Page 43 of What a Wolf Demands

Pine and leather washed over her, filling her lungs.

Oh no. No, no, no. She tried to speak, to tell him to go away, but her throat wouldn’t work. Heat swept her from head to toe. Sweat broke out across her skin. Moisture surged between her legs.

He kept coming, his eyes like two spotlights in his tan, handsome face.

Pine.

Leather.

Male.

Aggression.

No, her lust-addled brain corrected. Not aggression.

Victory.

Strong hands closed over her shoulders. As if from a great distance, someone asked, “Are you all right?”

Heat blasted a searing path from her breasts to her sex. Her lips parted, her lungs robbed of air.

Again, the lightning struck. Her knees gave out.

And she collapsed on the floor.

7

Lily slipped from Dom’s grasp and fell to the ground in a heap of white robe and red hair. Before he could react, she fell backwards, her limbs sprawled against the carpet, her eyelids fluttering.

Panic shot through him, making his throat dry.

“Lily!” He went to his knees in front of her. “Are you sick?”

She moaned and tossed her head. Her cheeks were flushed a dark pink, her freckles obscured by the vivid color.

A fever? Something she ate?

Like all Hunters, he had medic training. Moving fast, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it away. Then he maneuvered on his knees to her side, one hand finding the pulse at her wrist.

It leapt against his fingers, the beat rapid but steady. As he moved to lift her eyelids, she opened her eyes and focused on him.

“It . . . hurts.”

The helpless plea in her voice was like a giant fist squeezing his heart. “What can I—”

“Oh god.” She dug her heels into the carpet, and her back arched off the ground. The movement caused the halves of the robe to part, revealing full, creamy breasts topped by nipples the same shade as her lips.

He stared, frozen by the tantalizing sight. Then he shook himself, a scowl in his mind. What kind of sick fuck am I? She was obviously in pain. Ogling her in her vulnerable state was definitely off the table.

She arched again, her eyes wide. She stared sightlessly at the ceiling, her mouth open but no sound emerging. Her fingers curled against the short nap of the carpet.

A fresh shot of panic bolted through him. Was she having some kind of fit? Werewolves didn’t get many illnesses—and none they could catch from humans. But Lily was latent. Could she have picked up some rare disease?

Dammit, he needed a Healer. Taking her to an emergency room was out of the question. Even as a latent, her DNA was werewolf. Any blood test would turn up odd results. And odd results led to uncomfortable questions.

“Lily!” He snapped his fingers in her face.

Nothing. Her back arched; her breasts thrust forward. The robe parted even more, exposing her ribs and flat belly. Her nipples jutted like little arrows from her chest. She moaned, as if the taut position hurt her.

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