Page 3 of Frank's Felon
“You’ve been crossing into my pack’s territory for days. Why?”
There was no answer he’d like and none she could afford to give, so talking wouldn’t help her. Nothing would help her, except looking for an opening to escape and taking it.
“Who else is with you?” he persisted.
No one. No one for a very long time.
He pressed his face so close to hers that she stilled. His scent soothed her like a balm—strong, all-male—and she wanted nothing to do with him.
Delilah pushed against him, but his hold was solid, though not threatening, not like the white wolf’s had been. This shifter held her with just enough force to restrain her. Even so, given what had happened less than an hour ago, she couldn’t help the slight whimper that escaped her lips.
The shifter didn’t react, didn’t even ease that stone-cold expression of his. Her pulse quickened as he suddenly leaned in, dragging his nose so very close to her skin, along the path of her neck, scenting her. He took his time about it too, as if he wanted to learn every nuance to her scent.
A rush of excitement shot through her, waking every nerve in her body, catching her off-guard. She found herself learning her head ever-so-slightly to the side, almost as if she were offering her neck to him. Against every instinct in her body, she straightened her head, denying him the access he’d sought—the access she’d started to grant. The low growl coming from him struck her on a primal level, making her nipples harden and her eyes seek out his. Whatever was happening here with him, she wanted no part of it.
Delilah struggled, pushing against the male shifter, her need to escape waring with her wolf’s desire to submit. He secured his hold on her, now pinning her with his entire body.
Hard chest muscle pressed against her breasts and legs, as his hard length pressed against her belly. Her breathing hitched. It wasn’t his reaction that surprised her, but her own. Given the position she was in, she should fear this male, fear being totally under his control, but she didn’t. Male shifters took what they wanted, and he left no doubt about what he wanted.
Then his nose wrinkled in disdain. His hand eased and slid from her neck, only to dip beneath the neck of her sweatshirt. With a single finger, he traced along her collarbone. A tingling traveled through her from where his skin met hers.
Hard as it was to do, she ignored the sensuous touch. The shifter had given her the opening she needed. Delilah drove her forehead into his face as hard as she could.
“Fuck,” he said, as he grabbed his bloody nose.
Delilah drove both arms up and pushed him back. Before she could shift and run, he grabbed her by her left shoulder and twisted.
She cried out as the pain drove her to her knees. Her skin ripped open where her wolf had worked so hard to knit the deep gashes and bite.
The shifter shoved her down on her back and straddled her, securing both of her arms in one of his large hands high above her head. Then, without warning, he sliced the sweatshirt on her left side, exposing her shoulder, arm, and part of her chest.
“Touch me and I’ll bite your balls off,” she ground out.
Blood was dripping down his nose. His scowl sent a shiver through her, and not the good kind. She had pushed him too far.
“Be still, female, and let me see your wound,” a rough voice said as he carefully peeled away the torn sweatshirt.
Delilah stilled. She didn’t understand why, except there was a calmness to his voice, no threat or hint that he intended to assault her. Large fingers ran down the jagged edge of the claw wounds that had re-opened. Blood was flowing freely, though it was slowing.
“Who did this to you?” he asked, a clear growl underpinning his words.
“White wolves,” she said, astounded that his anger was not directed at her, but at whoever had harmed her.
“Plural. More than one?” Amber eyes flared. She could smell his rage now. His very contained rage.
“Five,” she said, all too aware of how heavy her breathing had become, and not simply from fighting him. Her chest was heaving, and she wore nothing except a boring white bra and a shredded sweatshirt.
The shifter scented again, going lower toward her thighs this time. Her entire body tensed.
“I won’t harm you,” he said. “Unless you give me a reason.”
He’d be the first, then, if she could believe him. She had yet to make up her mind about that. Being a lone wolf was dangerous, not that being with a pack had been much better.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice shakier than she had intended. The fight, her wound, her narrow escape earlier from the white wolves. . . Everything had finally caught up to her and all the emotions were threatening to crash in on her. She needed to stay strong in front of this male.
What she wouldn’t give to kick back with her sister at home, turn on an old movie, and polish off a bowl of popcorn together. Those days were gone. She was alone now. Alone, but not helpless. The second the shifter turned, she’d run.
“Answer my questions, and then I’ll consider releasing you.”
