MIDNIGHT SERENADE

By

Ronda Thompson

Chapter One

Chapter Two

MIDNIGHT SERENADE

Ronda Thompson

Chapter One

The hunters were close. The wolf caught the scent of their sweat, smelled the liquor on their breath, knew which man had been with a woman the night before, and who had eaten meat for dinner. The crunch of boots against the pebbled ground and the sound of labored breathing made him pause. His strange abilities confused him. How could he identify what should be beyond his animal comprehension? He glanced skyward and understood. A full moon hung suspended over the valley, flanked by rugged mountain peaks. He was trapped. Caught in a time of in-between. Soon, darkness would give way to light. He would stumble from one world into another. His fur would become skin. His paws would become hands and feet. He would rise from the mist as a man, the night fading away into a jumble of blurred images—visions of bloodlust and killing.

God have mercy, he prayed, while the man struggled to emerge from the beast. Ease my suffering. End the nightmare. End it tonight.

A bullet kicked up dust at his hind legs. The man inside of him tried to slow his pace, wanting the hunters to end his suffering, but the animal's instinct for survival remained strong. He hated this time the most. When both worlds fought to claim him. When he could think like a man one second, and react like a beast the next.

Another sound exploded. Pain ripped through his back leg. The wolf tumbled, rolled, then tried to get up. His body would not cooperate. The scent of his blood mingled with the smell of humans, closer now. Very close.

"Hey, I think we got him!"

A short, plump man stumbled through the brush. To the wolf, he was merely the enemy. But his human half identified the hunter. The man inside knew all of them, had talked to them in the bright light of day, helped them, been their friend, deceived them.

"Holy moly, look at the size of him!"

Another hunter, taller and more solidly built, held his rifle aimed and ready. "Biggest damn wolf I've ever seen, Gus."

The wolf growled, part of him warning them to stay back, the other part goading them to finish what they had started.

"Look at those fangs," the shorter one whispered.

"Yeah, make a nice necklace and a set of earrings for Rita—"

"Hell, Gus, Larry, one of you shoot him," a third man ordered, stepping from the brush. A shiny object the man wore on his shirt caught the moonlight and glittered in the dark. "Go ahead and put him out of his misery."

"Darn, Hugh, we want him to suffer," the short man argued. "He's part of the pack that's been killing our sheep, stealing our livelihood."

The man wearing the shiny object frowned. "He's just an animal. He doesn't know any better. We've been chasing him half the night, and my feet hurt. Kill him and get it over with."

"Can I have the pelt, Hugh?" the short man asked.

"We're not taking souvenirs. We can't leave any evidence behind, either. We'll have to bury it."

"Crap," the taller man muttered. "I wanted those teeth."

"What you don't want is the trouble hunting these wolves will cost us," the shiny man said. "I'll take care of it." He lifted his rifle.

The wolf bared his fangs, his thoughts focused on survival, until another scent distracted him. A softer scent than that of a man. The crunch of boots he heard was also different. Lighter.

"Hold it right there!" A figure holding a weapon stepped up behind the men.

"Who the hell are you?" the short man asked.

"I'm Stephanie Shane. It's illegal to hunt wolves in the wild. They're still an endangered species, and under the protection of the United States Fish and Wildlife Service."

"Hell, we know that," the tall man grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I work for a privately funded wildlife research and rescue organization," she answered. "We received a report that wolves have migrated to this area. I'm here to verify the rumors, possibly pave the way for a documentary. I just finished setting up my campsite when I heard the shooting."

"Documentary?" The man scratched his head. "We don't know anything about a movie—"

"A documentary is not the same thing as a movie," the woman interrupted. "And if you don't lower your weapons and leave right now, I'll call in the authorities."

Chuckling, the tall man said, "Report away. Hugh here is the sheriff."

The woman's eyes widened. She turned toward the man wearing the shiny object on his shirt. "You're Hugh Fielding? Didn't you get my fax a couple of months ago? I told you I'd be coming to the area for research—"

"I got it," the man interrupted. "And if you'll recall, I didn't send you one back giving you permission to intrude on our area."

She straightened. "I don't need your permission, Sheriff. The fax was merely a courtesy."

The wolf tried to rise. Fresh pain stabbed through his back leg. He knew that the change drew nearer—felt a sense of urgency to escape. The animal feared death, but the man inside of him feared a greater danger: exposure.

"Lower your weapons and leave," the woman instructed. "Otherwise, you leave me no choice but to report your actions."

The shiny man sighed. "The wolves are killing livestock. They've become a menace to the community."

"And as a law enforcement officer, you should know the proper procedure to follow when wolves are killing livestock," the woman countered.

"Hell, by the time Hugh wades through all that red tape, half our sheep herds could be wiped out," the short man complained.

"So you've taken the matter into your own hands?"

"That's about the short and long of it, ma'am."

"Well, the short and long of it right now, Sheriff, is that you're not killing this wolf, or any other wolf while I'm here. Back off or I'll have this place crawling with wildlife defendants in a matter of hours."

The wolf watched the exchange curiously. The female was smaller than the men, weaker, yet he sensed hesitation from the men to confront her.

"All right," the shiny man said. "We won't shoot the wolf. But I can't leave you alone out here with an injured animal. That wolf would just as soon tear your throat out as look at you."

Lifting her weapon, the woman said, "I have this. I know how to use it, and how to conduct myself in the company of wolves. Leave so I can take a look at him. See what kind of damage you and your friends have done."

"She's freakin' nuts," the tall man muttered.

The man with the shiny star swore, but said, "Okay, it's your neck, lady. It'll be daylight soon. If you turn up dead, anyone I should contact? Friends? Family?"

For a moment, the wolf sensed a shift in the woman's tough demeanor. A sadness oozed from her and licked at his own festering wounds.

"No," she whispered. "There's no one." She straightened again. "Even if there were, you'd have no reason to contact them. I'm a big girl, Sheriff. Good night."

After casting the woman a skeptical glance, the shiny man and the others stomped off into the brush. The wolf knew his odds had just improved. He could take the woman down, easily rip her throat out, but the man in him fought the battle. Which would win out, he had no way of knowing. Nor would he remember what unforgivable deeds he had committed beneath the cover of darkness when the sun rose. If morning dawned for him.

Stephanie Shane lowered the gun. She breathed a small sigh of relief when the men disappeared. Turning back to the wolf, she realized she'd never seen one as large, or as beautiful. Wounded and frightened, he would be dangerous. In order to examine him, she'd have to tranquilize the animal. First, she'd try to soothe him with the sound of her voice, convince him she was not a threat.

"Easy, big boy. I'm not going to hurt you."

The wolf growled, his fangs flashing white in the fading darkness. She steadied her aim. The weapon she held didn't shoot bullets, but tranquilizer darts.

"This is going to sting, but it won't harm you."

For a moment, the wolf stared at the gun, then raised his glowing eyes to her face, as if he understood the contradiction between her words and the weapon in her hand.

"I'm going to put you to sleep so I can determine the seriousness of your injury." She stepped closer. "That's it. Sit still so I can get a good shot."

Stephanie fired, then cussed because she had the gun on safety. In the time it took her to glance down, pull the safety back and glance up, the wolf attacked. The force knocked her to the ground. She tried to raise the gun, but the animal's teeth clamped around her wrist.

Pain registered before she yanked her hand away and fired. The dart hit him in the shoulder. The animal stared down into her eyes. His hot breath fanned her face. Saliva dripped from his sharp fangs. Stephanie had been filming wolves for three years, but she'd never gotten this close and personal with one. She was terrified, but she was fascinated at the same time.

The only thing she could do was remain motionless, hope the animal wouldn't rip her throat out, and pray the drugs took effect quickly. The beast snorted, then sniffed at her neck. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of his teeth to follow. A wet tongue touched her throat. The animal licked her neck. She opened her eyes.

The night was quickly fading, but she saw him more clearly. More clearly than she wanted to see him at this close range. He was as black as midnight. But his eyes—she swore they were blue. She blinked, and in an instant he was gone.

Lying perfectly still, she tried to control the racing of her heart, the ragged sound of her breathing. For all she knew, the animal hadn't gone. He could be watching. Waiting to pounce. It seemed as if an eternity passed, although Stephanie imagined it hadn't been long.

Slowly she rolled to her side and sat up. She glanced around the area. Nothing. How had the animal managed to run away, injured as he was? He wouldn't get far, that much she knew. The drugs would take him down. When she tried to rise, pain shot through her wrist. She stood and tried to look at her injury. The light wasn't strong enough. Her campsite wasn't far. Stephanie planned to return, disinfect and bandage the wound, then gather the supplies needed to nurse the wolf.

She followed a trail she'd created with a package of tissues back to camp. It was dark inside her tent. Without wasting time to light the lantern, she fumbled through her supplies, disinfected her wrist, then wrapped a bandage around the wound. It stung like hell. After gathering the supplies she needed, Stephanie hurried out. She retrieved a flashlight from her Jeep, annoyed she hadn't thought of snatching it after she'd heard the gunshots, and before she'd run unthinking into the night. Poaching was a serious problem all over the world. Her response earlier had been automatic. She'd assumed that whatever was being hunted, it was probably illegal. She'd been right.

The trail of tissues she'd marked had been easy to follow. Locating a trail of bloodstains from the wounded wolf was not as simple. Once she did, Stephanie expected to find the sedated animal quickly. The sun had completely risen by the time the trail led her to a small clearing, and to a house—a cabinlike structure with animal pens in the back and the front door standing wide open.

A sign outside the cabin read "Rick Donavon, DVM." She followed the bloodstains up the creaky steps. Pulling her gun from her jacket pocket, she stepped inside the cabin.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary. There were no immediate signs of human life, or of the animal. On the floor she saw bloodstains leading to a hallway, where she heard the sound of running water.

She found two rooms off the hallway, an unoccupied bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom door stood cracked an inch. She pushed it open, stepping inside. Hot steam curled around her. Through the haze, she spotted another bloodstain, on the floor in front of the shower door.

The shower door suddenly burst open. A man stepped out, reached inside and shut off the water. He turned. His gaze locked with hers. His eyes widened a fraction, then lowered to the weapon trained on him. Stephanie stood stunned, unable to form complete sentences in her head, much less speak them.

It wasn't as if she'd expected the big bad wolf to climb out of the shower. But she hadn't seen a man as finely put together as this one in a long time. He stood at least six foot three, and his hair was darker than pitch. His eyes were blue in contrast to his thick dark lashes. Her gaze lowered of its own accord. She swallowed loudly. He was magnificent. All muscle and smooth, tawny flesh.

"Can I help you?"

Her gaze shot up to his face. "Oh yeah," she breathed, then realized she'd been staring at parts of him she had no business seeing. "I—I mean, I'm looking for a wolf."

His brows rose. "Four-legged or two?"

Real cute, she thought. The sarcastic remark and the man. Stephanie tugged at her jacket collar. The bathroom felt hotter than before, which didn't make sense since the open doorway had allowed most of the steam to escape.

"Four," she answered dryly. "I've been tracking an injured wolf all morning. A trail of bloodstains led me inside your cabin."

"You don't plan to shoot me, do you?"

Realizing she still held the gun trained on him, she lowered the weapon. "Sorry. Your front door was open. The wolf must have come inside. There's a bloodstain on the floor in front of the shower."

The man looked down. Stephanie used his distraction to run her gaze over him again.

"Excuse me?"

She glanced up. "I—I thought the blood might be yours. That you might have hurt yourself."

"Do I look injured?"

He'd as good as invited her to examine him to her heart's content. The man obviously had no issues with modesty. "Shouldn't you get a towel or something?" she asked, tugging at her jacket collar again.

He smiled. "Shouldn't you wait in the other room while I do?"

"Oh, right." Stephanie turned and left the bathroom. Even flustered by the sight of a sinfully gorgeous naked man, she maintained the clarity of thought to move slowly into the living area. The kitchen was part of the room, separated by a long bar. Dart gun trained, she moved around the bar. She didn't see a wolf, but she spotted a coffeepot. Digging inside the cabinets, she found a can of coffee and some filters. The coffee had just started to brew when she heard the front door close.

Stephanie moved around the bar. The man from the shower now stood at the door. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt, unbuttoned, which called attention to his broad, masculine chest. He leaned against the closed door, staring at her.

The hairs at the back of her neck bristled. She supposed he had every right to close his own door, but the sight of him leaning casually against it made her feel nervous. Trapped.

"I—I made some coffee," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

"You don't have trouble barging into a man's lair and making yourself at home, do you?" His voice was low, deep, and sensual despite the slight irritation she read in his tone.

To the contrary of what he'd said, Stephanie usually felt ill at ease in someone else's home. She had a problem with walls, which was what had led her into wildlife research. Lots of wide-open spaces. Had he said lair?

"I'm sorry. I didn't get any sleep last night. Coffee seemed like a good idea."

He sighed and pushed away from the door. "I'm sorry, too. I don't get much company. A farmer with a sick animal once in a while. I've forgotten how to be hospitable."

She recalled the sign out front. "You must be Dr. Donavon."

The man stopped before her. "Any woman who has seen me naked should call me by my first name. I'm Rick."

Her face flushed. "I apologize for that, too."

