to determine his whereabouts. The clicking sounds of nails on marble told her he was coming down the hall. She dropped her bloodied shirt in the back corner, then made her way along the wall, squeezing past the ends of the filing cabinets until she reached the first row. Hiding between the back wall and the cabinet’s wide end, she watched the door. From her position, she could just see its opening. Now all she had to do was wait; it wouldn’t be long. The clicking noise had stopped. He’d entered the study where the carpet masked his steps. Cassandra concentrated on breathing through her nose, lest he hear her terrified pants. The rancid smell of his foul breath drifted to her nostrils and she almost gagged. Clamping one hand to her mouth, she forced herself to keep her eyes on the door. Within seconds, his hulking frame shadowed the opening. Her heart nearly pounded through her chest as she watched him enter the room. Just as she’d hoped, his attention instantly went to the bloody footprints. Dropping to all fours, he 141

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followed the trail, his hideous snout to the floor like a bloodhound with a lead. As quietly as she could, Cassandra slipped from her hiding place and crept along the line of cabinets, silently making her way to the door. When she reached the end, she cautiously peered around it, just catching a glimpse of his mangy tail as he rounded the last row of files. Wasting no more time, she darted for the door. Without waiting to see if he’d noticed her exit, she punched the button on the wall and the panel slowly began to move. Too slowly. It’d never close in time. As though confirming her fear, she heard Graham’s enraged yowl when he realized he’d been duped. His lumbering frame slammed against the metal cabinets as he scrambled for the door, now half closed. Cassandra held her ground. By the time he reached the doorway, only his arm would fit through. His clawed hand swiped the air near her head, missing her by mere inches. Catching the door instead, his nails gouged the wood. Refusing to relent, she continued to hold the button. But the motor pulling the door was no match for Graham’s strength. It finally stopped, wedging his fur covered arm in the opening. Realizing he’d soon force the panel open, Cassandra relinquished her stand and raced for the exit. With her leg steadily bleeding, there was nowhere to hide. He’d simply follow her trail. 142

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She burst from the doorway and into the hall at full speed, hardly slowing down to make the turn. Not knowing what else to do, she started for the front door. Perhaps she could throw off his scent in the woods, though she knew it was unlikely. Cassandra had scarcely gone a few steps before stopping in her tracks. A pair of luminous green eyes pierced the darkness near the door. Cray had returned. The sound of splintering wood echoed behind her, signaling that Graham had nearly clawed his way free. Cassandra whipped around, expecting him to explode from the study at any moment. She was closer to him than Cray. Wasting no time, Cray closed the distance between them. “Take this,” he yelled, tossing her another gun as he raced past her. “Wait upstairs.” Cassandra fumbled the piece before catching it securely, her gaze more focused on the shifting muscles in his back. Without missing a beat, he transformed while in stride, his lycan form complete before he disappeared into the study. Stunned, she merely stood there a moment with the gun limply dangling in her hand. Then a furious howl pierced the air, returned by another as the adversaries prepared to fight. Cassandra was instantly drawn from her dazed trance. Not wanting to be anywhere near the battle, she ran for the stairs. *

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She huddled in Cray’s bed as the sounds of a terrible brawl ensued down below. Howls of pain and fury danced in the air, 143

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piercing and loud, as though the two were right beside her. She covered her ears, unable to stand the sound. She prayed Cray was winning, but with all the crashing going on, she doubted there’d be much left of either one of them, or his house. It seemed like hours had passed, and then it all stopped. An eerie silence followed. The sound of slow footsteps approached the bedroom. Not knowing who’d won, Cassandra lifted her gun. When the door suddenly swung open, she instinctively fired, hitting the jamb near Cray’s head. He yelped and whipped aside. “Dammit, woman! I’m glad you’re a bad shot!” “Cray! Oh, my God. It’s you.” Cassandra dropped her gun and scrambled off the bed. Disregarding the nasty slash across his bare chest, she leapt into his arms, relieved beyond words. “Is it over?” Cray held her tightly against him. “Yes, it’s over. But he didn’t go easily. The downstairs is a bloody mess. I’ll clean it in the morning. Right now, I just want to hold you.” Cassandra nodded and helped him to the bed, taking note of his multiple injuries. She wondered if needed some medical assistance, but he didn’t seem concerned so she didn’t ask. Besides, what rationale could they give the paramedics? Few people believed werewolves really existed—she’d doubted it herself—but one thing was for certain, she’d never be the same. One simply didn’t walk away from something like this and return to normal life. No, things had to change. As she snuggled next to Cray, relishing the feel of his 144

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strong arms around her, she realized this is where she wanted to be. In his world, protected and loved. Whether she became like him or not, she wanted to stay. “I’ll need to get my things,” she whispered. “I can’t wear your shirts forever, you know.” He chuckled, his warm breath tickling her ear. Then he pulled her closer, pressing her bottom against his groin. Cassandra inhaled sharply when he entered her from behind. “You’re not going to need clothes for a long while.”

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SHANNON LEIGH

Shannon Leigh is a practicing registered nurse who graduated with a BSN, RN from the Indiana University School of nursing in May of 1996. She lives in Indiana with her four sons, two dogs, and a lazy fat cat named Tippy. When she’s not chasing after her four rambunctious boys, Shannon enjoys tole painting, drawing, reading, writing, and watching vampire flicks. Coincidentally, one of her favorite movies, Dracula 2000, which stars Gerard Butler, was released on her birthday, December 22. Shannon tries to dedicate a couple of hours every day to writing and finds that the best time for her is usually sometime between the hours of 9 p.m. and 3 a.m., after everyone else is in bed. Her favorite time to write is when the house is pitch black, lighted only by her laptop screen, and she can curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and become engrossed in her characters. Along with other romance genres, Shannon enjoys reading suspense, fantasy and horror, but paranormal fiction remains her favorite. Her second novel, More Than Prophecy, is a paranormal romance involving interplanetary travel to a world known as Zandar, and was released from Amber Quill Press in

January 2005. She’s currently working on the sequel, When Destiny Summons, and hopes to have it ready for editing soon. To find out more about Shannon, please visit her web site: http://www.angelfire.com/planet/shannon_leigh *

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According to ancient prophecy, a woman will come from Earth to bear a child who will end the warring between the Ramekah and Andreas clans that has plagued the hold folk of Zandar for hundreds of years. On the tail of a magical zephyr, Cheyenne, a young Native American woman, is swept through the doorway of an interplanetary portal and whisked away from Earth in a dazing blur of motion. She’s deposited, alone and half-naked, in a valley between the grassy knolls of the Rhian Mountains and the dreaded Goetic forest, just inside the boundaries of Andreas Territory. It’s there that Lord Darian Andreas, ruler of the mighty Andreas Clan and master of the powerful Andreas Territory, finds her. Although Darian is a just man who exercises kindness and incorporates mercy into his method of rule— which, in the barbaric world of Zandar, are rare qualities for

a man—he’s also used to getting what he wants, one way or another. And from the moment Darian lays eyes on the darkskinned beauty, he knows she’s meant to be his. If the Gods are willing, he’ll make it so…

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