Page 19 of The Kill

Instinctively, my hand lifts to hide the pale stretch marks over my hips and belly, which will never be as flat as it once was.

Tyson nods, humming in appreciation, and takes a tentative step toward me. He wraps his fingers around my hand, moving it to the side so he can see what I’m covering. “You don’t need to hide yourself from me. I think those make you even more beautiful.”

My throat clogs with emotion as he raises my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips gently over the back of my knuckles. If it weren’t for Tyson, I wouldn’t have these marks - because I wouldn’t have my son. I’d be lying in a cold grave somewhere.

Or worse, a dark dungeon back with my old pack.

“Thank you.”

Nodding, Tyson doesn’t ask what for; he knows.

Our fingers tangle briefly as he lowers my hand back to my side, and the sparks that fire up my arm are exhilarating. He’s so close that if I tilted forward ever so slightly, I could press my cheek to his chest. When he leans down, my heart rate picks up in giddy anticipation, waiting to see if he’s really going to press those full, soft lips to mine.

A kiss is nothing.

Maybe it would be a good way to test how compatible we really are. I let my eyelids fall shut, but the kiss never comes.

“We need to shift and run, Mandy, or I won’t be able to help what happens. And I’m not really sure you’re ready for that yet.” Inhaling deeply, his wolf rumbles, catching the scent of my arousal in the air. “You smell so good. Kissing won’t be enough.”

Gasping as his fingers find the sensitive skin of my wait, his eyes snap to mine. They’re almost fully red now and his already angular features sharpen before my eyes. Tyson’s jaw works and the tendons in his neck cord and bulge. When I blink, he’s no longer in front of me, flashing to the trees where he stands, chest heaving, nostrils flared. He shifts quickly into his black wolf and waits, strong and proud.

As I let my wolf take control, and my human form melts away, I feel a crack appearing in the walls I’ve sustained for so long.

How good would it be to have a partner to run with? To share my day-to-day life with?

My human brain has a dozen reasons why this is a bad idea, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to fight the big giant one that screams, YES!

We didn’t get off on the best foot, but he hasn’t done anything except be a typical, overprotective alpha male. His overbearing attempts to keep me wrapped in cotton wool are textbook unmarked mate behaviour.

The second my paws touch the dirt, my animal races to Tyson’s side, brushing up against him and rubbing her scent all over his coat. He places his muzzle next to hers tenderly and they curl up around each other, pushing and dancing in excitement, being close in a way Tyson and I haven’t figured out yet.

That we’re afraid to be, if I’m honest about what’s holding me back.

Deciding to worry about that later, I pull my human consciousness back and let her do what she wants, bounding and chasing, hunting and racing for hours. The trees here are old, gnarled, and strong; the thrum of power from the ancient forest seems to pulse around us. Tired but happy, we eventually return to the house. Tyson takes the lead, alert as ever, scanning our surroundings and checking every few steps that I’m still close by.

He’d make good pups, my wolf whispers, firmly on the side of letting nature take its course. And he can protect us all. He’s proven it before.

Pushing aside the mental checklist my wolf is doing of how wonderful a specimen he is, I follow Tyson as he skirts the lawn and leaps onto the covered porch. I skid to a stop beside him, not quite so elegant a landing with wet paws on the slippery wooden surface. Curling up to keep my bits covered as best I can, I shift quickly and turn my back to my mate.

“That was fun.” I can’t help grinning, my wolf’s pleasure at running with her mate is infectious. I feel closer to him, and it’s helped to ease the earlier tension. Determined not to get trapped in another I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours contest, I snatch my clothes and dress at lightning speed.

Tyson says nothing, but the atmosphere suddenly turns heavy, and I feel the weight of his stare on my back. His laboured breathing and ominous silence send a chill down my spine as I straighten, flicking my hair out from the neck of my dress and turning slowly.

When I see Tyson’s expression, I gasp and reel backward. His face contorts and his gleaming white fangs protrude from under his top lip. Claws now tip his fingers and every muscle in his body seems to strain and bulge even as he stays deathly still.

Following his gaze, I glance down at my elbow, where a graze I didn’t even realise I had gotten sends a single drop of blood trickling down the back of my arm. He tracks its path with laser-like focus, and I’m glued to the spot, afraid to move in case it triggers some kind of predator-prey instinct to attack.

“Tyson?” I whisper, hoping to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. “Tyson?”

When he blinks, I swear I see some of the intensity in his eyes dim, and he shakes his head, so slightly I may have imagined it. He’s fighting whatever urge has him in its thrall.

I’m about to step toward him, to see if my touch might calm his hammering heart, when a sudden movement to my left catches my eye. Shrieking, I jump back as someone else blurs between us and stands, one arm out to keep Tyson away from me. If the situation weren’t so serious, I’d laugh, because his guy is less than half Tyson’s size.

“Go inside and wash your arm. Now,” he orders, calm but insistent.

Hearing another male’s voice seems to snap something inside Tyson, and he lunges at me. I scream, scrambling for the back door, dashing indoors just as something big and hard crashes into it.

Trembling, I rush to the small bathroom just inside and slam the door shut behind me. Hands shaking, I block out the bangs and crashes coming from the far side as I turn on the tap and roughly sluice water over the tiny cut until my arm is clean and the bleeding has stopped.

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