He moved past her into the kitchen. "The part where you barged in on my shower? Or the part where you held a tranquilizer gun aimed at me?"

"Both." She followed him into the kitchen, then drew up short. "How did you know the gun wasn't a real one?"

Reaching into the cabinet to remove two coffee cups, he answered. "I'm a vet, remember? I've seen dart guns before."

That made sense. "Well, anyway, I'm sorry for doing both. Like I told you, I was tracking an injured wolf."

When he handed her a cup, his hand shook. His skin had an unhealthy sheen, as well. Maybe he hadn't dried off, she thought. His hair was still wet and slicked back from his face. And it was a very handsome face.

"It's fortunate your wife isn't home," she found herself saying. "She might have barged in on a scene that didn't look very innocent."

A smile that really wasn't one hovered around his mouth. Stephanie wanted to snatch the ridiculous words back. She wasn't the type to worm out information concerning a man's marital status. Regardless of how good he looked naked.

"I don't have a wife," he said, brushing against her sleeve while reaching for the coffeepot. His glance toward her left ring finger didn't go unnoticed. She held out the cup. He tried to pour, but his hands shook badly.

"Maybe you'd better get your own. I'm not feeling well this morning."

She stared into his eyes. A sense of déjà vu washed over her, as if she'd looked into those eyes before, another time besides this morning. "You don't look well, either." She lifted a hand to his forehead.

He flinched. "Are you a doctor?"

She was beginning to wonder if she hadn't managed to tranquilize herself. "No. I just thought you might have a fever. You look hot."

Deliberately, his gaze moved over her. "Likewise."

His statement and the warmth of his eyes couldn't be mistaken, but she wasn't in the mood to play games with him. "It does feel warm in here," she said, purposely misinterpreting his compliment. "I should be going." She set her cup down and walked toward the door. Rick Donavon moved quicker than any animal she had seen. He blocked her exit.

"You didn't tell me what you're doing here."

The fight-or-flee instinct gripped her again. "I did tell you. I was—"

"I didn't mean what you're doing in my cabin. What are you doing in a sleepy little Montana mountain community?"

She kept willing him to move from the door. He didn't. "I'm researching a lead. The organization I work for heard rumors that a pack of Yellowstone wolves had migrated to this area. I'm supposed to uncover the truth, which I have obviously done. Now I'm going to take some pictures and do some filming so we can identify the group. I need to find out how many are in the pack. How or if they're adjusting to the terrain. Things like that."

"There are twelve in the pack. And what they're doing is killing livestock."

"I don't see how you can be sure of that," she said. "There are also grizzlies and mountain lions in this area."

"It's the wolves. I'm very sure."

Escape momentarily forgotten, she placed her hands on her hips. "Are you aware that the wolves are being illegally hunted?"

He swayed. "We had a bad winter. Not much game in the area. The wolves have been forced to feed on livestock. The farmers are tired of losing sheep to them. No one will blame the men for protecting their herds."

Her opinion greatly differed. "There's a large group of wildlife defendants who would love to argue that matter. Where do you stand on the issue? I'd think being a veterinarian, you wouldn't condone—"

"I don't condone the senseless slaughter of animals," he interrupted. "But this is different. It's survival of the fittest. The way of the wild. You should pack up and leave. You don't want to get caught between the wolves and the sheep farmers."

"I'm already caught in the middle," she said. "If I hadn't intruded on a hunt last night, the wolf I'm tracking would be dead!"

His gaze narrowed. "He might not be all that appreciative that you spared his life."

As if an animal could think in such a way, she thought. "I need to find him before the drugs wear off. He's wounded. I want to see how seriously."

Thinking to force him from his position in front of the door, she reached for the knob. He grabbed her shoulders.

"Leave the wolf alone. If he's injured and drugged, he'll also be dangerous. I'm warning you now. Get away from this place. Leave before…"

"Before what?" she demanded.

His eyes were still glazed, and a little wild looking. He seemed to notice that he'd taken hold of her shoulders, and relaxed his grip. "Before it's too late."

Stephanie waited for him to explain, but he stumbled forward, nearly knocking her over in the process. She caught him, slinging his arm around her neck. "You are ill," she said. "I'm taking you to bed."

He made an odd noise. A deep sound that sounded very much like a growl.

"Don't argue with me," she warned. "I won't take no for an answer." She helped him to the bedroom, allowing him to fall on the bed. The bedsprings creaked in protest. "Can you take aspirin? Should I get you to a doctor?"

"No drugs," he mumbled, then closed his eyes. "And no doctor. Just go. I'll be all right."

She had serious doubts that he'd be all right when his teeth started clicking against one another. His body shivered uncontrollably. Chills and fever? That sounded like a dangerous combination to her. She wondered if he'd refused drugs because he couldn't take them, or simply because he'd wanted to get rid of her. His medicine chest should tell her what he could or could not tolerate.

The medicine cabinet was empty. A toothbrush, obviously recently used, and a bottle of mouthwash sat on the counter. She opened a drawer. Toothpaste, floss, but no drugs. Not even Band-Aids. Another cabinet held towels and washcloths. She snatched a washcloth and ran it under cold water.

Rushing back into the bedroom, she sat next to him. He moaned. Her worry increased. Should she contact someone? She hadn't noticed a phone, and she'd left her cell phone in her Jeep. If worse came to worst, she could run back to camp and get her vehicle. The small town she'd driven through last night wasn't far. Surely they had a doctor or a clinic of some kind. She placed the cool cloth against his forehead. He grabbed her wrist.

"Easy," she said, wondering why she used her animal-soothing tone with him. "I'm only trying to help you."

His eyes opened, his brilliant blue gaze locking with hers. In a voice that sounded perfectly lucid, he said, "Then kill me."

Chapter Two

His hand fell away and his eyes closed. She sat frozen in place. It was probably the fever talking, not him. Still, she couldn't dismiss the look in his eyes when he'd whispered the plea. She'd seen it before. Suffering. The look of an animal in pain; the same look in her father's eyes the last year of his life.

She shuddered, rubbing her arms although she wore her jacket and the room felt uncomfortably warm. It was a nice room, she noticed. Nothing fancy, but the antique furniture and the homemade quilt on the bed gave it a cozy, lived-in look. There were no pictures on the walls. A mirror hung over an old dresser, and a rosary lay on the nightstand next to the bed.

Donavon. Irish Catholic. That made sense. The feather-soft feel of the mattress beneath her sang a siren's song. It would beat a sleeping bag on the hard ground, and she'd gotten very little sleep the previous night. But she couldn't sleep, anyway. Not until she knew if Rick Donavon would be all right, or if she needed to get him to a doctor. She glanced down at him.

He looked at peace despite the unnatural sheen of his skin. His lashes were dark, thick, and enviably long. His every feature looked as if it had been specially designed to fit his face. Puzzle pieces that made up a striking picture. Stephanie glanced away. She shouldn't gawk at him while he lay helpless.

She'd obviously been on her own for too long. Cut off from civilization. Once, she'd thought this was the life she wanted—the life she needed. But three years of solitude had taken its toll. She missed her parents—missed being part of a family. And then there was the matter of men, or the lack of them in her life. Studying her patient, she had to admit that her first reaction to seeing him naked had surprised her. Immediate lust was not an emotion that she'd ever experienced before.

As if he sensed her appraisal of him, Rick tossed, mumbling incoherently. Stephanie placed a hand against his forehead, more careful this time. He still felt too warm, but not so hot that she thought desperate measures should be taken. She'd give him a while longer. If his fever broke, chances were he'd be all right. If it didn't, she'd have to figure out how to haul him to her Jeep. All six feet three inches, probably close to two hundred pounds of him. The other side of the bed tempted her. She moved around him and climbed onto the soft mattress. Weary, she closed her eyes. She just wanted to rest them for a moment.

The hunters chased him again. Only this time, the men had hair on their faces and long fangs like the werewolves Rick had once laughed about in old black-and-white movies. They growled and snapped, their mouths flecked with foam, their eyes glowing red.

Ahead of him, a woman stepped out of the trees. An angel with blond flowing hair and eyes the color of the forest in early spring. She held out her arms, beckoning him to safety. Rick went willingly into her embrace. It had been too long since he'd held a woman, kissed one, made love to one. Those were human pleasures, and not for the likes of him.

Her hair smelled like wildflowers, felt silky beneath his fingertips. The full contours of her breasts pressed against him. She smelled good, felt good, and he wanted to taste her lips. They were petal-soft beneath his. After a moment of no response, she opened to him. He kissed her deeply, his hunger for her building, his senses so much stronger now.

Her body heat rose, fanning the flames of his passion. It was hell, wanting her, but it was heaven, too. Glorious to experience so human an emotion, and agony to know he had no right. The dream shifted. He suddenly sensed her withdrawal—the moment her mind rejected him.

He clung to the fantasy, unwilling to give it up, to surrender either the pleasure he felt with her or the wonder of being merely mortal. He moved on top of her, pressing her down. His fingers clamped around her wrists, forcing them up over her head. The scent of fear mingled with her intoxicating natural fragrance. He hesitated, the man in him understanding that her reaction was not one of compliance, the animal urging him to continue regardless of her wishes.

A moment later, pain ripped through his groin. He moaned and rolled off her. The soft, sensuous ripples of the dream gave way to a whirlpool of emotions. He opened his eyes, the brightness of day cutting into his skull. A woman stood above him, her green eyes narrowed, lips swollen and shirt gaping open. He remembered her, the angel in his dream, the woman who'd barged in on him in the shower—the same one who'd spared his worthless life.

"I thought I was dreaming," he said.

Her labored breathing caused her breasts to strain against the gaping shirt, affording him a tantalizing view.

"Well, you weren't," she huffed. "If you're well enough to do that, you're well enough for me to leave."

And she did. She stormed from the room. Rick groaned and rolled off the bed. He swayed but caught himself. The tranquilizer drugs that had done a number on his system earlier were beginning to wear off. His head still felt a little fuzzy, but he recalled a couple things all too clearly, his hunger for the woman, and the fact that he'd behaved like a rutting beast instead of a man. She was out the door by the time he reached the living area.

The smell of coffee hung heavy on the air. He rushed outside, cursing when a splinter from the wooden porch sliced into his toe. The woman had already made it down the steps.

"Hey!" he shouted. When she didn't respond, he called, "Stephanie, would you stand still long enough for me to apologize?"

She stopped. Slowly she turned to face him. He noticed that her shirt had been rebuttoned—all the way to her neck.

"How did you know my name? I don't remember introducing myself."

Seldom did Rick recall the nights he ran wild with the wolves. But he remembered the scene just before dawn, the meeting between the men and this woman, Stephanie Shane. He recalled her bravery, pieces of conversation, and how she'd stood up to the men. The rest blurred, he supposed because his mind had shifted between man and beast.

"You must have told me at some point, or I wouldn't know."

"I suppose," she admitted, then lifted a brow. "You were saying something about an apology?"

Rick wasn't sorry he'd kissed her. If given half a chance, he'd kiss her again. "I'm sorry if I did anything you didn't want me to do."

"That little introduction between my knee and your crotch should have been a clear indication that I didn't want you to do anything to me. And I don't count that as an apology. Good-bye, Dr. Donavon, and good riddance."

She wheeled away and stomped off. He had to admire her sass. His gaze lowered and he admired the way she looked walking away, too. Rick started to call out, but thought better of it. Let her dislike him, consider him a beast, believe the worst, because it was the truth. She should steer clear of him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The fading scent of her fragrance clung to his clothes.

His head still pounded. He turned and walked back inside the cabin. He'd experimented with drugs before, hoping he could knock himself out before the change claimed him. It hadn't worked. Nothing had. For three years he'd suffered his curse. Been trapped in a nightmare—had awakened during the stages of the full moon with the taste of blood in his mouth, the stench of death clinging to his skin. Stephanie Shane's intrusion into his life only made the nightmare worse. She was a reminder of all he could not have.

Rick moved into the bedroom. Her jacket lay draped over an old rocker that had belonged to his grandmother. He collapsed on the bed. The drugs, along with his need for sleep, caused him to drift off. He awoke abruptly, his heart pounding. He glanced toward the window and the darkness beyond. Lifting a hand, he stared at the thick hair that hadn't been there earlier. Pain ripped through him. He doubled up, clutching his gut.

Sounds of bones popping, changing, rearranging themselves made his stomach churn. That along with the intolerable pain. He fought the change just as he always did, knowing that, as always, he would lose in the end. Pain shot through his gums. He knew without looking into a mirror that his teeth were growing, becoming canine. He howled at the injustice of it all and tore at his clothing. Usually, he stripped before the change took place. Tonight, he supposed he'd hoped that because he'd felt a man's needs, a man's desires earlier, it would be different. He'd hoped that Stephanie Shane might save him again. Save him from himself. But hope waned, and without it, he gave in to the inevitable.

Stephanie awoke with an immediate sense of danger. Cold air drifted through the flap she'd left open on her tent. Darkness had fallen. She sat up and came face to face with a wolf. Her breath caught in her throat. A pair of glowing eyes stared directly into hers. The saliva dried up in her mouth. She sensed that to move or to make a sound would instigate an attack.

