The woman had a point.
Kind of. Since we were dealing with werewolves, there weren't a lot of rule books. Nowhere did it say I couldn't become different, even from what I was. Damien had.
Of course, he'd been cursed. Blessed. Hell, I didn't know anymore.
But since sex is a normal, physical function of both humans and wolves, perhaps in abstaining, I'd done myself more harm than good.
See, I could rationalize with the best of them.
"Jess? Will called. "We're supposed to check in with Sheriff Stephenson."
"Keep your pants on, Slick." Jessie moved past me and into the hall. "Or maybe take them off," she murmured so only I could hear. "He looks much better that way."
A muffled thump at the front of the house announced they'd left, and weariness washed over me again. I stumbled into the room that was now mine, dumped my sweat-stained clothes, then crawled beneath the chilly sheets in nothing but Jessie's T-shirt.
The windows were covered with heavy curtains - a J��ger-Sucher staple, issued right along with silver ammunition and fake IDs, since most of them slept in the daytime and hunted all night.
Considering that, a vampire would make a great werewolf hunter, if you could trust the bloodsucking undead. I'm sure it goes without saying that you can't.
I awoke much later, rested but stiff. I'd slept so heavily my body was in the same position as when I lay down. Unusual for me. I was an active sleeper. Lucky I slept alone.
Except I wasn't alone. The instant I woke up, I heard someone breathing. The door was closed. I remembered leaving it open.
In an attempt to fool whoever had invaded my place, I kept my respiration deep and even. I moved nothing except my eyes.
Near the window stood a man.
I tried to pin his scent, but he'd showered so recently I caught only a whiff of soap and damp hair. New clothes that smelled of the plastic they'd come in, new shoes so fresh I could taste the rubber.
Best defense and all that, I bounded out of bed and had my elbow around his neck before he could turn.
He tried to talk but I was cutting off his air.
This close I didn't need to smell him. I knew the shape of that body, the texture of the skin. I loosened my hold, and he turned.
"Miss me, sweetheart?"
It was a rare occasion when I didn't know who was coming after me long before they got there. Those few seconds of not knowing had scared me.
"Do you have a death wish?" I snapped.
I stalked across the room and tapped the reading lamp on the bedside table. The muted glow barely reached into the corner where he hovered.
"No one throws me out of town," Nic said.
"I think someone did."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"And when Edward sees you he'll have a temper tantrum. I don't want to watch."
Edward's temper tantrums usually consisted of guns firing, blood spurting, bodies bursting into flames.
Nic crossed the room and crowded into my space. The action should have been intimidating. I'm sure he meant it to be. Instead, I found his nearness, his attempt at dominance, arousing.
Why did he have this effect on me? I wished the desire would go away. I wished he would go away.
As if he'd heard my thoughts, he grabbed my arms, and gave me a little shake. My breath caught on a gasp, not of shock, but excitement. I was pathetic. Since when had I enjoyed being manhandled?
Since the man doing the handling was Nic.
"I'm not leaving."
His fingers tightened as I tried to get away. I could have, easily, if I hadn't been enjoying the struggle so much.
"What hold does Mandenauer have on you, Elise? What is it that he knows?" I froze, eyes going wide.
"Who is he to you?"
"M-my boss."
"There's more to it than that."
He was right, but I couldn't tell him so.
"When you disappeared," Nic murmured, "I asked everyone if they'd seen you, but no one had."
Trust Edward to make sure of it.
"Except for the guy sneaking in from a night celebrating a solid C on his biology test."
Uh-oh.
"He saw a beautiful blonde leaving with a skinny, scary old man."
I swallowed. "So?"
"Now I've met the skinny, scary old man and I wonder... He wasn't your boss then, so why did you leave with him?"
My head tilted; my hair, loose and wild, brushed his arm and his nostrils flared, even as his lips thinned.
He was furious.
And as aroused as I was.
"I left because I wanted to."
That much was true. I'd wanted to get away from a place where everyone had suddenly smelled like meat.
"You were... too clingy," I blurted. "You were pushing me into something I wasn't ready for."
Something sparked in his eyes, and for an instant I was afraid of him, which was foolish. He couldn't hurt me. At least not physically.
"You mean this?"
His mouth crushed down. Our teeth clashed. I tasted blood. Mine? Nic's? I didn't care. The taste, the scent, only tempted me to give in to the wildness I kept trapped inside.
My lips opened. I welcomed him in. Our tongues dueled - touch, spar, retreat. I shuddered, fighting the urge to draw more blood.
His fingers wound in my hair, pulling my head back so he could trace a heated path down my throat. His tongue pressed against my pulse; his teeth worried a fold of skin as his fingers stroked my already aroused nipple to an aching peak.
Had he come back for me, or for this? Didn't matter. I wanted him. Always had.
I needed to hold on to something or fall, so I clutched his shoulders, then became fascinated with the thin line of his collarbone and the shape of his biceps.
Somewhere along the line he'd discarded the suit and found a bright, white T-shirt and a pair of jeans; his holster and his gun were gone. The lack of dress-up clothes and a weapon - his new, yet somehow old, outfit - reminded me of the boy I'd fallen in love with.
Happier, more innocent times, when we'd lie on the couch all tangled together, studying, kissing, unable to resist the fury of first sexual awareness.
Nic's hands fluttered down my back, under the flimsy cover of the T-shirt, stilling when he encountered nothing but skin. His fingernails scraped the sensitive area where my thighs sloped into my rear, before he filled his palms and ground us together.
I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and ride the tide. As if he knew my thoughts, he lifted me, settled my knees over his hips, and buried his face between my breasts.
I crossed my ankles behind his back and clenched, pressing myself against him. Cursing, he whirled and dumped me onto the bed, then he lost the jeans and the T-shirt.
The lamplight turned his skin to gold. He'd grown in the years we'd been apart, and without his clothes he seemed taller, broader, stronger.