Page 72 of Golden Eagle

She shifted her weight – didn’t walk off, but prepared to. And for the first time, he saw it flare in her eyes: fear. That was what kept her rooted, that fear that he might do something violent. Somethinginhuman.

“Lanny,” she said, and some of her anger mellowed into reason. “This isn’t helping. I’m taking a walk – we both need to cool off – and when I come back we can start over.”

He didn’t know what his face did, but it made his jaw ache. She couldn’t leave. Shecouldn’t. She was his mate, and she was his, and–

He moved toward her, making an awful big cat sound.

And she put her hand on her gun.

He froze, his hand hovering in front of her, fingers flexed so they looked like claws. It was like a slap, the sight of her gripping the butt of her Smith & Wesson, that obscenely big .45 she insisted on carrying. The holster was big, too, and so obvious. No one ever wondered if she was carrying.

And right now, she’d reached for it in response to him.

He staggered back a step, and his growl turned into a gasp. “I – I–”

She ducked her head, and struck off, nearly jogging.

With a great effort, he took hold of all his baser instincts, and let her go.

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