Her dart gun was in the pocket of the jacket she'd left at Rick Donavon's cabin. She didn't have a weapon, not even a stick to beat the animal off should it attack. There was nothing she could do but stare helplessly back at the wolf. That and silently beg for it to leave. The animal leaned forward, sniffing her hair. It sneezed, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

What did it want? She had no food in her tent. Stephanie had learned long ago that anything edible should be kept in storage containers inside her Jeep when camping. Of course, she was edible. Rick Donavon had said the wolves were hungry and that was the reason they attacked sheep.

A flash of teeth showed in the darkness. The animal yawned, shook his head, then sauntered out. Even though the animal had left, she was afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

A distant howl raised the hackles on the back of her neck. Would this one answer the call? Invite others to join him? She scrambled to the tent flap and tried to zip it closed. Her hands shook badly. Once she accomplished the act, Stephanie searched the floor for her flashlight.

The sudden presence of light calmed her. She crept to the flap and unzipped it enough to shine her flashlight around the area. The wolf stood close by. The light helped her see him better, and she swore it was the same wolf she'd tracked before dawn. He was as big and as black, but when he moved, she dismissed the possibility. This wolf did not limp, showed no signs of injury.

She followed his movements until he disappeared; then she sat back and took in deep gulps of air. What a strange place. She'd never had such close encounters with wolves before. Usually, they were timid, and she had to chase after them or hide cameras in order to observe the animals. In less than twenty-four hours, she'd gotten a close glimpse of not just one, but two wolves. Too close.

Stephanie crawled to her sleeping bag and climbed inside. The adrenaline rushing through her veins would make sleep impossible, at least until she calmed down. What she needed was a distraction from her recent encounter with the wolf.

Rick's handsome face immediately surfaced, offering a solution. She didn't want to think about that wolf, either. Not his ruggedly handsome features, or his magnificent body. She certainly didn't want to think about that kiss, or the fact that she had responded to him before she'd realized what she was doing—what he was doing. She really had been on her own for too long, and thoughts of Rick Donavon weren't helping her to relax one bit.

Other thoughts drifted to her. Remembrances of her childhood. The happy days before too much sadness had entered her life. Gradually, she drifted off to sleep. She dreamt of wolves, and of Rick Donavon, but the dream became jumbled, and somewhere along the way, she had trouble distinguishing between the two. The wolves and the man.

Chapter Three

The night had been a long one. Stephanie rose at the crack of dawn and placed her cameras in strategic places around the area. She scrambled eggs in a sturdy cast iron skillet over a fire, feeling as if she hadn't rested at all. She glanced at the bandage around her wrist.

The bite needed further attention. She berated herself for not making it a priority. Oddly enough, she felt no discomfort beneath the bandage, which she supposed was the reason she'd been lax in giving the injury proper care. She planned to examine the bite as soon as she finished breakfast.

After stirring the eggs again, she rose and stretched. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply of the crisp, pine-scented air. When she opened them, movement directly ahead caused her to stiffen. An animal had darted from behind one tree to another. One too large to be a squirrel or a rabbit. Stephanie eased back down and grabbed a sturdy stick she'd used to poke the fire.

A twig snapped. A larger shape came into view. She dropped the stick, but on second thought, moved it within easy reach. Rick Donavon strolled into her campsite, her jacket draped over one arm, a thermos tucked under the other.

"I brought coffee," he said, lifting the thermos. "A peace offering."

His dark good looks nearly took her breath away. She had to remind herself to breathe… and not to stare. "I could have used that jacket earlier," she grumbled, stirring the eggs.

He walked over and sat beside her. "I see your mood hasn't improved since we parted company. Still mad about that little kiss?"

Her face heated. It had not been a little kiss. Tongues and groping had been involved. "I've already forgotten about that," she lied.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him frown. His expression almost made her smile. His next words kept her from giving in.

"Then you're just naturally cranky in the mornings?"

She looked at him. "I am not."

"Unsociable?"

"Not as a rule." She leaned down, dug two tin cups from one of her packs, and shoved them at him. "Make yourself useful and pour."

Rather than take the containers, he took her wrist. "What happened here?"

The warmth of his touch penetrated the flimsy bandage. She was unnaturally aware of him. The deep sound of his voice. The gentleness of his touch. The clean soap-and-water smell of him. "Guess I got too close to the wolf I was tracking yesterday."

His gaze snapped to her face. "Did it bite you?"

She laughed over the sudden concern mirrored on his face. "Probably barely broke the skin. It doesn't hurt."

"Let me see it," he demanded.

Stephanie snatched her wrist away. "You're not a doctor. Not an M.D., anyway."

"Humor me."

Since she had planned on tending the bite, she unwound the bandage. Light bloodstains marked the inner gauze, but when she looked at her wrist, she had trouble believing her eyes. There was no wound. No teeth marks. Nothing.

"That's strange," she whispered. "I could have sworn he bit me."

"You're certain?"

She glanced up and found the vet's face too close for comfort. His eyes were intense, searching. Stephanie shrugged. "Obviously not. I must have been mistaken."

"Did you examine your wrist after it happened?"

His questions wore on her nerves. She still felt confused by her lack of an injury. It didn't make sense. She had felt the animal's teeth sink into her flesh.

"There was no time, and it was dark inside my tent. I just poured disinfectant over my wrist and wrapped a bandage around it."

"Did the disinfectant sting? Like the skin had been broken?"

Sighing, she answered, "The skin wasn't broken or I'd have teeth marks, or at least scratches. Even a scratch or two couldn't have healed this quickly. It isn't possible. Could I have a cup of coffee now?"

For a moment, he looked as if he wouldn't drop the matter. He finally turned his attention to pouring the coffee, but she noticed that his hands shook.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, noting that his eyes looked clear. Still, she was concerned about the shaking.

He shoved a coffee cup toward her. "I bounce back quickly."

Lifting the cup, Stephanie breathed in the scent before she took a sip. "What was wrong with you yesterday?"

Rick shrugged. "Twenty-four-hour bug, or maybe too many beers with the guys the night before."

"You should learn to dodge those silver bullets," she said, giving her eggs another stir.

His head turned toward her. "What?"

"Isn't there a brand of beer called a silver bullet?"

He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. "Oh, yeah, those silver bullets."

Something he'd said yesterday still bothered her. The words he'd spoken and the suffering she'd seen in his eyes. Stephanie moved the eggs from the fire and turned to him. "When you were ill, you asked me to kill you."

The cup he held stopped halfway to his mouth. His face flushed slightly. "You know how hangovers are. Sometimes you just want to be put out of your misery."

She couldn't so easily dismiss his plea, whether he was out of his head with fever or not. "I've never seen anyone react that way to alcohol. Food poisoning has been known to bring on fever and chills, but—"

"That was probably the culprit," he interrupted. "I tend to eat my meat too raw."

Stephanie shuddered. "You shouldn't eat meat at all. I'm a vegetarian."

For some reason, he found her declaration funny. When he laughed, she noticed how straight and white his teeth were.

"You find that amusing?" she asked.

Still smiling, he said, "A vegetarian veterinarian. Try saying that three times fast."

She laughed, too, breaking a little of the tension. The smell of cooked eggs made her stomach rumble. She felt starved but didn't want to eat in front of him. That left only one alternative. "Would you care for breakfast?"

His smile faded. "I don't think that would be a good idea. You know what they say? Feed a stray and it'll just keep hanging around."

Stephanie thought it would be best if he didn't hang around. She had trouble keeping her eyes off him. Although he claimed to feel better, she thought he looked tired. Which reminded her of why she felt exhausted.

"I had a late night visitor," she said.

A dark brow rose.

"A wolf," she continued. "It was very strange. I woke up and he was inside my tent, staring at me."

The cup in his hand shook again. He set it down. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming? Wolves don't usually—"

"I know," she interrupted. "They usually avoid people. But I wasn't dreaming, and I could have sworn it was the same wolf the hunters had wounded. But when I followed him outside, I noticed he wasn't limping, showed no sign of injury at all, so it couldn't have been the same animal."

"You should leave," he said. "It could be dangerous here for you."

She dug in her pack and removed a tin plate. "For me, or for the hunters if I decide to turn them in to the authorities?"

Rising, he stretched his long legs. "Don't get between the farmers and the wolves. Mostly, they're just good old boys looking out for their own interests."

While scooping eggs onto her plate, she muttered, "What are they going to do? Shoot me?"

"Not on purpose, but these men are farmers, not expert marksmen. You don't want to get caught in the middle."

Stephanie glanced up at him, suspicion causing her gaze to narrow. "That's what this visit is about, isn't it? You came to scare me off?"

"I came to talk some sense into you," he corrected. "What's going on here isn't any of your business."

She set her plate aside and rose, meeting him on his level. "Wolves are being illegally hunted and that's none of my business? I'm making it my business, and I'm also calling the Fish and Wildlife Service on your crooked sheriff and his hillbilly friends. What do you think of that?"

"I think you're poking your nose into something dangerous," he shot back. "The farmers are good men, and the sheriff is a good man, too. He's protecting the community. Today the wolves are only killing sheep. Tomorrow it may be a child who's wandered too far into the woods, or a woman camping alone."

She snorted disdainfully. "I'm not that easily frightened. And for your information, there's no proof that a healthy wild wolf has attacked a human in North America for the past decade."

Rick felt tempted to shake her silly. She had no idea they were not discussing "normal" wolves. At least one of them wasn't normal. He couldn't believe he'd come here last night. Crept into her tent and stared at her. Thank God that was all he'd done. He must have picked up her scent from her jacket draped over the rocker in his room.

He'd hoped his strong attraction to her the day before might be a result of the drugs in his system. Not so. He fought himself not to kiss her again. She was beautiful, and tempting, and forbidden.

"You're stubborn," he added out loud.

"I'm dedicated," she corrected. "And I won't be bullied around or frightened away. The last man I let tell me what to do was my father, and that only lasted until I was old enough to talk back."

He could imagine her as a child. Small angelic face surrounded by blond curls; twisting men around her finger even then. "I don't want to be your father," he assured her, not bothering to add that he wouldn't mind being her lover. He'd made that clear enough yesterday. "I thought you might listen to reason."

"But you're not being rational," she pointed out. "If I leave, who will save these wolves?"

She was right. He wasn't being rational. Leaving was no longer an option for her. Not until he was certain he hadn't bitten her. To his knowledge, Rick had never attacked a human. Research he'd read insisted a person couldn't become a werewolf by being bitten by one, but he knew that was a lie. To assure himself that he hadn't passed his curse to Stephanie Shane, Rick had to keep her nearby until the next full moon cycle.

"If you call the authorities about the hunters, you won't get your research or your documentary. The place will be crawling with people. Wolves don't particularly like people, remember? They'll go into hiding."

Her teeth worried her bottom lip. "That's true. But what am I supposed to do, just let them continue to kill wolves?"

It was hard for him to concentrate when she stood close to him. Harder still to keep from sampling her lips again. Rick returned to the stump she'd been sitting on. He sat and lifted his coffee. "I could talk to Hugh. Ask him to forgo any more hunting until you're finished here."

Stephanie joined him, retrieving her unfinished breakfast. "And I suppose in exchange, I have to agree not to report his actions?"

He smiled. "You're smart, too."

"Too smart to agree to that. I won't spend time and emotion on these wolves only to hear reports at a later date that they've all been killed."

"But your work could launch a campaign to have them relocated rather than destroyed," he said. "I can placate the sheriff and the farmers if you agree to film the wolves killing livestock. They would have their proof that something needs to be done."

"And what if my cameras prove the wolves are not responsible, but some other predator?"

He shrugged. "It won't, but then you'll have proof that the wolves should be left alone."

"Why are you so sure the wolves are responsible?" she asked, then shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth.

"I've seen the remains. These are pack killings. More than one animal. The thing is, the sheep being killed are most likely animals that are diseased or weak, and might not survive anyway. That's how survival of the fittest works."

"Sounds to me as if the wolves are only doing their job," she commented. "Can you prove that the sheep being killed are sick?"

Rick shook his head. "Not enough left of the remains to perform an autopsy."

Stephanie set her plate aside. "So much for my appetite. And I have work to do." She rose, affording him a view of her long legs wrapped in tight denim. "I'm hoping to find one of the dens today. I thought I could set up a camera close by to catch them coming and going."

Her long legs were so distracting, he almost didn't hear her words. When they sank in, he tensed. "That wouldn't be a smart move. The females are probably ready to whelp or already have. Get too close to the dens, and the wolves will become aggressive."

"But getting close is my job." She scraped the remains of her plate back into the skillet, gathered her dishes, and moved off toward a stream beside her campsite. Rick went after her.

"I'm serious," he insisted. Now that the moon's cycle had ended, he didn't have to worry about stumbling from a den naked come daylight and being caught on film in the process. But he knew for a fact that there were pups in the dens, and the animals would be protective.

"I'll be careful," she assured him, bending next to the stream to wash her dishes.

Rick bent beside her. "like you were the other night? You've already been bitten once—"

"No, that was a mistake," she interrupted. "I only thought the animal bit me. And I plan to be more careful from here on out. Don't you have something to do besides bother me?"

He leaned in, smelling her hair. He loved her scent. "Am I bothering you?"

