Page 45 of Marked By Moonlight

“It’s not conscious. It’s instinctual,” he elaborated.

“Procreate?” she echoed.

“You know, to reproduce—”

“I know what it means,” she snapped.

“They’re a pack society. A lone female of childbearing years, without any other lycans—male lycans—protecting her, is a prime target.”

She leaned back in her seat, her head bouncing against the headrest several times. “Unbelievable. I’m a sex target,” she muttered. Her head shot off the seat, apparently struck with a sudden thought. “And you sent me out tonight without telling me any of this?”

“I wanted you calm.”

“I could have better prepared myself.”

“It would have gone down the same. You were already freaked out enough. Now look at you. You’re nearly hysterical.”

“I am not hysterical,” she said tightly, trying, he guessed, to keep herself from yelling and lending credence to his claim. “So you’re saying that as long as I’m without a pack, every werewolf we come across will want to jump my bones?”

“Pretty much.”

“Great.”

“And you haven’t exactly helped the situation.”

“What isthatsupposed to mean?” she demanded, her look indignant.

“You’ve… embraced your urges.” He wondered why he even mentioned it, except that he was annoyed at her total naïveté. Was she completely unaware of the signals she put out—how she looked, how she moved, how she affected him?

“How?” Her lips worked like a fish’s, searching for words. “I don’t have any urges.”

He laughed as he turned into his driveway. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she countered.

He shut the motor off and faced her, the leather creaking beneath his shifting weight. “Yes. You do.”

She shook her head again.

“And I suppose you still think this change in appearance—” He waved a hand over her person. “—is just coincidental?”

Her eyes flared wide, the brilliant silver glowing even brighter. She jabbed a finger through the air accusingly. “You told me to dress provocatively!”

“You changed your looks before I made any suggestion about how you should dress tonight.”

Her knuckles whitened where they held her top together. “You got me to dress like this when you knew they would come after me.”

“I didn’t know you were going to dress like this. You’re the one who sent that lycan into overload.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, face flushing a vivid red.

Before she could arrive at a more dignified answer, he hopped out of the Jeep. Heading toward the back door, he called over his shoulder, “That lycan was right. You want to give it up.”

Gideon bit the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from adding that he wanted to be the one to receive it.

CHAPTERELEVEN

A dog in season is subject to variances of mood; be sensitive to your pet.

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