Page 6 of Wolf Fated

He's huge, easily over six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders that seem to take up the entire doorway. His movements are fluid, almost predatory, as he scans the diner with sharp, assessing eyes. Even from a distance, I make out the chiseled planes of his face and the strong jawline dusted with a day's worth of stubble that only serves to enhance his rugged appeal. I recognize him as the same man who came in before. And then left.

The man who had my nipples instantly beading as though I’d taken an ice shower.

It's his eyes that truly ensnare me, piercing and intense, the color of molten gold flecked with streaks of emerald and they’re locked once more on me. The world grinds to a halt, the ambient chatter and clatter of dishes fading into white noise. In this moment, I'm the only person in the room, the sole focus of his scorching appraisal.

A frisson of awareness skitters down my spine, raising goosebumps in its wake, and I have to resist the urge to squirm under the weight of his heated stare. There's something feral about the way he looks at me, his gaze raking over my features with a hunger that borders on primal.

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I quickly avert my eyes, my heart thundering in my chest as a confusing riot of emotions swirls within me. Desire, trepidation, and a healthy dose of self-preservation all vie for dominance, leaving me unmoored and off-balance.

This is ridiculous, I chide myself, taking a long pull from my water glass in an effort to regain some semblance of composure. I'm running from one disastrous relationship, not seeking out another entanglement, especially not with a man who exudes such a potent aura of danger and raw masculinity.

And yet, even as I try to convince myself, I can't seem to shake the visceral reaction his presence has elicited. Every nerve ending in my body has been set ablaze, and I have to resist the urge to run my tongue over my suddenly dry lips.

I tear my gaze from him. Get a grip, Sarah. You're not some swooning schoolgirl, for God's sake. You're a grown woman. Albeit battered and bruised by life, but still standing. You don't need a man, especially not one who looks like he could devour you whole without breaking a sweat.

But even as I try to convince myself of that fact, a treacherous part of me whispers that maybe, just maybe, being devoured by this particular man wouldn't be such a bad thing.

I nearly choke on my spit as the errant thought flits through my mind, unbidden and entirely inappropriate. What is wrong with me? I've barely been in this town for an hour, and already I'm entertaining fantasies about the local law enforcement?

All of a sudden, his expression twists into a grimace of pain. His eyes squeeze shut, the cords of muscle in his neck standing out in stark relief as he battles some invisible force.

Concern flickers through me, momentarily overshadowing the simmering awareness. My gaze darts around, but no one else seems to notice the pain this man is in. Or seems to care.

Before I can make a move, his eyes snap open, and the raw intensity in their molten depths nearly steals my breath away. There's something feral, something primal lurking there, a hunger so potent it makes my knees go weak.

He steps back away from me with jerky, aborted movements, his massive frame seeming to swell and expand with each passing second. Muscles ripple and bunch beneath the confines of his uniform, straining against the fabric as if he's struggling to contain some immense, untamed force.

The air around him crackles with tension. Something isn't right, that much is clear, but before I can do more than open my mouth, he turns on his heel and bolts away for the second time. In the blink of an eye, he's at the door, his broad shoulders filling the frame as he pauses for the briefest of moments. I hold my breath, unsure of what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for what happens next.

With a guttural sound that sends shivers racing down my spine, he wrenches open the door and hurls himself through the opening, his powerful frame propelling him down the steps with a speed that is almost inhuman. The door slams shut behind him with a resounding bang, the entire diner seeming to shudder in his wake.

He passes his deputy–a muscular man with a grim set to his jaw– who bolts after him with the same feral grace as the sheriff. They disappear into the treeline that borders the edge of town without a backward glance. The conversation in the diner is hushed, as though people are afraid to talk too loudly.

It's Sally who finally breaks the spell, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. She shakes her head as a wry smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Looks like magic has returned to Willowbrook."

Her words snap the other patrons out of their collective daze, and the diner erupts into a cacophony of hushed whispers and speculative glances. But I barely register them, my mind still reeling from seeing the massive sheriff. He looked as though something was trying to break out of his skin, but there’s no way that could be possible.

Sally slides onto the stool opposite me, her movements unhurried and her expression one of genuine concern. “Is the Sheriff okay?”

I want to know what she means by Willowbrook and magic, but I keep that to myself. "I've gotten in touch with Cindi, the owner of the Wolf’s Bite for you," she says, her voice warm and inviting, and not answering my question at all.

I open my mouth to tell her she needn’t have arranged anything on my behalf, but something in her gaze gives me pause. It's not pity or judgment I see there, but rather a deep understanding, as if she can sense the weariness that weighs heavily on my soul. I’m not usually comfortable in strangers’ presences. In fact, it takes me a hell of a long time to let people in, but Sally is different for a reason I can’t put my finger on.

Then again, my internal radar is more than likely off. I thought Mark was different but evidence of his cock pumping in and out of Tanya has proven me wrong.

Before I can find words, she reaches across the table and pats my hand, her touch gentle yet reassuring. "She's got a room all set up for you, for as long as you need it."

A lump forms in my throat as gratitude washes over me, threatening to overwhelm me with its intensity. "Thank you. But I'll only need it for tonight."

The thought of getting back into my little Honda Civic almost brings me to tears but being with people I’m comfortable with is another level of unease. I don’t understand why and I don’t like not knowing.

No, it’s much better to be out of here in the morning. I just want to run. To run and keep on running until I can go no further.

Sally shakes her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Nonsense, sweetheart. You're welcome to stay as long as you need. Willowbrook has a way of drawing in those who need a little healing, and something tells me you could use a haven for a while."

The idea is tempting, almost painfully so, but I can’t. I won’t.

Still, I find myself nodding, offering Sally a small, hesitant smile. "Thank you," I repeat, the words heavy with sincerity. "I don't know what to say."

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