When she turned her head, they were eye to eye. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. "Yes," she answered.

She bothered him, too. And in a big way. He had visited her campsite with the intention of scaring her off, but now, she had to stay. Now he had to keep a close eye on her and, at the same time, keep his raging hormones at bay. Not an easy task for a werewolf.

Backing off when she sat so close, her eyes still locked with his, took a great amount of willpower. She glanced away, gathered her dishes, and stood up.

"Good-bye, Dr. Donavon."

He rose, watching the sway of her hips as she walked away. The sunshine bounced off her hair. She stopped, and he waited for her to turn and say something else to him. When she continued to stand perfectly still, he moved up behind her. Blocking the path to her campsite stood a large gray wolf. The animal curled back its lips and growled.

Chapter Four

Stephanie's heart was in her throat. The wolf wasn't the same one that had crept into her tent the night before, and he wasn't as large, but he looked as if he could hurt someone if the mood struck him.

"Stand very still."

The warmth of Rick's breath brushed her ear. She hadn't heard him approach. He stepped around her, shielding her body with his. The wolf immediately ceased his growling. Stephanie raised herself on tiptoes to look over Rick's shoulder. It appeared to her as if the wolf and the country vet were having a stare-down. When the animal finally whimpered and scurried off, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"How did you do that?"

He turned around, and for a moment, she thought his eyes were glowing. He blinked, and they appeared normal again.

"Do what?"

"S-scare him off that way?" she stammered. "It was almost as if he recognized you as the Alpha male."

"He did recognize me. The wolves are used to seeing me in these woods. You're the one they consider an intruder."

She supposed he had a point. "I guess I need to stay on my guard. These particular wolves seem to be more aggressive than the ones I've studied in the past."

"I told you why," he reminded. "They have pups, or females in the pack getting ready to whelp. They'll be more protective of their territory than usual. Maybe you should stay in town."

Stephanie laughed off his suggestion. "I don't remember seeing a hotel when I passed through yesterday, and I can't very well research wildlife from town. I'll be fine."

They stood there for a moment, the silence between them awkward. She felt the heat rolling off his body, thought she even heard his heart beating. The longer he stared at her, the more uncomfortable she became. But she couldn't look away. It seemed he held some strange power over her. Even though the morning chill had faded, goose bumps rose on her arms.

A vision flashed through her mind. Cool sheets and sweat-soaked skin. Seeking mouths and roaming hands. Pleasure so intense it forced a soft moan from her lips. Rick blinked, and the spell was broken.

He turned and walked away, leaving her shaken and unsure of what had just happened between them. She watched him move through the trees. Shapes crept from the shadows to follow him. Wolves. Stephanie shuddered and returned to her campsite. She lifted her jacket from the stump where it lay draped, spotted the thermos, and sighed irritably.

He'd forgotten to take it with him, which meant he'd be back, or that she would have to return the item. She had work to do, and he'd already proven to be too much of a distraction. He had said he would try to dissuade the hunters, however, and she would rather gather her research information without getting the authorities involved.

Stephanie picked up the coffee and poured herself a fresh cup. She would not use the thermos as an excuse to visit the handsome country vet. In fact, she didn't plan on giving him another thought for the rest of the day.

She recalled her strong reaction to him earlier, the visions that had flashed through her mind. She remembered her momentary belief that his eyes had been glowing. It seemed ridiculous to her now. The sun must have reflected in his gaze a certain way. Rick Donavon was very handsome, maybe a little strange, but he wasn't some kind of monster.

Rick slept for two days straight. He stood at the kitchen sink; splashed cold water on his face, then stuck a glass beneath the faucet. He'd dreamed of the woman again. Hot, forbidden dreams. A monster such as himself had no right even to dream about her. She seemed innocent to him, and he was cursed. His fingers tightened around the glass he held.

The irresistible Miss Shane was only a reminder of all that been lost to him. Maybe this was his punishment for the life he'd lived when he'd been normal. He'd never had time for anyone else, not even a wife. His own desires and needs had always come first.

Women had called him a loner, and much worse. He used them for pleasure, had given pleasure in return, but he'd never given his heart.

It was ironic, all the things he'd taken for granted—companionship, a woman to share his life, bear his children, love him for better or for worse—would never be his. Not now. He laughed harshly, then hurled the glass at the wall. It shattered, just as his life had shattered three years ago.

Rick walked to the mess and bent. He lifted a piece of glass, allowing the sharp edge to slice his finger open. Blood seeped from the cut. He stuck the injured finger into his mouth. By morning, the cut would heal itself. Just like the bullet wound he'd taken in his leg. There was only one way to kill him, or so he'd read. A wound to the head, or to the heart. Those were the only organs that couldn't heal themselves.

Ripping open his shirt, he held the glass to his chest. If he plunged it in deep enough, he could end the nightmare, here, now, today. He'd been raised to believe that taking one's life was the greatest sin. That doing so would condemn his soul to eternal hell. Hell was the reason he hadn't done it before now. Hell had become a familiar place to him, and Rick longed for peace and salvation.

If someone else did the job for him, it couldn't be counted against his soul. Thanks to Stephanie, he probably couldn't rely on the hunters to handle the task. In all good conscience, he couldn't plunge the glass deep into his chest, as he wanted to do. Not yet. He had to stick around long enough to be certain she hadn't been bitten. Rick had also promised to speak to the sheriff on her behalf—ask him and the hunters to give her free rein to study the wolves.

A knock on his door made him jump. He threw the glass shard on the floor and rose. Rick was surprised to see the woman who'd been occupying his thoughts standing on the porch. She shoved his thermos at him.

"You forgot this the other day," she said.

"I would have been back for it," he assured her.

"I know. That's why I decided to return it."

He smiled. "Would you like some more?"

Her gaze lowered to his mouth. "More?"

"Coffee," he specified.

"No, thank you."

When she continued to stand there, he asked, "Would you like to come inside?"

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "No, I should probably get going."

Yes, she should leave, Rick thought. But no amount of reasoning seemed to work when she stood within touching distance. He was painfully aware of her. Her gaze lowered to his open shirt. She sucked in her breath and reached out.

"You're bleeding."

The feel of her fingers on his skin nearly drove him wild. He fought the urge to yank her inside the cabin and into his arms. "I broke a glass in the kitchen. It's just a scratch."

"It looks fairly deep." She pushed past him. "We should get that cleaned up and see if you need stitches."

Rick followed her inside. He smiled and closed the door behind him. "You should be more careful," he called.

Stephanie turned, raising a brow.

"The glass," he reminded her. "Watch where you step. It could slice through your shoes."

She nodded and hurried into the kitchen. Rick pushed away from the door. He moved toward the kitchen, realized his actions were furtive like those of a stalking animal, and approached more directly. Stephanie already held a paper towel under the faucet.

"Come here," she ordered.

Like a well-trained dog, he obeyed. She squeezed water from the paper towel and turned toward him, wiping the blood from his chest. Her knock on the door had startled him. His hand must have slipped. Her scent curled around him. He'd thought she smelled good the other day, but her fragrance seemed stronger to him now. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"I don't think you need stitches," she said. "But you'll have a nasty scratch for a while."

It would be gone by tomorrow. He felt the flesh already healing, just as the cut on his thumb would also disappear.

"Be sure you keep it clean so it doesn't get infected."

Rick opened his eyes and glanced down. Her features were perfect. Small oval face, high cheekbones, delicate nose, inviting lips. "I do know a little about that," he said dryly.

Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. "Of course you do. Sorry, I forgot for a moment." Her brow furrowed. "Why aren't there any animals in the pens outside?"

He shrugged and walked away. "The wolves are doing a good job of separating the weak from the strong. Mostly all I get is sheep." Rick grabbed a broom and a dustpan. "A sick calf once in a while. I only practice on large animals. I prefer to make house calls rather than have owners leave animals here."

"Because they wouldn't be safe," she said.

He didn't look at her. "Exactly."

She walked over and took the dustpan from his hand. "Too many wolves roaming this area."

"Right," he agreed, his tone dry.

Stephanie bent, holding the dustpan while he swept up the broken glass. He would have preferred that she take the broom. Having a beautiful woman kneeling before him didn't help his raging hormones. Once he'd swept all the broken glass into the dustpan, Stephanie rose.

"Where's your trash?"

He nodded toward the sink. "Cabinet under the sink."

Replacing the broom, he watched her open the cabinet door and empty the dustpan. His gaze roamed her backside. Her natural instincts were not very good, he decided, or she'd sense what he was thinking and make a hasty retreat. Instead, she straightened, walked back toward him, and held out the dustpan. He replaced it beside the broom.

"I'd wear shoes in here for a few days," she mumbled. "We might have missed some of the smaller pieces."

"I'll be careful," he assured her, wishing cuts and scrapes were something he had to worry about. That would mean he was normal.

She glanced around. "I'll just wash my hands and be on my way."

Rick didn't want her to go, but he really didn't want her to stay, either. His attraction to her became stronger every second she remained. For his sake as well as hers, parting company would be for the best.

Even as he told himself that, he moved up behind her while she washed her hands.

She smelled of wildflowers and sunshine. That, and something else. Some unidentifiable scent he couldn't resist. She turned and nearly bumped into him.

"W-were you sniffing me?" she stammered.

"I like your shampoo."

He should step back and let her pass, but Rick's feet felt glued to the floor. He kept staring into her eyes, thinking how green they were. His gaze lowered to her neck. He'd tasted her there. But he couldn't recall if he'd been a man or an animal when he'd done so. Her hand crept up, pulled her collar closer around her neck.

"Why do I get the feeling when I'm around you that you'd like to gobble me up like a snack?"

He smiled. "I'd never rush anything with you. I'd eat you nice and slow. Savor you."

Her mouth trembled slightly. She pushed past him. "That reminds me. I'm starving. I thought I'd try the cafe in town for lunch."

Berating himself for what he'd just said, Rick took off after her. "Can you give me a ride?"

She didn't answer until she'd opened the door and placed herself safely upon the porch. "Don't you have a vehicle?"

Rick nodded. "I have a truck, but it's not running at the moment. I haven't had time to work on it. I thought I should speak to the sheriff about what we discussed."

"I planned on shopping. I need more film and a few other items."

The pretty wildlife photographer felt uncomfortable with him. That was obvious. Rick couldn't blame her. He shouldn't have made that crack. But it had been the truth. He would savor her. Every inch of her. "I'll go another time."

Stephanie started to turn away, stopped, and sighed. "You should speak to the sheriff as soon as possible. I would do it myself, but he'd probably listen to you before he would a stranger. I'll get my Jeep and come back for you." She looked him up and down, then grinned. "You are going to change that shirt, right? In case you haven't noticed, the buttons are missing."

He grinned back. "Any other instructions?"

She cocked her head to the side and studied him. "A haircut wouldn't hurt," she said, then turned and walked away.

He watched her walk down the steps and toward the trees, still smiling to himself over her instructions. They sounded so ordinary. Like something a woman would say to a normal flesh-and-blood man. Like something a wife might say to her husband.

His smile faded. He was not ordinary. And she should never become too comfortable in his company. Wild animals couldn't be trusted. They turned on people.

Chapter Five

Stephanie had wondered what type of reception she'd get from the townspeople. It was a chilly one at best. The cafe looked like something out of a black-and-white movie. Even the people inside appeared as if they'd stepped from the screen of an old Twilight Zone episode. The waitress still wore her hair in beehive fashion. Her name was Betty, and she nearly melted on the spot when she caught sight of Rick, but frosted up when she realized he wasn't alone.

"So what will you have, miss?" she asked, without looking at Stephanie and drooling over Rick.

"What's good?" Stephanie asked.

"The lamb chops are always fresh."

With a shudder, Stephanie studied the menu again. "I'll have a salad."

Betty's gaze finally swung toward her. She snorted. "Figures." She turned a stunning smile on Rick. "No wonder she doesn't have any meat on her bones."

He smiled back. "Miss Shane doesn't eat meat. She's a vegetarian."

The waitress lifted a brow, snorted again, then asked, "Will you have your usual?"

"Burger and fries. You know me. I'm a meat and potatoes man."

"Rare?" Betty asked.

"The redder the better," he answered.

Stephanie's stomach rolled. She didn't know if it was due to the bloody meat reference or a result of the way Betty kept eyeballing Rick. It shouldn't have surprised her. He was a handsome single man in a town where probably few could be found. She imagined he could have his pick of the single women. Maybe even the married ones. The waitress took their menus and sashayed off, her ample hips swinging.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" Stephanie asked through tight lips.

Rick glanced around. "They're just curious. We don't get many strangers here." His gaze swung back to her. "I'm curious, too. Tell me about yourself."

Stephanie wasn't comfortable discussing her past with anyone, much less a man she didn't know. She shrugged. "Not much to tell."

"Why aren't you married?"

"Why aren't you?" she countered.

He smiled, and she tried not to melt. "Never got around to it. I used to travel a lot."

"You said used to. Don't you enjoy traveling?"

Rick tugged at his shirt collar and shifted against his seat. "No. I've become a homebody of sorts."

"I love to travel," Stephanie admitted. "It's one of the things I like most about my job. That and being outdoors."

