Half Wolf. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
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What is it about you, woman?
Michael’s muscles twitched in response to his silent question because even in her rapidly declining state, the woman in his arms was irresistible. She was seductive in an ethereal, ultrafeminine way. Her gray eyes, her flowery scent and white face were lures he hadn’t been able to resist. Hell, he couldn’t resist them now.
In his defense, Michael concluded that a good excuse for his behavior was that she probably wouldn’t harm a fly. Even if she discovered that werewolves still existed, it would be a shame for the world to lose such a small bundle. He just couldn’t imagine the alternative. Because if she did live and decided to expose his kind, the job he faced was unthinkable. Saving her life would have been for nothing.
“Breathe,” he said to her. “That’s right. Now breathe again.”
Half Wolf
Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
LINDA THOMAS-SUNDSTROM writes contemporary and paranormal romance novels for Mills & Boon Desire and Mills & Boon Nocturne. A teacher by day and a writer by night, Linda lives in the West, juggling teaching, writing, family and caring for a big stretch of land. She swears she has a resident Muse who sings so loudly, she often wears earplugs in order to get anything else done. But she has big plans to eventually get to all those ideas. Visit Linda at www.lindathomas-sundstrom.com or on Facebook.
To my family, those here and those gone,
who always believed I had a story to tell.
Contents
Pain, sharp-edged and nasty, hit Kaitlin Davies in an undulating wave, pulsing in time with the spike in her heart rate.
God, she thought. Can this be happening?
The guy who had just seconds ago seemed like any normal male—short hair, jeans, old white T-shirt—had her by the neck before she could shout. So fast she couldn’t draw a breath. The asshole actually bit her, breaking the skin beneath her right ear. He kept his teeth clamped to her neck and seemed to get a kick out of it. He was making happy noises.
Shock made screaming impossible. The a-hole had her pinned to a tree with some kind of supernatural grip.
Her bags fell to the ground. A hideous sucking sound, like someone knocking back a smoothie through a narrow straw, caused her stomach to turn. Something wet trickled down her throat, forcing a gag reflex, but she was too stunned to do anything other than try to breathe.
The scent of blood saturated the air. Her scream was internal, silent.
No...
The last rush of her frantic energy ebbed with a sensation similar to a tumbling wave’s retreat. And then another jarring spike in her pulse hit, fueled by adrenaline with nowhere to go.
Scream. Shove. Knee him. Fight.
That was what the rules of self-defense said to do if she were ever to find herself in trouble.
Yell. Make as much noise as possible. Draw attention.
Don’t