Hunter's Heart

attack on a local family several weeks ago, and rudely made aware that the paranormal really existed. Since then, the commander had obviously been easing the lawman into their world, and so it was okay to talk freely in front of him.

“Yes, I am. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just came from visiting Daria, and I thought Nick would like to hear what she said about yesterday’s events. You too, Sheriff, since you’re here.”

They listened intently as he described the great screeching noise Daria heard, and how it frightened her into breaking camp. If they’d expected Ryon to tell them that the culprit who chased her from the scene of the body and pushed her over the ledge was a Sluagh, or some previously unheard-of creature, they were wrong.

“It was a white wolf?” Nick repeated, going still. “She’s certain?”

Ryon rolled his eyes. “Of course she’s sure. She’s got a broken arm, not brain damage. On top of that, she says the wolf is female.”

The commander’s face paled, and he stared at the top of his desk. “I haven’t had any visions at all about any of this, just a sense of wrongness. Danger. I’m not sure what any of it means, and I’m hesitant to guess.”

“But you do have one,” Deveraux pressed.

Nick sighed. “I don’t think the wolf is responsible for the killing, but we won’t know for sure until Kira and Melina finish testing that DNA sample of the victim they liberated from the crime scene.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” The sheriff scowled.

“No offense, Jesse, but I have a hunch your medical examiner is going to come up with some very strange findings on that body and isn’t going to know what to make of them. Which is for the best. But my lab people will know what the results indicate, or at least have a good head start.”

“You might be right, but I don’t like it,” the man muttered. “You’ll keep me in the loop.”

“You bet.”

Mollified somewhat, the sheriff stood to leave. “Nothing to do for now but wait and see. Search and Rescue is still looking for the couple that vanished—or the husband at least. I’m betting the mutilated woman is the wife.”

“You’re probably right.”

Deveraux shook hands with both of them again, and then saw himself out. Ryon waited until the lawman was gone before he spoke.

“You sure we can trust him?”

“Absolutely,” Nick said. His mouth curved into a wry smile. “He’s so old-school, all this paranormal stuff is about to burst a blood vessel in his brain, but he’s a good man. He’s on our side, for all the bitching he does.”

“Good to know.”

“How’s Daria?”

“Unsettled,” he admitted. “Just because she has a Psy gift that she acknowledges doesn’t mean she’s ready to accept that we’re shifters or that other creatures exist. She wanted me to change and prove I’m a wolf, but I could tell she wasn’t really ready for that. I don’t want her to push me away.”

“She’s had enough to deal with,” Nick agreed. “You did the right thing giving her some time.”

“Thanks.”

“But don’t take too long to tell her the rest. It’s a delicate balance between giving her time to adjust and coming across as though you were hiding the truth.”

“Yeah, I know.” Hanging his head, he studied his shoes. He was so damned tired, his body still healing, and yet he hadn’t been able to rest for worrying about her.

“You’re about to fall over. Go crash for a while, or you’re not going to be any good to the team or your mate.”

“I think I’ll do that.”

He’d try, anyway. Back in his quarters, he tossed on the bed and fantasized about a striking, raven-haired woman who might not want a thing to do with him. He thought only of kissing those plump lips, caressing toned, soft, honey brown skin. His lids grew heavy and yearnings followed him into his dreams where she tormented him endlessly, leading him to the edge, so in danger of falling. Only to pull back and leave him hurt, confused.

God, her lips were soft. His tongue slipped inside and he explored her mouth, groaning at her sweet taste. His fingers dipped into the swell between her breasts and stroked the creamy mounds. Sought lower, skimming down her flat stomach . . . until she caught his hand.

“Ryon.”

“Baby, please. I need you.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head.

“Why not?” Pulling back, he studied her expression. He saw fear, confusion. Not the ideal emotions to inspire in his mate.

“This is too soon,” she said softly. “I don’t know how I feel about this. About whether there’s an us.”

His wolf howled inside and a bubble of panic lodged in his throat. “Of course there is. Don’t you feel something growing between us?” he asked hoarsely. “I already care about you, Daria.”

She shook her head. “I cared about someone else not too long ago, and he broke my heart. I thought what he and I had was real, but it wasn’t. How can I trust again?”

“Let me show you.” He was begging shamelessly, and he couldn’t help himself. “Let me prove how good it can be with the right man.”

“I don’t think I can. I’m sorry.” She gave him the saddest smile.

Then turned and walked away.

“Daria, no! Don’t leave me!”

Ryon bolted upright in bed, heart hammering in his chest. Not a vision—that wasn’t his gift. Just a dream turned nightmare, he realized. A horrible, stupid nightmare with no basis in reality. God, he wanted her so much.

As proof, his unsatisfied cock was hard and aching, pointing at the ceiling. He needed relief or he was going to die of blue balls. Unzipping his jeans, he pushed them down far enough to free his tackle, and cupped a hand, squeezing the tight orbs. It felt so good he did it again, manipulating the sac and teasing the perineum. One finger trailed down to his hole, giving it a naughty rimming and stimulating his arousal to near pain.

Taking himself in hand, he gripped the hot, hard flesh and began to stroke. Up and down, hissing in pleasure at the little shocks of sensation that skittered from his nerve endings to heat his groin. The feeling was awesome, but it was nothing compared to what happened when he imagined Daria crouched between his thighs, jet-black hair spilling over his lap as she sucked him down her throat.

“Oh, shit.”

That tripped his trigger, and his hips bucked as he worked his rod with abandon and just let himself go. In seconds that familiar buzz started at the base of his spine, signaling orgasm. His release exploded like a shot from a gun, creamy white ropes of cum squirting to land on his stomach and chest. On and on he spurted until his balls had emptied and he was jerking with aftershocks, wishing it hadn’t ended so fast.

“Damn,” he rasped. “Time for a shower.”

Now that the high had ended, he felt empty. Sort of lost. With a sigh, he rose and padded to the bathroom, turning on the water to let it get hot. As he stepped into the steamy spray, he groaned and tried to shut the nightmare out of his mind.

But now that it was stuck in his brain, he couldn’t dislodge it.

Getting to know Daria, much less winning her over, might be his biggest challenge yet.

* * *

On the second day of her stay, Daria awoke feeling much better. So much, in fact, she was suspicious of exactly why she wasn’t hurting beyond a twinge or two. And why in the hell the scratches on her body weren’t more than pink, healing lines that looked a few weeks old instead of two days.

She stared at one of the marks on her left arm in growing dread. What kind of medicine speeded healing like that? Nothing she’d ever heard of.

It was then that she noticed two faint puncture marks inside her wrist.

Again, the memory of voices, the men shouting as they worked to save her life, flooded in. This time came the recollection of a slight, pinching pain on her wrist. Had she imagined that? If so, why were there marks on her