"And the animals," he added. "You do like animals, don't you?"

She laughed. "Of course I like animals. I'm naturally suspicious of anyone who doesn't."

"And you like wolves in particular?"

His line of questioning seemed strange to her. "Yes," she answered. "Wolves in particular."

Lifting a salt shaker to examine, he continued, "Why wolves in particular?"

Stephanie had never given her attraction to the species much thought. "I suppose because they're beautiful. And they have values. The pack is like a family. They love and protect one another."

"What about your family?"

He'd hit upon a sore subject. It had been three years since her father's death, and she still felt an empty place inside. "My parents were in a car accident. My mother was killed instantly. Dad held on for another year, but he was in bad shape. An invalid." She lowered her gaze because she felt the tears gathering. "I don't think he even knew who I was in the end."

The gentle touch of his hand startled her. "I'm sorry for your loss."

His touch felt comforting; his expression held sincerity. Stephanie managed to get her emotions under control. "What about you? Are your parents still living?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Do you see them much?"

"No." He glanced away from her. "Not in a while."

"Why not?"

He removed his hand from hers. "Too busy, I guess. They live in Texas."

"You should visit them as often as you can. You won't have them forever." They sat silently for a moment. "What about brothers and sisters?" Stephanie asked.

"I have a brother," he responded. "Or I did. We were together on a hunting expedition in Canada a few years back. He… he was killed."

"How horrible," she breathed. "What happened?"

Rick glanced around as if looking for someone. "I'd rather not talk about it."

She supposed she was getting too personal and tried to change the subject. "You don't strike me as the hunting type."

"I'm not," he admitted. "I went because Jason wanted us to spend time together." Betty appeared, and he looked relieved. "Great, here's our food. I'm starving."

And he evidently was, because he attacked his food only moments after the waitress set his plate in front of him. Stephanie had to glance away. She was surprised the burger wasn't still mooing. She tried to concentrate on her salad.

"You should have children."

"What?"

"Children," he repeated, taking a bite of his bloody hamburger. "You'll make a good mother."

She loved children. Once, she'd pictured herself with a husband and babies of her own. She didn't know if she could stand to love someone that much again, because she felt certain she couldn't stand to lose anyone else she loved.

"And you have arrived at this conclusion based upon… ?"

"You have a nurturing nature," he answered. "You like to take care of people."

Stephanie laughed. "For a man who hardly knows me, you assume a lot."

He lifted a brow. "You don't want children?"

A hot flush spread up her neck. She could imagine having his children. And what beautiful offspring he would produce. "Most women want children. That was an easy assumption." She moved her fork around in her salad, not looking at him. "Would you like to have children?"

When he remained silent, she glanced up. He mumbled, "I can't," then looked away.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, realizing she'd gotten too personal again.

Rick wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Hugh's here. Do you mind if I talk to him?"

She glanced behind her and saw the sheriff conversing with Betty. "No. Go ahead. I'll wash my hands and freshen up, then meet you at the door."

He grabbed the bill, slid across the seat, and waited for her to rise. Conversation stopped at each booth or table they passed. Stephanie felt self-conscious. She nodded at the sheriff when they reached the man, then proceeded to the restroom. Once inside, she washed her hands and splashed her face with cool water.

She found herself primping before the mirror, which wasn't at all like her. Stephanie knew she was pretty, in a natural, no-fuss sort of way. Her job didn't allow her to waste time with makeup or hot rollers. That was the bad thing about camping out. No electricity. Of course, it had never bothered her much before. But then, she'd never had a single, handsome man living near her campsite before, either.

Frowning over her silly primping, she threw the paper towel in the wastebasket and left the restroom. Rick stood at the register talking to Betty.

"Sure you can't stop by later tonight and look at my Sugar, Rick? Her appetite hasn't been at all good lately."

"You know I don't practice on small animals. You'll have to take her—"

"But Sugar doesn't like that old vet," Betty interrupted, her plump red lips forming a pout. "And it's so far over there."

He dug in his back pocket for his wallet. "Sugar doesn't like me either, remember?"

Stephanie stepped up to the register. "Who's Sugar?"

"My poodle," Betty answered, frowning over the interruption. "I wanted Rick to come over tonight and have a look at her, but I forgot, she pitches a fit anytime she comes within sniffing distance of him. He's the reason we've all had to take to penning up our pets."

"You should keep them penned up anyway," Rick said. "Confinement stops the spread of disease and keeps them from getting run over."

"I suppose you're right about that," she admitted. "Well, don't be such a stranger."

"Keep the change," he said, ushering Stephanie outside.

"Why don't dogs like you?" she immediately asked, finding that strange since Rick was a veterinarian.

He looked a little embarrassed. "They just don't."

"But that's odd, isn't it? Haven't you ever had to practice on small animals?"

He nodded. "There's the drugstore. You can get film and anything else you need. I'm going for a haircut."

Although it pleased her that he'd taken her suggestion to heart, Stephanie wouldn't be put off. "Well, haven't you?"

Rick sighed. "I used to practice on small animals when I lived in the city. I can only assume that dogs no longer like me because they smell wolf on me."

She drew up short. "What?"

"My shoes," he specified. "Tromp around a forest inhabited by wolves and you're bound to pick up their scent on your shoes. Spoor and things."

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose you're right. I hadn't thought of that. How'd it go with the sheriff?"

He shrugged. "Okay. He said he'd speak to the farmers, but he also said to tell you to be careful. Some might listen and some might not."

"I guess it's a start," she said.

"Do you mind shopping alone while I get a haircut?"

The idea wasn't too pleasing since she was a stranger in town and evidently not highly regarded, but Stephanie answered, "No problem."

"I'll meet you back at your Jeep."

With a nod, Stephanie veered off toward the drugstore. She received a chilly reception from the owner after she entered, but ignored the balding older man. Stephanie picked up a few rolls of film, strolled the aisles until something caught her eye. She smiled and plucked a bottle of her favorite shampoo from the shelves. Since she didn't know how long it would take Rick to get a haircut, she lingered over the magazine section and chose a mystery novel from the limited selection of books.

The man running the cash register didn't thaw a fraction toward her, even though she'd spent more money than she intended, maybe unconsciously trying to win him over. She took her sack and headed back outside. The barbershop was just up the street, but Stephanie decided to wait at her Jeep. She headed toward the vehicle. A woman stepped from the alley beside the drugstore.

The woman's appearance startled Stephanie. She had long, tangled hair and wore ragged clothing. Her face was a mask of wrinkles. She lifted a bony finger and pointed.

"Beware of the wolf," she croaked.

Stephanie glanced behind her, unsure if the woman was speaking to her, and also to make certain there wasn't anything frightening standing behind her. There was no wolf. Only Rick walking toward her. She turned back. The woman had disappeared. Stephanie scanned the streets, searching for the woman. When she didn't find her, she stepped into the alleyway. It was deserted.

Rick held the shampoo bottle beneath his nose. He took a deep breath, then sighed with pleasure. He smiled, recalling how Stephanie had pulled it from the sack once she'd brought him home. A gift, she had teased, so he wouldn't have to sniff her. He wouldn't use the shampoo on his now shorter hair, but he liked having her scent floating around the room.

His smile faded when he recalled something he hadn't liked. Stephanie had said an old woman stepped from the alley and warned her to beware of the wolf. He'd thought she might be seeing things until they spotted the old woman later, hobbling down the road.

He hadn't seen her before, but she'd stopped as they passed, staring at him with eyes too knowing. Rick had turned his head to look at her, and she'd lifted a bony finger, pointing at him accusingly. Did she know? How could she? And who was she? His immediate feelings on the matter were that she'd come from a county fair in one of the neighboring towns. She looked like a gypsy, a fortune-teller. The road she'd been traveling only veered off to one place—a broken-down shack up in the mountains that had long been abandoned.

If this woman knew what lurked beneath the façade of his human flesh, she was dangerous. He didn't want his curse exposed to the world. His parents had suffered enough; he wouldn't bring this down on their heads, as well.

He didn't like to recall the turn of events that had forever changed their lives, and his. He'd gone to Canada on a hunting trip with his older brother, Jason. Rick wasn't a hunter, but Jason had laid a guilt trip on him about how little time they spent together. Rick wished the trip had been an instance when he'd remained self-absorbed, instead of giving in. Then he and Jason would not have fallen into the nightmare.

They were drinking beer and bragging about women that night in front of the campfire. Jason had excused himself, muttering he had to see a man about a dog. Rick sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the silence of the wilderness and the popping of the fire. A short time later, he'd heard his brother's calls for help.

He'd grabbed his rifle and charged through the foliage. Rick stumbled upon a scene he would never forget. A huge wolf had his brother down, its powerful jaws wrapped around his throat. Rick lifted the rifle and shot at the animal, missing because he was no marksman.

Then the animal had come at him. Rick barely managed to lift the rifle when the wolf sunk its teeth into the flesh of his thigh. He'd shot the animal in the back at close range. The wolf yelped and fell to the ground. Dragging his injured leg, Rick rushed to his brother's side. It had been too late. Jason was dead. Even though he knew, Rick removed his jacket and wrapped it around Jason's throat, hoping he was wrong.

He'd carried him to their vehicle, thrown him in the backseat, and raced for the nearest town. The rest seemed like a blur. Because he'd lost a lot of blood from the gaping wound in his leg, he passed out at the hospital. He'd awakened in a room, tubes running from his arms, with the recollection that something had gone horribly wrong tugging at his conscience.

His brother had, in fact, been dead upon arrival at the hospital, he learned later. He'd taken him home in a casket. Or at least he thought he had. The loss of his brother had blunted his emotions. He hadn't even noticed that the wound in his leg healed at an impossible rate. Then the changes started. The restlessness. The sleepless nights. His infatuation with the moon. A need for raw meat. He'd never believed that werewolves truly existed.

Not until he realized he had become one. He'd wake in the morning to find dirt beneath his fingernails, sometimes blood on his hands and the taste of it in his mouth. The newspaper had started reporting accounts of a wolf roaming the streets of the city. He tried to convince himself it was impossible—a man could not assume the shape of an animal—but deep down, he knew it was possible, and that he was such a man.

Rick brought trembling hands to his head, burying his face. He didn't want to think about when he had come to accept the curse that fate had dealt him—the day his dead brother had paid him a visit. Rick had almost died of shock. He'd thought he might be hallucinating, had prayed he was dreaming, even though he was overjoyed to see his only brother again. But he hadn't been dreaming. It took seeing Jason to convince him that what he suffered was also real.

Jason was a werewolf. He wasn't in the casket Rick had flown home with. Confused and delirious, his brother had escaped the hospital. Rick later figured the hospital didn't want to admit they'd lost a body, so they'd played along with a hoax. But Jason soon learned what he'd become, and convinced Rick that he shared the same curse. His brother told him he would return to Canada, find the wolf that had bitten them, and kill it. Only then would they both be free. That had been three years ago. Jason had obviously not found the wolf.

He wondered if his brother had lost sight of the human within him, and now ran wild in the Canadian wilderness. Rick had a lot of questions he wanted answered. He'd done research, of course, but one claim disputed another, and he didn't know what to believe. If the curse could truly only be broken by killing the werewolf that had bitten him, he feared it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Finding that one particular wolf in the wilds of Canada would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

An ad for a country vet had caught his attention one day. A secluded mountain town nestled against the rugged mountains of Montana sounded like a good place for him.

The wolves came shortly after he arrived. For all he knew, he had called them in the lonely hours when the moon hung full in the sky. They were his companions, the only ones who didn't judge him. He'd awoken many times among them. Rising naked in the cold light of dawn in his glaring human form. But they accepted him, either way, man or beast, which was more than his own kind would do.

They would kill him if they knew. He would be talked about, publicized, and crucified. His parents would suffer even more than they already had. Rick wouldn't allow that to happen. They'd lost two sons to that hunting expedition. At least the two they knew and loved.

Once, he wouldn't have given the strange woman he'd seen in town a second thought; now the beast within him said he must. He would wait awhile, see if she disappeared as mysteriously as she had appeared; if she didn't, he'd be forced to do something about her.

Chapter Six

Stephanie stared up at the moon. Although it was no longer full, she thought it had never shone more brightly, or been more mesmerizing. In the distance, a mournful howl floated to her on the wind. The sound tugged at her heart—made loneliness bubble up inside her.

She hadn't seen Rick in two days, but he'd crept into her thoughts often. Mostly during the darkest hours of night. The time when she felt lost. Cut off from the world. The time when she longed for companionship, for the feel of strong arms wrapped around her—the touch of flesh against flesh, and the sound of another heart pounding in unison with her own.

Her attraction to the man was purely physical. At least she had believed so in the beginning. But in the past two days, the attraction had transformed itself into something else. Something beyond her comprehension. When she thought of him, desire, the hot pulsating kind, rose up inside her.

He came to her in dreams, his eyes aglow with passion. She tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, only to wake clutching air and moaning his name. In those moments of midnight madness, Stephanie fought the urge to go to him. She wanted to creep into the night, into his house, and into his bed.

A twig snapped and she glanced toward the sound, hoping that thinking of the man had conjured him before her. But it wasn't Rick who stood staring at her from the bushes, the dying embers of the campfire casting his face in an eerie glow. It was the woman she'd seen in town.

