Page 3 of Stalked By the Wolf

“Aw, come on, darlin’. You’re not still sore about the last time I came to visit, are ya?”

My whole body goes rigid at the memory, and a suffocating shame works its way up my throat.

I never thought I’d be the type of girl who had a boyfriend who hit her. That was when I still believed there was such a thing as a type of woman who got hit, rather than the type of man who did the hitting.

There’s a first time for everything.

The first time he raises his voice.

The first time it scares you.

The first time he punches the wall.

The first time he hits you instead of the wall.

I wish I could say it was just the one time, but it wasn’t. It took him showing up and scaring the shit out of me before I was done with him for good.

I cast a nervous glance down the hallway in the hope that one of my neighbors might pop out for a smoke. Dane’s got balls, but I don’t think he’d hurt me if we had an audience.

“You should go,” I say, hating how weak andpathetic I sound. My heart is a frantic drumbeat in my chest, and I get the feeling that he knows exactly the effect he has on me.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” I say with as much steadiness as I can manage, drawing my shoulders back and forcing myself to meet his gaze. Dane might have hurt me, but he’s not getting anywhere near my baby.

Summoning up my last shred of courage, I shove past him and jam my key into the lock. I won’t feel safe until he’s gone, but if I can just get inside and close the door, then I’ll know he can’t hurt me.

My hands are shaking so badly that it takes me several seconds to get the door unlocked. I open it a few inches, intending to slip inside, but then Dane’s massive hand shoots out — shoving the door wide open.

Before I know what’s happening, he’s crowding me into my apartment and slamming the door behind us.

A familiar terror squeezes my insides, and adrenaline floods my system. My mind flashes back to that night in my old apartment, and I get the horrible sinking feeling that it’s going to be even worse this time.

This time, I’m not the only one who might get hurt.

SEBASTIAN

I makeit to the north edge of Colorado Springs just in time to hit rush-hour traffic. It’s bumper to bumper from Garden of the Gods to Nevada Avenue, and by the time I pull off I-25, my wolf is ready to rip somebody’s head off.

I come to a stop at a red light, and my beast growls as a homeless man shuffles toward my window. He’s draped in a filthy sleeping bag, and his hands are red and swollen from the cold. He’s got the rotten teeth of a long-time drug user, and his eyes are sunken and lifeless.

Blazing through a light, I whip into the alley behind the Vietnamese restaurant and park beside the dumpster. My fully loaded Mercedes G550 sticks out like a sore thumb around here, and I hit the lock button twice.

Slinking around the corner, I spot a familiar rusted blue pickup and catch the sour musk of bear.

My wolf’s hackles go up.

Murphy is here. Now. After all these months of searching.

A satisfied growl works its way up my chest, and my skin itches with the urge to shift.

Soon, I promise my wolf.

Soon Murphy will be nothing but a cold pelt at our feet, but I need to get him alone to make the kill. Even with the cover of darkness, there’s too much activity this time of night. Someone is bound to see.

Ideally, I’d like to leave Claire Belmont out of it, but I won’t let Murphy slip through my fingers again.

There’s fresh graffiti spray-painted on the wall facing the parking lot, and the walkway out front is littered with cigarette butts. Following the stink of bear, I move silently up the stairs along the outside of the building.

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