Page 11 of Wolf Chosen

Stripping out of my clothes, I make my way to the ensuite bathroom, determined to have a hot shower before I go to bed. I slide between the sheets and almost as soon as I burrow deep under the duvet, I’m assaulted by dreams so vivid they could be real.

I'm running through a dense forest, the wind whipping through my hair as the loamy scent of earth and vegetation fills my lungs. Liam is there, keeping pace beside me, his hazel eyes blazing with a fierce, predatory light.

Then, before my eyes, he begins to shift and change, his form blurring until a great wolf takes his place—a beast of rippling muscle and thick silver fur dappled with flecks of brilliant white. I should be afraid, fleeing in terror.

But I'm not.

In fact, the thrill that spikes through me is one of pure, unbridled exhilaration and has me laughing with delight as I match my strides to his. We race through the ancient growth, leaping over fallen logs and ducking beneath low-hanging branches as if we've done this a thousand times before.

The scent of a nearby rabbit sends an instinctive hunger pulsing through my veins, and I put on an extra burst of speed, steadily gaining on my prey until...

Until I'm no longer running on two legs, but four.

I look down, startled to find my pale skin replaced by a thick, tawny coat, my feet transformed into padded paws that eat up the ground with each powerful stride. Shock lances through me, while some deeper part of my mind accepts this bizarre change, reveling in the heightened senses and the pure, unadulterated freedom of the hunt.

Liam—because I know, somehow, that the great wolf keeping pace at my side is him—lets out a haunting howl of encouragement, and then we're crashing through the underbrush in a flurry of fur and muscle and single-minded determination.

We break through the tree line into a small, moonlit clearing in which a small hut made from woven branches is situated. It reminds me of what I imagined the witch's hut in the story Hansel and Gretel would look like, all twisty and turn-y and somehow still upright.

A tendril of unease snakes through me as a figure emerges from the doorway—a man with styled blond hair and sparkling, brilliant blue eyes. His gaze is locked on me with a cold look that slices right through me. Every instinct screams at me to turn tail and run but I'm rooted to the spot, unable to move until the man steps toward me.

Then, just as abruptly as the vision began, it shatters and I jolt awake with a strangled gasp. My skin is slicked with a cold sweat, my heart thundering in my chest as I struggle to catch my breath.

Unease clings to me but I feel more energized than I have in longer than I can recall. The electric vitality thrumming through my veins has me pushing aside the covers and padding to the bathroom.

My reflection makes me pause. My face, normally pale, is flushed with pink and my usual dull eyes gleam with an inner light. I look…healthy.

Bizarre...but not entirely unwelcome, if I'm being honest with myself. I wonder if it is Liam’s blood transfusion or simply the crisp air of the mountains but I keep a tight rein on my hopes. I’ve been in remission before and I don’t want to experience that crushing feeling when it turns bad again.

My mind drifts back to our searing kiss, to the scorching heat of his mouth possessing mine. The ghost of his tongue on my lips is still there, as is the smoky cedarwood that clings to his skin.

My mind skips to the devastated anguish that creased his brow when I pushed him away, and to the echo of that strange, hollow ache that reverberated through my chest. I splay my hand over my chest, wondering if that had been my imagination or if it had been all mine.

One thing is for certain: I can't face Liam again, not after the way I behaved. Not when the thought of his wounded expression makes that phantom pain bloom again. It’s better for both of us if I simply move on, if I leave this strange little town and its even stranger inhabitants behind me for good.

I square my shoulders, gather my belongings and shove aside the persistent tendril of doubt that whispers at the back of my mind. I snap the latches on my case shut and set it beside the door. I’ll leave it there while I find Cindi to shore up my bill.

I walk down the corridor where I smell the delicious aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen. As I push through the door, I expect to see Cindi but Liam is standing in the small kitchenette with his back to me, a pile of pancakes steaming hot on the table. He moves with an easy grace at the stove, flipping each one with practiced motions as the scent of syrup and butter fills the air around him.

I should turn away but that unseen force holds me immobile, rooting me to the spot as I watch the play of toned muscle shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. My eyes run over his body, greedily drinking in his broad shoulders, long legs and the firm globes of his backside.

I must make some noise, because he turns. Our gazes lock and instant heat blooms low in my belly. “Morning, Taylor. I made enough breakfast for two, if you're interested?”

The invitation hangs there, full of unspoken anticipation and brimming with the same intense heat that laced his kiss. My mind screams to walk away as I planned, but the invisible cord sinks a hook into my chest and pulls me into the room. The next thing I know I’m standing chest to chest with him, my nipples beading into aching points and molten arousal smoldering low in my belly.

Liam's gaze drops, tracking the subtle shift in my body with hungry eyes, and when that searing hazel meets my own, it's all I can do not to whimper at the naked yearning blazing in their depths.

I'm transfixed, caught in the gravitational pull of something raw and infinite. And as his lips curve into a slow, wicked smile I know I should never have stepped into the kitchen.

Chapter Seven

Taylor

The pancakes are forgotten the moment Liam bends toward me, his masculine scent and the blazing heat of his gaze rendering me powerless to resist. Logically, I’m aware I should put a stop to this before it can go any further. Put a definitive end to whatever this is.

My heart and body wage an all-out war against the voice of reason that grows fainter with every passing second. I don't just want to kiss him. I need to.

The pull toward him is irresistible, a tug that has me swaying into his orbit. It makes no sense. I'm not the kind of woman who throws herself at a man so recklessly. I've always maintained a certain measure of control, of restraint.

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