"You must kill him," she croaked. "Take his life to save your own."

Stephanie jumped up, more frightened by the woman's instructions than by her hideous appearance. "What do you want?" she whispered. "Who are you?"

"A seer," she answered, moving from the bushes. "A saver of souls. You are in danger. I see what you cannot see. What he cannot hide behind a handsome face." The hag pointed at her again. "You must send him to hell where he belongs!"

The woman was obviously crazy, and she had the kind of face that nightmares were made of. Stephanie wouldn't hang around to find out if the woman was dangerous. She took off into the woods.

"Do not run to him! He is not what you think he is! Come back and listen to me!" the woman shouted after her, but Stephanie wasn't about to take instructions from a crazy person.

She raced into the night, running faster than she'd ever been able to run, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaped over fallen logs, ducked beneath low branches, and ran smack into a tree. Or she thought it was a tree until a pair of arms closed around her. A scream rose in her throat.

"Stephanie? What are you doing?"

Her scream turned into a relieved sob. "Rick. I was frightened. That old woman, she came to my campsite."

"The one from town?"

She nodded, pressing closer to him. The steady beat of his heart beneath her ear comforted her, and the solid strength of his arms made her feel safe.

"What did she want?" Rick asked.

Shivering from the aftereffects of her scare, she answered, "I'm not sure. She didn't make any sense. She said I have to kill someone to save myself. She said she could see beneath his face or something. It was horrible."

His arms tightened around her. His heartbeat increased a measure. "Whom did she say you have to kill? Whose face can she see beneath?"

"I don't know," she answered, a little of her fear subsiding now that Rick held her. "And I didn't stick around to find out."

The tenseness she felt in him faded. He sighed. "She probably is crazy. Probably harmless, too. Maybe she just wanted something to eat."

"She could have just asked. She didn't have to scare me half to death."

His hand moved up and down her back. "I'll see if she's still there. Go to the cabin and wait."

"Don't leave me." She didn't want to be left alone, and she didn't want to worry about him while he was gone. "Let's wait awhile. I'm sure she'll move on or raid my food supply."

"I don't mind," he assured her.

"I do," she responded.

They stood, arms wrapped around one another in the night. Stephanie glanced up at him. His face was close; his lips within touching distance were he to bend a little and she to rise up to meet him. Suddenly, she became very aware of his body, the way they fit against one another perfectly.

The sensible thing to do would be to break away from him, return to his cabin, and make silly small talk while they waited. She didn't feel like talking. The nights she'd spent dreaming of him, longing for his touch, caught up with her.

"We should go inside. You're trembling."

It wasn't the cold that made her tremble, but a fight with her own morality. She wasn't the type who believed in casual sex with a stranger. In fact, she didn't believe in having sex for the sole purpose of pleasure. Emotions should be involved—respect, mutual caring, most importantly, love.

She didn't know Rick well enough to feel any of those things for him, but she felt desire. This man, this stranger, had awakened her on a level beyond normal consciousness. He had slipped into the darkest recesses of her mind. A place where there was no right or wrong, but only need—a burning hunger that must be fed.

Maintaining reason was like clutching air. She had no control over her limbs, felt as if an invisible force propelled her mouth toward his. His lips felt warm, firm… and unresponsive. She pulled back to look at him.

"You don't know me," he said, his voice low and husky.

"I know I want you," she countered, surprising herself.

He glanced away as if he couldn't stand to look at her. "You're not making this any easier."

"No. I'm not," she agreed, then turned his face toward hers and kissed him again. With a groan of defeat, he surrendered. He claimed her lips without a hint of gentleness. Rather than being frightened by the intensity of his ardor, she reveled in the taste, smell, and feel of him. Her fingers clutched his thick hair.

His hands slid down her back, pulled her hips up firmly against him. Her breath caught in her throat at the solid proof of his desire for her, but again, she felt no fear of him, or shame over her own behavior, only a desperate need to feed the hunger he stirred within.

When he pulled away again, she moaned in frustration. He took her hand and led her toward the cabin. She went willingly, running to keep up with his long strides. As soon as they were inside, he slammed the door and pinned her against the sturdy wooden frame, his body pressing into hers. He kissed her like a man starved for human contact, making love to her with his mouth, teasing and nipping at her lips, probing inside with his tongue.

She couldn't breathe, felt as if she were on fire, consumed by a passion beyond her control. Her breasts ached with a need to be held, and lower, she throbbed with another need, one stronger than common sense, one that eclipsed the deeply embedded morals she'd once possessed.

Rick led her into the bedroom. A small lamp burned, casting a soft glow over the cozy room. He immediately drew her into his arms, his kisses slower, deeper. His hand strayed to the buttons on her shirt. He unfastened them with maddening slowness, the tips of his fingers brushing sensually against her burning skin.

She moaned when he cupped her breasts, his thumbs dipping inside her bra to tease her nipples. He slid her shirt over her shoulders and unclasped her bra, removing both articles in one sweep.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, molding her breasts in the palms of his hands. "So perfect."

His husky words and the feel of his fingers stroking her flesh fueled her passion and erased what few inhibitions she had left. Stephanie unbuttoned his shirt. She kissed his throat, then ran her tongue down his smooth chest. She liked the taste of him, the feel and heat of him. That was when a strange realization struck her. She stumbled back.

"What's the matter?"

"Your chest," she whispered.

Rick glanced down. "What about it?"

"T-the cut from the glass," she stammered. "It's gone."

Almost in an unconscious gesture, his hand lifted to his chest. He looked like a child trying to hide a secret. "I'm a fast healer."

Confused, she said, "That cut was fairly deep. It would take at least a couple of weeks to heal."

He took another step toward her. "It obviously wasn't as deep as you thought. Come here."

His command was difficult to ignore. With effort, Stephanie took another step back. Whatever force had driven her moments before weakened. She suddenly felt very much in control of her emotions, and totally embarrassed by her behavior. Cool air clashed with her hot skin. She crossed her arms over her bare breasts.

"There should be a nasty scratch there, even if the cut wasn't as deep as it looked," she insisted.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, bent, and scooped up her discarded clothing. "Would it make you feel better if I put one there?"

She wondered if he meant to hand her the clothes, or keep her from getting back into them. "We shouldn't have started this."

He lifted a brow. "You're the one who started it. Now you want to end it because I'm not mortally wounded?"

Reaching for her shirt, she answered, "I want to end it because it isn't right."

The lack of a cut on Rick's chest unnerved her. It was creepy. No normal person could heal that quickly. Her own behavior totally confused her. It was as if she'd become an animal. Rick stared at the hand she held extended toward him. For a moment, she thought he might not comply with her wishes. He sighed and handed her the clothing. Stephanie turned her back and quickly slipped into the shirt, wadding the undergarment into a ball before stuffing it in her pocket. She felt that she owed him some type of explanation.

"I'm not normally like this," she said.

His hands settled upon her shoulders. "You mean you don't normally work a man into a frenzied pitch and then leave him in agony?"

The warmth of his hands soaked through her shirt. She almost relented. So what if he should have a nasty gash in his chest and he didn't? So what if she hardly knew him? They both wanted the same thing. Men and women of her generation had sex together all the time without any emotional commitments. But Stephanie wasn't that type of person. She never had been. Not until tonight.

"I'm not acting like myself."

He turned her around. She expected his expression to be angry, but instead, he looked concerned. "What do you mean, you're not acting like yourself?"

She had trouble looking at him. "The old woman frightened me… and then I don't know what happened. I'm not into casual sex."

He smiled slightly. "I didn't plan on being casual about it."

Her resistance wavered. "Normally, I would never… I mean, we don't know each other that well. I really have no idea what got into me."

"You said you wanted me," he reminded.

"I wanted… something," she agreed. "But I'm not certain what exactly."

"Did you feel driven to mate with me?"

Her gaze shot up. His question made what she'd felt sound animalistic, dirty. "I'm leaving, and I think it would be best if we just stayed away from one another."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Why did you feel driven? Physical attraction alone? Because I'm strong? Because deep down, you feel I can provide for you?"

Stephanie struggled, pulling away from him. His suggestions sickened her. She had no dark motives for desiring him.

Humiliated, she shoved past him and left the bedroom. She only made it to the door before she remembered that her campsite didn't seem like the safest place to be tonight. Neither was his cabin.

"I'll go with you," he said. "Unless you trust me enough to stay the night."

She wasn't certain she could trust him, and wasn't at all sure she could trust herself.

"I'm not letting some crazy old woman scare me away from my campsite. Besides, for all I know, she's stolen my camera equipment and everything else. I need to check on things."

When he joined her, he'd buttoned his shirt back up. "Then let's go."

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Shouldn't we take something for protection? Maybe a gun?"

"I don't need a weapon." His voice held a chill. "If she's still there, I can handle her."

Glancing down, she noticed the unconscious flexing of his large hands. He could snap the old woman in two if he wanted, she imagined. The thought did not comfort her, nor did the walk to her site help relax her. She felt like a tease. What had possessed her to act so out of character?

Lust. The word wasn't a soft one. That was what she had felt for him. Lust was what she had responded to, that and his touch, his kisses—her own loneliness. She wondered if she would have responded to any other man the way she had to Rick, but she didn't think so. There was something about him she had trouble resisting. Something she sensed beneath his skin. She waited while he searched the area and checked inside her tent.

"No sign of her."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Does it look as if anything's been stolen?"

He shook his head. "Nothing seems out of place."

The news bothered her more than if the old woman had stolen her blind. Then there would at least be a logical explanation for the woman's appearance, and for her frightening behavior.

"Nothing makes sense tonight," she said quietly. "Thank you for walking me back."

"Are you sure you want to stay out here alone?"

Of course she didn't want to be alone. Tempting visions of Rick sharing a sleeping bag with her made her profess bravery she didn't feel at the moment.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I plan to drag my sleeping bag in the Jeep and lock all the doors."

His gaze met hers, and for an instant, she thought his eyes glowed again. A trick of the moon. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

That was the problem. Rick Donavon was a little too convenient. "I won't need you," she said, vowing to make good her claim. "Good night."

He didn't respond, but turned and walked away. The moment he disappeared, loss and loneliness welcomed Stephanie home. She could have been in his arms, in his bed, but she'd chosen to be rational. The absence of a cut on his chest still bothered her. Maybe the cut wasn't as deep as it had looked. Maybe he was just one of those people who healed quickly. What other explanation could there be?

She couldn't think of a single one. And suddenly, she had trouble coming up with a single reason why she should have left. Morals? Fear? What were those compared to the thrill of his kisses, the sensuous trail of fingers across flesh? She shook her head, worried she'd developed the morals of a cat in heat. Her morals were important, had always been, and she needed to get a grip.

Stephanie wouldn't throw herself at him again. Next time, she might get exactly what she asked for. She shivered, a result of worry that the old woman might come back, she told herself. But deep down, she knew that her response had been anticipation. Excitement to see him again.

Chapter Seven

For three days Stephanie followed the wolf pack. She tried to put Rick out of her mind and concentrate on her research. It worked sometimes, but mostly during the daylight hours. The old woman had not returned. She'd gotten many good shots of the pack members, and had come to identify certain animals. One individual was missing—the huge black wolf she'd saved the night she'd arrived. The same one she later suspected had crept into her tent to stare at her.

His loss saddened her. He'd obviously died of his wounds, or had fallen victim to another menace. She'd noticed there seemed to be a shortage of females hunting, which probably meant Rick was right, and a few were in dens tending pups.

Being able to film the pups would help her cause considerably. All baby animals were cute and people softened toward them. If she could keep up with the pack, she might be able to discover their dens. Rick's warning to avoid the dens resurfaced in her mind. Not only his warning, but the man himself. The sensuous feel of his hands gliding over her body, the huskiness of his voice, the way he kissed a woman completely, nothing held back.

A fly buzzed around her face and she shooed it away, along with her thoughts. She felt hot and sweaty after a morning trying to keep up with the pack. She'd taken to bathing in the stream next to her site in the early morning hours. The water was usually freezing. What she wouldn't give for a nice hot shower. She knew where she could get a shower.

Stephanie mentally cursed her inability to put Rick out of her head and lifted her camera. She took several still shots of the wolves in the distance. They were on the move, so she perched a video camera on her shoulder and followed. The camera around her neck and the one on her shoulder weren't heavy. Not unless a person had been lugging them around for three days.

She'd already traveled a good distance from her campsite, but she continued to follow the wolves until she came upon a scene that made her draw up short. In the valley below, a large herd of sheep grazed. Sheep being stalked by wolves.

In all fairness to the farmers, she knew she had to film the scene. She lifted the video camera to her eye. Keeping the pack in focus proved difficult. The wolves moved in, the sheep scattered, and the task became more taxing.

A loud snap, then a yelp of pain echoed off the mountains. Stephanie swung her camera toward the sound. A wolf was caught in a steel trap and struggled to get out. The rest of the pack lost interest in the chase and crept to where the wolf fought to free itself. They sniffed the steel, circled the trapped animal as if confused as to what they should do.

Stephanie knew what to do. She placed her cameras on the ground and ran from the scene. The trail was rocky and she slipped several times, got up and continued on. She ran until she felt sweat soaking her shirt. By the time she reached her destination, she was totally out of breath.

