Page 6 of What a Wolf Demands

She licked her lips. “Listen, Charlie. It’s been a long day. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you—”

“That’s right.” He moved closer, and his eyes brightened. “You shouldn’t have.”

Shit. Reminding him of that was a genius move. She jerked her gaze away from his face, focusing on the air next to his jaw. The picket fence gleamed in her peripheral vision. Beyond it, fog wreathed the gray headstones.

Instead of taking another step back, she drifted closer to the fence. She couldn’t outrun him, but she could make it harder for him to catch her.

“What are you doing?” He darted a look at the fence. “Stay put, you little bitch.”

What the hell? Irritation cut through her fear. Why did “bitch” spring so easily to men’s lips? Any time they were unhappy with a woman, it was bitch this and bitch that. She eased toward the fence.

“I said stop it!” Charlie lurched forward, and he made a grab for her arm.

She jerked back. His fingertips skimmed her forearm.

He lifted his hand and looked at it like he’d never seen it before. Then he met her gaze, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “I’m a Finder,” he said, confusion in his voice. In a blink, his eyes wavered between blue and ordinary brown. “I should have caught you.”

“You’re drunk.” She put a hand on one of the fence’s white balusters. “Go home, Charlie.”

The wolf leapt back into his eyes, making the irises glow blue. When he spoke, his voice was lower than any human man’s. “You do not order me around, latent.”

She tensed, prepared to launch herself over the fence. “I-I wasn’t ordering you.”

“Sure sounded like it.” He swaggered forward, so close she could smell the beer on his breath. “You need to watch your mouth before one of us whoops your ass.” He ran his gaze down her body, making it clear he had a candidate in mind for the aforementioned ass whooping.

Disgust curled in her gut. Her mother’s voice whispered through her mind. “Be smart. Don’t provoke.” She lowered her gaze. There. That was meek and submissive. Maybe he’d go back to the bar now and celebrate besting a latent female half his size.

Silence stretched, the only sounds the cicadas and Charlie’s uneven breaths. After a second, he put a big palm on top of the fence, as if he meant to strike a casual pose. “You know, ole’ Luc had a point back there.”

Alarm bells clanged in her head. She jerked her eyes to his. “I’m sorry, what?”

“About us fire crotches sticking together.” He winked as though he’d just shared a charming secret.

She gripped the baluster so hard, splinters poked at her skin. A few seconds ago, he was ready to tear her throat out. Now he wanted to . . . what was this, anyway? A come-on?

“No one has to know,” he said. He flicked a look at her breasts. “And I might be more willing to forgive your little misstep at the bar if we . . . you know.”

“No,” she said, the denial jumping from her mouth like it was spring-loaded. “I don’t know.”

Caution. Careful. More whispers filled her mind, nudging at her.

She ignored them. In her chest, the rattlesnakes stirred, hissing and spitting. Looking him straight in the eye, she added, “And I don’t want to.”

Anger flared in his gaze. “You stuck-up bitch.”

“Better that than a stupid prick.”

He lunged.

Instinct took over, and she ducked. His arm swung over her head. Blood pounded in her ears. It was like time slowed. As she came back up, he swung again, his big fist aimed straight at her head. Adrenaline lit her veins like gasoline. She flung out an arm, catching him in the throat, her knuckles hitting his Adam’s apple.

He choked. Squeezed his eyes shut. Started to double over.

Rage and fear lent her strength. She stepped forward and shoved him, the heels of her hands smacking hard against his shoulders.

He stumbled backwards.

Tripped.

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