Page 26 of Grace of a Wolf 1
As I'm busy berating myself, iron-hand-guy spins me around.
My breath catches in my throat as I stare up at the man towering over me. His scowl is enough to shrivel my soul and every last millimeter of my self-worth, and Iknowhis frosty gray eyes are coming for my dreams.
The nightmare kind.
He's handsome, too. Because of course he is. All dark and broody and serial killer-esque.
Black tattoos snake up his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt, intricate designs that shouldn't exist on a shifter's skin. The patterns seem to shift in the moonlight, as if alive with their own dark energy.
He smells like a walking ad for some expensive cologne. The kind with half-naked guys on TV. Warm, dark, sexy. Nothing like Rafe, who smells like the forest.
This is something else entirely, something I can't name, though it makes my head spin. Or maybe it's my bottomed-out blood pressure.
"I asked you a question." His voice rolls through me like thunder, deep and commanding. Each word drips with barelycontained violence. Also, I'm pretty sure he didn't ask me anything.
But maybe he did, when I was busy ogling him.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The grip on my arm tightens, and pain shoots through my muscles. It feels like he's going to pop it right off, no chainsaw necessary.
He steps closer, and I catch more details I wish I hadn't. A scar cuts through his left eyebrow. He has a scar under his bottom lip, like he used to have a piercing there. Those gray eyes hold secrets darker than the spaces between stars.
Okay, the last part is really just the lower half of my body coming online to whatever strange pheromones he's putting out.
Everything about him screams danger. Power. Authority. And sex. Lots of sex.
My brain is suddenly inundated with way too many theories on how the man's chest looks under his shirt, in ways it never did with Rafe.
And then, through the sudden sexual haze that clouds my intellect, it clicks.
The massive black wolf. The ethereal glow. The way he moved through the forest like he owned it.
The Lycan King.
Oh, God. Or Moon Goddess. Or who-the-fuck-ever deity is up there.
I've been wandering through the woods with the most dangerous shifter alive, treating him like some kind of pet. Telling him my pathetic life story.
My knees threaten to give out again, but his grip keeps me upright. The forest spins around me as the full weight of my situation crashes down.
I'm alone in the dark with the wolf king who supposedly murdered his last mate—
A soft whine cuts through my panicked mental gibberish, and I blink rapidly at the glowing black wolf standing next to the strange man, poking his wet nose against my arm, where it's gripped so tightly I'm positive blood flow has stopped.
Okay. Backtrack. Wolf is still there. So, not the Lycan King? Maybe a rogue. Rogue king? Do those exist? Or maybe a serial kille—
Pain shoots through my arm as he shakes me hard, growling some question at me. A shriek tears from my throat, echoing through the trees. The sound startles even me—high, piercing, full of raw terror. Like I'm being actively murdered.
Panicked self-preservation has arrived. A little late, but better than never, I guess.
The massive wolf's growl vibrates through my bones. Before I can blink, he rams his shoulder into the man's side. The impact knocks his iron grip loose, and I stumble backward.
My feet move before my brain catches up.
I turn and run.
"What the fuck, Fenris?"
His enraged voice carries through the trees, spurring me faster. My lungs burn. Roots and fallen branches grab at my feet, but terror keeps me upright and pure luck keeps me from spraining my ankle.