She stopped, her gaze darting around the area. The door to an outbuilding stood open. She heard banging noises. Racing to the shed, she glanced inside. The shed housed an old truck. The hood was up; the lower half of a man's body stuck out from beneath.

"Rick," she panted.

He jerked, hit his head on the hood and swore. With a scowl, he turned to her. His gaze flitted over her for a moment before he moved toward her.

"What's wrong?"

"A wolf," she huffed. "The farmers are setting traps."

Rick swore again. "Where?"

"I'll show you," she managed.

She still couldn't catch a normal breath, but she set out again. Not long into the race, her legs felt like rubber. Rick pulled ahead of her. He seemed to know where he was going, so she lagged back, trying to pace herself. She stumbled again, her legs folding beneath her. With a jar, she landed on the ground. She sat for a moment, took deep breaths, and struggled up.

When she came over the rise where her cameras lay in a heap, she spotted Rick nearly upon the scene below. He slowed before reaching the trapped animal. The other wolves still circled the wounded pack member nervously. Her heart started to pound wildly in her chest. He'd walked into a dangerous situation. She wondered what the wolves would do when they noticed a man approaching.

Stephanie didn't have the dart gun with her. No weapon of any kind. She searched the ground, found a thick stick, and picked it up. Luckily, the uninjured wolves melted away as Rick neared the trapped animal. Stephanie assumed he'd proceed with caution. He didn't. He marched right up to the wolf and bent, grasping the trap. She wanted to scream at him to stay back. The animal would surely attack him!

Without thought of her own safety, she hurried down the hill, the stick still clutched tightly in her hand. She was terrified for Rick and lifted the stick, ready to defend him if the need arose, and she felt certain it would.

"It's all right," she heard him say to the wolf. "I'll have you out of there in a minute."

"Rick?" she whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticed the stick and said, "Put that down and help me spring this trap."

The stick fell from her hand. "Are you crazy?"

"It'll take both of us to pry it open."

"But—"

"Hurry, Stephanie," he called. "She's suffering."

She stumbled forward. The wolf stared curiously at her, but the animal didn't bare its fangs or seem aggressive. Cautiously, Stephanie bent, her gaze locked with the wolf's golden stare.

"Take hold of that end and pry the teeth open while I pull on this end," Rick instructed. "Watch your hands. We only have to get it part way open so she can get her foot free."

Never breaking eye contact with the wolf, Stephanie did as he instructed. The trap was sturdy steel. She pulled with all her strength. Rick's muscles bulged beneath the sleeves of his light work shirt. Sweat beaded his forehead. Together, they opened the trap enough for the wolf to free itself. The trap snapped back a second later. The animal tried to limp away.

"No, you don't." Rick rose and snatched the animal up in his arms. "Not until I look at that foot."

He walked away, carrying the wolf. Stephanie supposed her mouth dropped open. The man was crazy. She'd been foolish enough to mess with an injured wolf, but at least she'd planned on tranquilizing the animal first. Dazed, she stumbled after Rick. The animal snuggled its head on his shoulder. Stephanie had never seen anything like this—a wild wolf allowing itself to be carried by a man without being drugged or muzzled? It seemed unreal, and so did the quick journey back to Rick's cabin.

He didn't enter the cabin, but moved toward another shed around the back. "Get the door, please," he said.

Stephanie stepped in front of him and opened the door.

"And the light. It's there next to the door."

She switched on the light. Bright fluorescent light lit up the room. The place looked sterile. Shelves along the walls were lined with medicines, syringes, and bandages. Rick laid the wolf on a stainless steel table.

"You want to play assistant?"

"D-don't you think you should sedate her?" Stephanie stammered.

"You obviously didn't notice her milk supply," he answered. "She has pups and needs to get back to them."

Stephanie hadn't noticed. "Why isn't she fighting you, or trying to bite you?"

He slid his hand down the female's back, stroking her fur gently. "She knows me. She trusts me."

"What is it with you and these animals?" she asked. "I've never seen wild wolves interact with a human the way they do with you."

"I fed them most of last winter," he admitted. "It was a hard one, and I knew the game in the area weren't surviving some of the bigger storms. There was a shortage of food supply for the wolves. Then and now."

Walking to the other side of the table, Stephanie allowed plenty of distance between her and the injured wolf. "You do care about them."

He glanced up, the light blue of his eyes a startling contrast to his dark lashes and brows. "Of course I do. It gets lonely out here. They're like my family. They accept me for what… who I am."

"Yet you allow the farmers to hunt them," she reminded.

Rick ran his hand over the wolf's muzzle. He smiled. "I'll tell you a secret. These wolves are a lot smarter than those farmers."

She smiled in return, then sobered, looking at the proof that such wasn't always the case. "What are we going to do about this?"

"Clean the wound, stitch her up, and send her on her way."

"You know that's not what I meant. What are we going to do about the traps?"

Instead of answering, he nodded toward the shelves. "Grab that disinfectant in the green bottle and some cotton balls for me. I'm afraid she'll try to jump off the table if I walk away."

Fully intending to bring up the matter again, Stephanie left to retrieve the requested items. She watched him clean the wound, soothing the animal with the soft tone of his voice. The animal even bent its head and licked his hand once. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"My cameras," she groaned. "I left them behind."

"I'll get them for you. I'm going back to snap all the traps I find after I've finished here."

"I'll go with you," Stephanie decided.

He glanced up again, his gaze roaming her in a way that made her cheeks burn. "I thought you might prefer to stay here and have a nice long shower while I'm gone."

She'd been longing for a hot shower earlier, and wondered if Rick read minds as a sideline. Glancing down at her dirty clothes, Stephanie realized it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she needed a shower. "You've found another of my weaknesses. Hot showers and hot coffee."

Rick pulled open a drawer beneath the table and removed some instruments. He didn't glance up when he said, "I plan to find all of them."

"What?" she asked breathlessly.

"The traps," he answered, but that almost smile of his hovered over his mouth.

"Oh," she said. "Do you want me to do anything else for you?"

He paused long enough to make her think he was considering his options. "No," he finally answered. "I'll be done here in a minute. Go on in and have your shower. None of my jeans will fit you, but feel free to borrow a shirt if you'd like."

"Thanks." She hurried out, needing a cold shower instead of a hot one. His gentleness with the wolf, and his admission of loneliness reached her on a level beyond the physical. But there was something very strange about him. She still became upset when she remembered his smooth bare chest, not a hint of a cut or a scratch on him.

The lighting hadn't been good, she reasoned. The scratch was probably there, she just hadn't noticed. She supposed she could rip his shirt open when he came in and have a nice long look. Now, there was an appealing idea. A better one occurred to her a while later when she stepped beneath the soothing hot spray of Rick's shower. If he joined her, she could hunt for all types of imperfections on his tall, muscled body. Stephanie sighed and adjusted the faucet to cold.

Rick finished attending to the wolf. He'd stitched her up and now took her outside. She rewarded him with a wet lick on his face. "You're welcome," he said softly. "Now go home. Your pups will be wanting supper."

The female trotted off into the woods, favoring the injured leg, but he'd given her a good dose of antibiotics and he felt certain she'd heal without incident. His gaze swung toward the cabin. He imagined Stephanie would be in the shower by now. Naked.

What would she do if he stripped down and joined her? The desire to find out was almost more than he could resist. But he needed to resist. If he had any conscience left, he wouldn't encourage further intimacy between them. He'd already made that mistake once. And Stephanie Shane wasn't the type of woman a man used for sex, then walked away from.

She expected more, and she deserved more. The appearance of the old woman at her campsite still bothered him. Rick's immediate instinct had been to hunt the old woman down, to make sure she never told anyone else what she suspected about him. He'd fought those dark urges. They were part of the wolf, not of the man. Since he'd been standing guard at night over Stephanie's campsite, unbeknownst to her, he hadn't felt compelled to act concerning the woman. He hoped she'd disappeared, gone back to wherever she came from, and had the sense to know he wasn't anyone she should threaten.

Stephanie's behavior the other night also worried him. He hoped it had just been an instance where loneliness had overcome good judgment. He hoped so, because he didn't like the implications of her responding to nothing more than the call of the wild. Animalistic need.

If she wanted him for no other reason than the fact she was a female and he was a male, he'd have to worry about her. So far, he hadn't noticed anything different about her. Only time would tell. And the days between the full moon cycles, he knew from experience, were all too short.

Casting a longing glance toward the cabin, he set off toward Larry Anderson's place. His was the property where the wolf had been trapped. He imagined if Larry had set traps, so had some of the others. Rick planned another visit to Hugh. The farmers might have the right to set traps on their own property, but if Stephanie continued to follow the wolves and film them, she could get hurt.

The trek didn't take him long. He was in good shape. Rick retrieved Stephanie's cameras and moved down the hill where they'd discovered the first trap. He found a long stick and used it to snap any traps he came across. Several more were located around the area. He took his time, hoping Stephanie might be gone when he returned.

Of course, he had her cameras, so the possibility seemed slim. The sun was sinking. It would soon be dark. He had enough trouble battling his attraction to her when he wasn't under the night's influence. Darkness made him more vulnerable to his baser needs. Stephanie was definitely a baser need.

The cabin was dark as he approached. Surely if she'd stayed, lights would be burning inside. He breathed a small sigh of relief. She did have some common sense where he was concerned. Rick trudged up the steps of the porch and went inside. He had great night vision and felt no need to switch on a light. After setting Stephanie's cameras on the kitchen bar, he moved toward his favorite chair. He plopped down. A scream had him jumping back up.

"Stephanie?"

"Rick," she breathed. "You scared me to death."

"I didn't know you were there." He walked over and switched on a lamp.

"I must have dozed off."

He turned in time to see her stretch. She wore one of his shirts, which swallowed her, but her legs were bare. And they were incredibly long.

"I hope you don't mind, but I used your washer and dryer. I can't stand to put on dirty clothes after I've had a shower."

Did that mean she had nothing on beneath his shirt? The mere thought was enough to make him hard. Rick tugged his shirttail from his jeans to cover the problem.

"I could use a shower, too." He nodded toward the kitchen bar. "I brought your cameras back."

"Thank goodness." She rose and walked to the counter. His shirt hit her at the knees, and by the slight bouncing motion of her breasts as she moved, he thought it safe to assume she'd washed all of her clothing, underwear included. His problem worsened.

"Did you find more traps?"

"Yeah," he answered, thinking she had a trap he wouldn't mind getting snared in.

"Should we talk to the sheriff again?"

She leaned over the bar, studying her camera, probably checking to see how many pictures she had left. The position made the shirt hike up in the back, teasing him with possibilities. It would be simple for him to walk over, yank that shirt up all the way, bend her over the bar, and do what he'd been foaming at the mouth to do since the first time he saw her. He took a step toward her. She straightened and turned around.

"Did you hear me?"

He glanced up. "What?"

"The sheriff. We should tell him about the traps."

Rick nodded. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. That is, if I can get a ride into town."

She frowned. "Why don't you have a phone?"

"Too far from town. They haven't run the lines out this far yet."

Stephanie replaced her camera and moved toward the couch. She sat and drew her legs up beneath her. "I'd think that wouldn't be too good for your business."

The woman was killing him. If she moved a fraction, he might catch a glimpse of something he didn't need to see at the moment. "Most everyone just brings an animal in if it's sick and leaves it in the pens, or they come get me. It really hasn't been a problem, since everyone else out this far doesn't have a phone, either."

"How about a cell phone?" she suggested. "In fact, you can use mine if you'd rather call the sheriff."

Rick shook his head. "Poor reception out here because of the mountains. If you'd tried to make a call since you arrived, you would have already realized that."

"Oh. I haven't tried to contact anyone."

She shifted. He groaned.

"I'm going to take a shower." Rick marched toward the bathroom.

"My clothes are probably dry. I'll get dressed."

"Good idea," he muttered.

"Ah, I used your razor, too," she called. "I don't know how I got so hairy so fast, but my legs looked like Christmas trees."

He paused. Since he didn't shave his legs, he didn't know if unusual hair growth was anything that should concern him. He'd always had a heavy beard, so he'd never paid much attention. "That's fine," he said, forcing himself to move on. He walked into the bathroom and unbuttoned his shirt. A timid knock sounded a second later.

"Can I grab my shoes before you get undressed?"

Rick opened the door. She scooted inside, brushing up against him. Contact with her was like having volts of electricity pumped into his body. Her gaze lifted, and he knew she felt it, too, the undeniable attraction that stood between them.

"Thanks for your help today," she said, her gaze still glued to his mouth. "You're very good with the wolves. You just marched right up to the female without the least bit of concern for your own safety. I think you might be the bravest person I've ever met."

The compliment pleased him, and sickened him. "Maybe just the stupidest." Rick glanced around and spotted her small hiking boots. He bent and swept them up, handing them to her. "You should get dressed."

She took the boots. "Yes, and I should be returning to my campsite. It's already dark outside."

"Wait for me and I'll walk you back," he said, although it would be better if she were gone when he finished his shower. The temptation to seduce her became stronger with every second that passed. Still, he wasn't comfortable about her roaming in the night with a crazy woman on the loose. A crazy woman who wasn't so crazy.

