She opened her eyes slowly. The black of the night sky was splattered with bright stars, and the full moon hung huge and low in the center of her vision. It was blurred, and she blinked in an attempt to clear it. Nothing happened, so she sighed and closed her eyes again. Her head hurt and there was a horrible smell, like rotten meat and unwashed bodies. She had no idea where she was or how she came to be here. A warm, drowsy feeling swept over her.
“Don’t go to sleep.” It was a man’s voice. Unfamiliar and authoritative.
She frowned and opened one eye, seeking the source of those warm, well-modulated tones. A face loomed above her. The moon was behind him so she couldn’t make out much of his features. She got the impression of strength and determination. As he leaned closer, she caught a whiff of his clean, masculine scent. Soap and cologne. Something woodsy, musky and warming. He wasn’t the source of that gut-churning smell. Although the scent probably wasn’t the most important of her problems right now.
The feeling of cold earth and damp leaves against her bare flesh brought another realization crashing over her. She struggled to move, but the pain in her head was too intense. “Why am I naked?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
He asked the question in a slightly incredulous manner that could have been intended to convey almost anything. She gazed up at him in horror. She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember why she was naked, why she was in these woods, why her head hurt, who he was. Who she was.
“What did you do to me?” The words trembled on her lips.
“Apart from saving your life, I haven’t done anything to you.” The words were harsh, clearly intended to put a swift end to any possible allegations.
She shrank back farther into the dirt. “I don’t believe you.”
He pointed to something just to one side of her. “Believe.”
With an effort, she turned her head. Inches away from her lay the body of an enormous wolf. Its jaws hung open to reveal lethal fangs, gleaming white in the moonlight. At least she had finally discovered the source of the smell.
“He was about to rip your throat out—among other things—when I shot him.”
Among other things? Even through the pain and fear, she picked up on something in the man’s tone. Sadness and sympathy. Regret. He referred to the wolf as “him,” not “it,” almost as if he was deliberately giving it an identity. That was how it felt, but maybe the shock or the bump on the head was making her overimaginative.
“I don’t know why I’m here.” The tears threatened to spill over, and she fought them. She might not know who she was, but she knew she didn’t do crying.
“There’s a big party going on at a house on the edge of the woods. Could you have come from there?” He turned slightly, presumably in the direction of the house he was talking about, and she caught a glimpse of his strong profile.
“I suppose it’s possible.” She risked sitting up, hugging her knees up to her chin. Her head hurt like hell, but at least she felt less exposed in this position than lying flat on her back. “It doesn’t explain why I’m not wearing any clothes.”
Her rescuer tugged his hooded sweatshirt over his head and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
She accepted it gratefully, pulling it over her head and sliding her arms into the sleeves. The residual warmth from his body and that delicious smell were comforting. She drew the garment around herself, trying desperately to remember something—anything—about what had happened before she had opened her eyes and seen this man leaning over her. It was no use. Her memory remained stubbornly blank.
“Can you stand?” He leaned down, offering his hand.
Taking it, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once she was upright, the world swam out of focus and she staggered. Strong arms caught and held her, and she leaned her forehead gratefully against a chest that was hard and muscular.
“Who are you?” It seemed a little late for introductions. His hands maintained a firm grip on her hips and, even through her giddiness and discomfort, she was glad the sweatshirt was long enough to reach the top of her thighs.
“My name is Nate.” He looked over her head toward where she guessed the house party must be taking place. “Maybe we should go down there and see if someone recognizes you. Even if they don’t, we can call for help from there. I don’t have a phone with me and I’m not from ’round here. I have no idea where the nearest hospital is, but I think you should get that head injury of yours checked out.”
She lifted her chin so she could scan his face. In the circumstances, it probably wasn’t the wisest move. Her head was spinning and nothing made sense. She didn’t know this man, but she sensed there was a lot he wasn’t telling her. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Somehow, she had lost control of her life and now she had no idea how to get it back on track. She was so far from the track, she had lost sight of where it might be. The thought set her heart pounding and her breath coming in short pants.
As she fought to regain control, a series of questions swirled around in her head. She had no idea why she was in the woods—let’s not get into the whole naked thing right now—but why was he here? How had he conveniently managed to kill that wolf just as it was about to attack her? What did he mean by “among other things”? And how was it that she could sense, beyond any shadow of a doubt, his overwhelming reluctance to go toward that house where the party was being held?
As the questions chased each other around inside her fragile head, the moonlight illuminated a glimpse of Nate’s rueful grin.
“Before I do anything, I have to take care of our friend over there.” He indicated the wolf’s body. “This isn’t going to be pleasant, and, when I’m finished, you probably won’t want to come anywhere near me ever again.”
With those cryptic words, he released his grip on her hips and shifted her weight so that she could lean against the trunk of a tree. Moving stealthily in the darkness, he walked a few feet away and rummaged among some items that were in a large bag on the ground. When he returned, he was carrying a curved, gleaming sword and a shovel.
* * *
The woman recoiled violently as Nate walked toward her. She eyed the sword and shovel with a look of horror. “What are you going to do with those?”
It was not an easy thing to explain. He had to decapitate this werewolf while the moon was still full, or his job was only half-done. The silver bullet had stopped his heart, but Nate had to be sure he couldn’t rise again. Legend was divided on this issue. Some believed that decapitation was the only way to finally lay the tortured soul to rest. Others felt it was overkill. There were no examples that he could find for what happened if someone left the werewolf’s body intact. Preferring to leave nothing to chance, Nate went for decapitation. And, since he had to be on a flight to London in a few hours, he had to do it here and now.
What sort of bad luck was this? Okay, the circumstances of their meeting weren’t ideal, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, Nate felt a tug of attraction toward a woman. More than a tug, if he was honest. What he was about to do next would kill any reciprocal feelings stone dead.
The woman, who was gazing at him with huge, troubled eyes, was about to get a live demonstration of the messy side of werewolf
