never going to see her again after tonight, but the idea of figuring in her nightmares for the rest of her life didn’t fit comfortably with him.
He tried for a soothing opening sentence. “This is not an ordinary wolf.”
“It is very big.” Her voice was wary. Clearly she was wondering where this was going. And whether she was humoring a madman.
“He’s a werewolf.” There. He’d said it. She hadn’t run away screaming. But that might have more to do with her head injury than her acceptance of his sanity.
In the moonlight, he couldn’t see the color of her eyes. He saw only the sweep of her long, dark lashes as they came down and rested on her pale cheeks before lifting slowly. “What do you have to do to him?”
“I have to cut off his head.”
The gulping sound she made as she swallowed echoed in the silent forest. “I can’t watch that.”
Nate nodded grimly. “I’ll tell you when I’m done.”
She kept her eyes closed, leaning back against the tree. Nate worked swiftly. Although he’d lost track of how many times he’d done this over the years, he had developed a routine. It might not suit the purists who first devised these ancient rites, but it worked for him. Kneeling beside the body of the werewolf, he bent his head. Prayer wasn’t appropriate. He didn’t know this young man. Didn’t know his background, his beliefs or his culture. It didn’t matter. A werewolf was a creature of darkness. If this man had worshipped a deity before his transformation, his allegiances would have changed once he became feral. But something was needed. Some acknowledgment of who he had been, a recognition that he would die alone, that his family would never know what had become of him.
Nate owed this unknown man something. It was a duty. Just as Stella, when she laid her hands on Nate six years ago, had felt a different sort of obligation to him. Nate wasn’t a necromancer. He couldn’t bring this guy back to life the way Stella had with him. Even if he had that choice, he wasn’t sure, knowing what he did, that he would exert it. No, his ritual was simple. He murmured a few words, lines from a poem he’d once heard, to ease the dead on their way.
The samurai sword, with its curved blade, worked best. He’d tried others, but always returned to this. Raising it high above his head, ignoring the awful silver stench, he brought it down in a single, swift stroke. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh and bone never failed to sicken him. Usually one blow was all it took. This time, clouds had obscured the moon at the crucial moment, and his aim was not true. Cursing his bad luck, he aimed the sword at the werewolf’s neck a second time and finished the job.
And, just like that, the wolf was gone. In his place, the body of a slender young man lay curled on his side.
“At peace now.” Nate said the words quietly. Sadly. Although whether the sadness was for the werewolf or for himself, he was never quite sure. Because Nate himself sure as hell wasn’t at peace.
His voice must have attracted the woman’s attention. Her gasp shattered the stillness of the forest before her hand flew to cover her mouth. Those huge eyes met Nate’s across the few feet separating them.
He experienced an overwhelming impulse to go to her and draw her into his arms. After so many years of believing he wasn’t capable of feeling attraction, it was as if the floodgates to his emotions had been opened in spectacular style.
He tried telling himself it was the strange circumstances that had him enthralled, but it didn’t seem to be working. He was fascinated by this woman he had only just met, drawn to her in a way he didn’t understand. He got a grip on the impulse to go to her, telling himself she had been through enough without the uninvited embrace of a stranger.
“It was true. He was a werewolf. When you said ‘among other things,’ you meant he was going to rape me before he killed me, didn’t you?” There was still a trace of incredulity in her voice, but there was no longer any fear.
“The poor bastard will have had the urges of both man and wolf, with no way of controlling either.” He became brisk again. “And now I have to bury him.”
The ground was damp, and Nate was able to dig a grave quickly. He was worried about the woman. Although she was a complication he could have done without, she had become his responsibility as soon as he had rescued her. Leaving her standing around injured and half-naked while he completed this task didn’t seem like the behavior of a hero. He almost laughed out loud at the idea of himself in that role.
Of the five band members, Nate was the one labeled by the press as “the shy one” or “the quiet one.” He was the one who didn’t do relationships. He was the one most likely to be tucked up in bed with a good book while the others were out raising hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even talked to a woman. Heroic? He wouldn’t know where to start.
When he’d finished burying the body, he came back to the woman, wiping his hands on his jeans. His thoughts were focused on the problem of how to get her to safety. If that house on the edge of the forest was the scene of a werewolf get-together, the last thing he wanted to do was walk in there. But if it was where she had come from, he needed to return her to her friends. Was she a werewolf? If she had come from that party, it seemed likely she was. None of my business. He’d pledged to get her to safety, not judge her.
What if she’s not a werewolf? What if you walk into that house with her and they have no idea who she is? A darker scenario presented itself. What if they say they know her, but it’s a lie? He had no reason to suppose the werewolves at that party were not law-abiding citizens. Most werewolves in the mortal realm were. But this woman was alone, vulnerable and...well, she was fucking gorgeous. What if they welcomed her with open arms because they had plans for her that were similar to the feral werewolf’s intentions?
No, there was no alternative. Nate Zilar, celebrity by day, werewolf hunter by night, was going to have to walk into a house full of werewolves. He had cast himself in the role of hero, and now he had to live up to it. He was going to make damn sure this woman was safe before he left her anywhere.
She was conscious of so many things as they approached the house where the party was taking place. How much her head hurt. The cold flesh of her legs. How her bare feet were scratched and muddy. She wore Nate’s sweatshirt with nothing underneath it. If it wasn’t for his strong arm around her waist holding her up, she’d have fallen several times.
Oh, and this man she was trusting? He’d killed a werewolf back there in the depths of the forest. Sliced its head right off and buried the human remains like it was part of his everyday routine. And she had stood by and watched. Not the decapitation, but the aftermath. As if what he did was normal. I might not know who I am, but part of me feels I should not be okay with this. Yet she was wrapped in a surreal bubble where everything else was gauzy and his protective presence was all that mattered.
Although she couldn’t see Nate clearly in the darkness, she got the impression of power and energy. The moonlight gave her glimpses of strong features and dark coloring. Those things meant he was an attractive man, but they didn’t explain the instantaneous connection she felt to him. He rescued you from a wolf. Of course that meant there was a connection. But it was more than that. It had been a bright, instant flame, sizzling the air between them. And it showed no sign of subsiding.
Overriding everything else was a hazy sense of something she could
