Page 32 of The Wolf

Scarlet held up one hand as she slipped the other back into her pocket to grab hold of the sleeping powder she always carried on her person. It was one of her best defenses.

The moment he closed the distance between them, she would throw it in his face and run.

The wolf took a step toward her. Two. Three.

Her breath hitched when he was barely an arm’s length away. She trembled inside, her instincts begging her to run, but she knew that would trigger the wolf. He’d only give chase and win. This was her only option.

Scarlet readied her resolve, steeled her nerves, and dipped her fingers into the powder—while there was no aggression on the wolf’s face. No anger. No suspicion, even. She wouldn’t be taking any chances.

He inhaled deeply and she shivered as something deepened in his silver gaze as he peered down at her.

She knew that look. One Scarlet had only ever seen from Tarros.

Lust. Possessiveness.

Run.

But she couldn’t move. It was like her feet were rooted to the ground. Partly from fear but something else entirely that she’d never felt before.

The wolf inhaled deeply, causing gooseflesh to pebble along her arms.

A smile bloomed across his face that completely transformed him from darkly handsome to boyishly attractive.

“Mate.” A growl rumbled in his chest as he smiled down at her. “Mine.”

Her stomach bottomed out.

Terror shot throughout her veins and burned away any sense of reason.

She turned and fled the big, bad wolf.

FOURTEEN

BRINE

Logically, Brine knew he should let the young woman go.

Instinctively, he couldn’t.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he sprinted after her, her soft scent urging him to capture her.

Mine.

His prey darted into a copse of trees that lined the lefthand side of the manor grounds, and the hair along the nape of his neck rose. Brine was struck by the sense that something wasn’t quite right. The woman fled from him but he couldn’t smell her fear.

In fact … he couldn’t detect any of her emotions.

That was bloody odd.

His attention zeroed in on her as he decreased the distance between the two of them with lightning precision. His brows slashed together and he inhaled deeply. Why was her scent muted so much? And why the devil couldn’t he scent her emotions?

She darted left and right, but he never lost track of her.

Claim her.

His eyes narrowed when she lobbed a rock over her shoulder at him yet never broke her stride. He dodged it easily and closed the space between them right as they passed the broad trunk of a mature oak tree. Just as he wrapped his arms around her waist, she stumbled, catapulting them into the tree. Brine pulled her back flush against his chest and tried to right them, to no avail.

A curse burst from his lips as they slammed against the bark, his forearms taking the brunt of the impact. Her head bashed his shoulder and Brine found himself not caring as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. The female froze in his embrace, and disgust and self-loathing roiled in his stomach.

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