Page 60 of To Challenge a Wolf

She opened the door and guided him out as though he were a little pup, tugged his hand until he sat, his back braced by one of the wheels, his legs splayed in front of him. A massive floodlight shone down on the truck. The only parking lot this brightly litafter closing was the bank, but he couldn’t focus long enough to lift his head and confirm.

He was so, so hot.

Her cool hands settled again, one on the back of his neck, one on his forehead. “You’re burning up. I mean, even for a wolf.”

“My neck,” he said.

“What about your neck? Does it hurt?”

“It did. My first bite, right there.”

“Oh gosh, I didn’t know. Should I not—?” The soft coolness was lost as her hand drew away.

Somehow, blindly, he grasped her hand and pressed it to his neck again. “Please. Helps.”

“Oh.” Her voice fell to a whisper, and she sounded…she smelled…sad.

Of course her palm had felt the two raised puncture scars. Her hand lifted again, only long enough for a glimpse. Then it covered the scar again, gently this time.

Time passed as her thumb gently traced a circle at the base of his hairline. Her other hand left his forehead and brushed through his hair. He leaned into her and sighed. They stayed that way until Rhett’s thoughts began to solidify, until the inferno in his body banked low and stayed that way. When he noticed himself again—his position against the wheel, his chin fallen to his chest—Vivian’s fingers still brushed his hair, and her other hand still gently cupped the back of his neck.

“Rhett?”

“Yeah, I’m back.” Back in control. Master of his affect. For fate’s sake, whatwasthat? What had just happened to him? The feverish reaction to Malachi’s words the night before was less than a third as intense as this had been. Did he have some rare fever disorder, progressively higher fevers until a wolf caught fire? He tried to push to his feet, but his legs were like water. He’d never been so tired in his life. Well, maybe a few timestraining, when his young limbs had ached and his head had swum after so many matches in a row, and Stone kept him at it, sparring for hours until he could manage not to lose.

When she saw him struggle to stand, Vivian got up and tried to pull him close. She was being kind. He knew that. But everything in him began thrashing, writhing to get free of the terrifying softness. He needed Vivian to bristle at him, to cross her arms and demand he get hold of himself, to insult him. Not to touch him. Not to make him think it was safe to show his pulsing wounds unprotected. In a moment he was on his feet, a little unsteady, a couple yards away from her. Just as he’d done last night, making distance from Malachi.

“No,” he said. “I’m fine. It was nothing.”

“Nothing? Rhett—”

“Won’t happen again. Maybe something I ate.”

Her scent gave away that she didn’t believe him. He needed to show her, prove his strength. He closed the distance he’d made between them and kissed her. It was a forceful kiss, but Vivian met him there in a moment. Her fingers dug into his back, nails a little sharp before she realized and flattened her hand instead. She didn’t let the kiss last long, though. She pressed her cheek to his chest, breathing hard. He wasn’t. He was fine.

“We need to talk about it,” she said.

“No, we don’t.” He growled. “Lousy end to a first date.”

“We’ll say our date officially ended when you paid the check.”

“Where’s your milkshake?”

“Back at the diner, but I seriously couldn’t care less right now.”

He needed to go. His control was too slippery. He was no longer being turned to lava from the inside out, but now a phantom pain throbbed in his neck, as though the first bite he’d been given as a pup were fresh, the punctures bleeding again. He wanted to tell Vivian. He wanted to let her hold him until it stopped.

He focused his mind and buried the memory. His will was strong enough to pull it off. “About Blaine.”

Her lip wobbled, and she stiffened as though preparing for a disaster.

“It’s fine. I can talk about him.”

“Okay.” Her scent leveled away from the alarm. Good. She still trusted him to know himself. Might be more than he deserved at the moment.

“Tell me about him.”

“Well, his name’s Blaine Calder, and he’s a librarian, but…a special one. More of a curator, I think. I met him about five years ago, when I first came to Chicago. I was on the lookout for wolves, and I met a—” She bit her lip.

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