and howled.
He howled for newness, for loss. In anger over the necessary acceptance of his fate. His second vocalization was for the unconscionable merging of muscle and nerve, human and wolf, and with regret for a life that would never be the same again. His final cry was for having to miss the blonde, whoever she was.
The sounds of his frustration carried, bouncing off the buildings of the deserted street before echoing back with a faint rise in tone. A strange, tinny sort of tone.
Siren.
The hair at the nape of his neck lifting, Dylan snapped his mouth shut, cocked his head, and dropped onto his haunches. In a low, crouched position he listened, his internal burner on high.
The sound raised to an eardrum splitting decibel. In the darkness of the quiet street, in the distance and coming quickly closer, Dylan saw lights.
Flashing lights.
The flashing lights of the Miami PD.
And him without a social bone left in his body to explain to the fine officers, were they to see him, about disturbing the peace, and why he resembled something big and bad that might have escaped recently from the zoo…without getting shot.
The authorities might know about the wolf strain affecting a tiny percentage of the population, but they were not going to formally acknowledge or condone it. Even if he’d dealt with many of those cops professionally in his job as deputy D.A. Even if his father, the Honorable James Landau, was a superior court judge when he wasn’t prowling the better parts of Miami proper as a silver-pelted lycanthrope.
The wail of the siren exploded in his oversensitive ears, much too close for comfort. Limbs starting to twitch and dance, Dylan stayed crouched, knowing he should take off, get clear of public places. Knowing he should run off the boundless energy of the beast, and that if he didn’t scram and the cop car got any closer…
He took one more look down the block.
The police car was weaving.
Merely a couple buildings away now, the noise stopped abruptly, leaving a phantomlike disturbance in the close atmosphere of the night, and Dylan’s eardrums throbbing. The black and white car straddled the white line drunkenly as it approached, then lurched to the right, jumping the curb with both front wheels, missing a streetlight by inches. It shuddered to a stop. The engine died with the headlights still on.
Dylan slid sideways, still low to the pavement, watching as the driver’s side door opened with a crack of the bolts and an officer jumped out quickly. Leaving the door open, heaving back to lean against the metal with a thump Dylan could easily hear, the officer, clearly agitated, tossed off his hat and shook his head.
Make that her head.
A cascade of dark hair tumbled out from under the hat, dark as the night and long enough to cover the officer’s shoulders.
The bizarre behavior didn’t stop there.
As though her uniform were on fire, the cop grabbed for her belt, undid the buckle, and threw it inside the car—gun, stick and whatever the hell else they kept around their waists. With jerky hands, red in the reflected light from the flashers, she went for her shirt next, scratching at the buttons. Like a madwoman, she tore the fabric from her arms and threw it into the car, then spun in place once, hitting the door hard, bounding back to a splayed-legged stance.
Next she went at her bullet-proof vest.
The unmistakable rip of Velcro fastenings being torn apart was the only sound remaining on an otherwise now extremely quiet crook of road.
This cop was a real cop. Dylan wasn’t imagining it. Not only was it the strangest thing he’d ever seen, the event seemed out of time… Removed from reality.
The cop flung her vest aside, revealing a fitted white short-sleeved T-shirt tucked in at the waist of her pants. Dylan glanced down at his arms, covered in light brown fur. He moved his hair-covered fingers. He was a wolf-man hybrid, yes, but he was all male just the same.
He looked up at the cop.
If she goes for the T-shirt…
In a flash, the T-shirt was over her head. Hair spilled across tanned shoulders like liquid darkness being poured from the sky above. Moonlight streaked the darkness with a pearlescent sheen.
Dylan rose to half his full six-foot-two height, ignoring the sound of his ligaments extending, withholding a growl.
She wore a black bra. Not only was this a surprise, but an unexpected turn-on. Never would he have imagined sexy lingerie beneath a crisp, pressed, unisex uniform. Sure, maybe he’d fantasized about such a thing when he had an attractive female officer in the witness box, but…
When she reached for her zipper, Dylan straightened completely—and everywhere a male body could. Vying for his attention though, came a wayward premonition that pummeled him square in the gut.
No. Couldn’t be.
He shifted his weight, feeling a bit of a voyeur, unable to move. The sudden premonition had brought with it a chill.
She’d dropped the pants down around her ankles, then leaned over to rip at the laces of her regulation shoes. Shoes off. Socks off. Pants off. She wore nothing now but the sheer black bra and a matching pair of tiny underwear.
Dylan made an appreciative grunt. The woman had a spectacular body. Lean muscles and elegant curves. Long neck. Long legs. Delicate ankles. She filled the black bra nicely.
Her hips were rounded, feminine, vastly alluring. Her thighs were those of a runner. She was, against all odds—and every human male prayer for this very sort of occurrence—standing in the street, beside her car, for all intents and purposes…naked. And all that dark hair of hers, straight and shiny and nearly as black as her underclothes, settled velvet-like around her face as she stood up, half covering her features.
Dylan’s premonition kicked maniacally at his mind.
How long had this odd striptease taken? Three minutes? Five?
What other explanation could there be?
The officer had shed her clothes—perhaps just as she was about to shed her skin and much of what made her human. The woman was about to become what he was. Maybe for the first time.
Or, Jesus, maybe she’d become something altogether different?
His beast was very interested in this. Seemed the sight of the woman’s exquisite body had diluted his own sense of survival.
Leaping from the curb, Dylan saw the woman’s body begin to twitch. Her head flew back. He heard the crack of her spine and responded as if the sound were a supernatural plea for help.
His beast’s howl preceded him as he raced toward her. The woman stood there, unseeing. As Dylan, in his man-wolf form, reached her, her expression became visible. Dark, wide, frightened eyes in a face strained white. Long nose. High, arched brows. Mouth open in a silent cry.
Her hands were raised before her, the smooth skin starting to bubble as though something boiled underneath.