"That won't be necessary. I feel confident that I won't be bothered by that woman again, and besides, I'm starving. I need to get back and scrounge up something to eat."

"I would offer to fix you dinner, but I don't imagine I have anything you'd want."

Her gaze drifted over him. Although Rick hadn't been intimate with a woman in three years, he knew when he was being assessed. She continued to study him, moistening her tempting lips with the tip of her tongue. He clenched his hands at his sides, battling the urge to pull her into his arms.

"That's all right," she finally said. She seemed to mentally shake herself. "I really do need to be going. Thank you for your help today." Turning toward the door, she added, "I'll pick you up around noon tomorrow. We can have lunch at the cafe again and talk to the sheriff afterward."

"That will be fine," he said curtly.

"Good night then."

If she didn't get the hell away from him, he would lose what little control he maintained. "Good night."

He thought she might say something else, but he nudged her from the bathroom. His hand shook on the knob, and he quickly locked the door. Not locking her out, but locking himself in. Of course, the problem with that was that the lock should be on the other side. Rick hurried to the shower and turned on the water. He stripped down and climbed beneath the chilly spray.

Chapter Eight

Stephanie hurried through the woods. Her behavior with Rick embarrassed her. That feeling had come over her again. An irresistible urge to make love with him. He must have sensed her desire, because he'd hurried her out of the bathroom and locked the door. He'd rejected her.

He'd shut her out, made it clear he didn't want her. Humiliation had washed over her, and all she could think of was escape. She'd grabbed her clothes from the dryer, hurried into them, and run from the cabin—run from her own shame.

She didn't understand the things she felt for him. Stephanie wasn't completely innocent. She'd had a lover before. A boy she'd known in college. One she'd planned to marry until the accident happened. Afterward, he'd stopped calling, stopped coming to see her because she couldn't leave her father, couldn't even leave the house most of the time.

So much for true love. True love was when one person stood beside another no matter the circumstances. Through sickness and in health, for better or for worse. True love was what her parents had had, what she wanted. Certainly not a wild physical attraction to a man who seemed strange in some way she couldn't put her finger on.

But there were things she liked about Rick besides his face and body. He'd shown tenderness and compassion to the injured wolf that afternoon. She knew he could be gentle, caring, and certainly brave. He could even be funny. So what if he seemed to be a tortured soul at times?

His brother's death had surely affected him as much as the loss of her parents had affected her. He was lonely—he'd admitted that to her today. She was lonely, too. It only made sense they would be drawn to one another. What suddenly didn't make sense was the fact that as Stephanie hurried along in the dark woods, she realized she could see quite well.

She stopped and looked around. The shapes of trees, bushes, and even the rocks strewn along her path were easily distinguishable. Glancing up, she noted that the moon wasn't particularly bright.

"This is odd," she whispered, unsettled by her strange ability. She quickly tried to come up with a logical reason. She'd been camping for some time now; perhaps she had simply become used to the dark.

What other reason would there be for suddenly developing wonderful night vision? Maybe she'd always been able to see this well in the dark, she reasoned. She probably hadn't noticed before because she was usually so wrapped up in her work.

She lifted her face to the wind and caught a scent. One she immediately identified with the old woman. A chill raced up her spine. Somehow she knew the woman wasn't gone. She was somewhere nearby… waiting.

The next day, Rick stared at Stephanie across the cafe table. Although she grew more beautiful to him every day, she had dark circles beneath her eyes and she'd been quiet during the trip to town. She'd ordered a salad with about as much enthusiasm as she would have ordered a plate of worms.

"What's the matter with you?" he finally asked.

She glanced up from fiddling with her car keys. "I didn't say anything was wrong."

"You didn't have to." He studied her face. "Have you been sleeping all right?"

Her lashes drifted downward, merging with the dark circles beneath her eyes. "I can't seem to settle down and get comfortable," she admitted. "And the noise…"

"The noise?" he repeated with a laugh. "What noise?"

Running a hand through her long hair, she said, "Owls hooting, branches snapping, leaves rustling. I never realized the great outdoors was so noisy."

"Most people wouldn't notice," he said, then frowned. His own hearing had become sharper after the incident that had forever changed him. It had taken him a while to notice, but he'd lived in the city then.

The sirens blaring on the expressway in the distance had always sounded annoyingly loud when he'd been trying to sleep. But later, they had sounded as if they were right outside the house.

"Maybe you should stay with me," he suggested, thinking he should keep a closer eye on her. She was starting to worry him.

She lifted a brow. "Stay with you?"

"You could have the bedroom, and I'd sleep on the couch," he assured her, but considering what had already gone on between them, he had as much trouble believing that as she probably did.

"I don't think that would be a good idea. You don't have locks on all the doors to keep me out."

Her last comment startled him. Was that what she'd thought? That he'd been locking her out rather than locking himself in? "I was trying to be a gentleman," he said.

"You succeeded." She sighed. "I'm sorry I made that crack about locked doors. I'm tired and I got up on the wrong side of the ground this morning."

"I offered you my bed," he reminded. She looked exhausted and embarrassed. "Feather down mattress, hot showers, coffee in the morning."

"Don't tempt me." She laughed, but her gaze drifted over him in lazy inspection before she seemed to realize her actions. "I'm perfectly fine where I am. I'm not on vacation, I'm on assignment." She glanced around the small cafe. "I don't see the sheriff here today. I guess we'll have to go to his office once we finish."

Rick nodded, then dug into his meal. He hated cooking for one and, as a result, seldom ate a hot meal. He couldn't tolerate meat if it was cooked too long, either. He liked it almost raw, nice and juicy. The french fries that came with his burger weren't that appealing to him, but he didn't suppose he could order a whole plate of raw hamburger meat.

"Do you think the sheriff can do anything about the sheep farmers setting traps?"

"I doubt if he can legally do much about it, or that he'd want to," he answered. "We'll bring up the matter of your safety, but you were trespassing on private property yesterday, so it won't do much good."

She reached across the table and snatched a fry from his plate. "I have to trespass if they want me to capture footage of the wolves attacking their livestock. I assumed being allowed on their property was part of the deal."

"That's the argument we'll present." Rick grabbed for napkins from the container, found it empty, and glanced around. "I'll be right back."

The container at the next booth was also empty. He looked for Betty but didn't see her anywhere. Spotting a full container on another nearby table, he bent and tried to wrest a handful of napkins from the overstuffed receptacle. He felt a little embarrassed that he couldn't get the wadded napkins out and glanced over his shoulder at Stephanie.

She didn't look amused by his struggle, but was staring thoughtfully at what could only be his ass, given her eye level. The hair on the back on his neck prickled. He wasn't offended, by any means. If she'd been bent over in front of him, he'd be assessing her, too. What caused his reaction was the fact that while she stared, she greedily munched away on his hamburger.

He turned toward her. "Stephanie?"

Her gaze shot up. "I—I didn't mean to stare—"

"I thought you were a vegetarian," he interrupted. She blinked up at him. "I am," she responded, her mouth full.

"Then why are you eating my burger?"

Stephanie's gaze lowered. A piece of red meat stared back at her from a sesame seed bun. Unconcerned with manners, she spit the contents in her mouth out onto her salad plate. The taste of blood lingered on her tongue. Sweet, delicious. The thought sickened her.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and jumped up from the table. The restroom might be occupied. She couldn't take that chance. Racing outside, she stumbled into the alley and lost the contents of her stomach. A pair of strong hands settled upon her shoulders.

"Stephanie?" Rick asked. "Are you all right?"

No, she was not all right. Something was terribly wrong with her. Wiping the sleeve of her shirt across her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. She glanced up at him.

"What's happening to me? Last night I could see in the dark. I ate your hamburger… and I liked it. The blood tasted sweet to me. I—"

"I think I'd better get you to my place," he interrupted. Rick helped her up and shoved a wad of napkins into her hand. "I left some money on the table for the bill and grabbed your keys. I'll drive."

Although she seldom let anyone drive her vehicle, she nodded, allowing him to help her to the Jeep. She climbed into the passenger side and rested her head against the back of the seat. Rick jumped in and started the engine.

"What about talking to the sheriff?" she asked weakly.

"That will have to wait. I'm taking you to bed." Her pulse leaped. Even though she felt ill, she smiled, recalling that she'd said the same thing to him the morning they met. The same morning she'd tracked a wolf into his cabin and caught him climbing from the shower. A vision of him, muscled body slick and shiny, dark hair dripping wet, blue eyes bright with fever, floated through her mind. "What?"

She glanced at him. "I didn't say anything." A moment later, she realized she had responded. The noise she'd made sounded suspiciously like a growl.

Chapter Nine

Once at the cabin, Rick handed Stephanie a flannel shirt. "Change into this and climb into bed. Can I get you anything?"

She placed her hands on her hips. "This is silly. I told you, I feel better now. This isn't necessary."

He wouldn't take any arguments from her. "Would you like me to help you undress?"

A thoughtful pause followed. She sighed and snatched the shirt from him. "I should go back to my campsite and take a nap. I'm tired, that's all. That's why I became emotional earlier."

"You can nap here," he insisted. "In a real bed."

They had a stare-down. Rick wasn't giving in. Her recent behavior had upset him, but he didn't want to frighten her when he wasn't certain whether there was any real cause for concern.

"You know I don't like to be bullied," she finally said.

He touched her cheek gently. "I'm not bullying you. I'm concerned. You need rest, and I'm going to make sure you get it."

Her expression softened. "Okay. But only because you're right in this case."

Rick smiled at her. "I'm always right."

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him. "Don't let the door hit you on your way out."

Rick laughed and left the room. As soon as he closed the door, his smile faded. Stephanie was suffering all the symptoms he had suffered before he became a werewolf. Were all the things happening to her simply a coincidence? Could they all have a logical explanation? He didn't think so.

There weren't many explanations for people suddenly developing keen night vision. For a vegetarian to suddenly develop a taste for raw meat. Or for a woman who might not normally give him the time of day to fight primitive instincts to mate with him whenever she got within sniffing distance.

If he was responsible for changing Stephanie, changing her life forever, Rick didn't think he could deal with the guilt. She was a young, vibrant, beautiful woman. He couldn't stand to think of her as a monster. An animal like himself. A virtual recluse who had shut himself off from those he loved most. A man denied normal life in both worlds that claimed him.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, angry with her for intruding upon his territory, angry with himself for allowing even minimum contact with humans. Because of his own selfishness, he had not ruled out the possibility that he might bite someone.

"Rick?"

Stephanie's voice floated to him from behind the closed door. He walked over and eased it open. She'd slipped beneath the covers. The sight of her in his bed had the animal in him creeping to the surface. He fought it back and moved into the room.

"Do you need anything? A glass of water or—"

"No, I'm fine. I may borrow your shower again after I've rested, if that's all right."

He nodded, trying to ignore the steamy image of her naked and soapy. "Would you like me to wash your… clothes?"

She smiled. "Somehow, I never would have pictured you offering maid service. No." She glanced toward her clothing draped over the old rocker. "They were clean this morning."

"Fine." He needed to get away from her. That scent, the one that hovered just below the surface of her sweet natural fragrance, was about to drive him crazy. "I'll let you get some sleep then."

"Rick?" She stopped him, patting a place on the bed next to her. "Can we talk for a minute?"

He bit back a groan and walked to the bed. With more than a little trepidation, he sat beside her. "What's on your mind?"

She glanced up into his eyes. "I know you're not a medical doctor, but what do you think could be wrong with me? Fatigue might be responsible for my not noticing that I was eating your meal earlier, but what about last night? My vision has always been good, but I could see in the dark. I mean really see. And there was something else."

Rick started to feel sick to his stomach. "Something else?"

Despite her earlier claim of feeling better, tears filled her eyes. "I—I know this is going to sound crazy, but I thought I smelled that old woman. I had a sense that she was still close by, waiting for something to happen."

He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then opened them again, hoping she didn't see the panic rising inside him. "You're just tired. You need rest. We'll talk more about it later, all right?" He eased her down on the bed. She didn't argue.

"All right. I am tired," she mumbled, closing her eyes.

He settled the covers around her and stared down at her beautiful face. His excuses for Stephanie's increasingly strange behavior were wearing thin. He didn't want to face facts. He'd obviously bitten her the night she saved his life. His curse had now become her own. He had to save her. Do something—find a way to spare her from the same hell his own life had become. He thought he knew how, but he wanted to be certain.

He also thought he knew who could tell him the answer. After assuring himself that Stephanie slept soundly, he grabbed a jacket and left the cabin. He didn't get far before the wolves joined him. They moved in single file, as if on a hunt. He had a keen sense of smell, just as Stephanie had developed. He followed the old woman's trail easily. It led him to the abandoned shack on the road where he'd first spotted the old woman. He was surprised to see her sitting in front of the shack, as if she were waiting for him.

"Have you come to kill me?" she asked calmly.

A stab of guilt cut through him. Not long ago, his answer might have been different. "No. I've come to ask how to save her."

Her glassy eyes widened. She rose and walked toward him. "Today, I see more man than wolf in you. You have met a woman who has made you see the light. Understand that with love comes sacrifice."

"What do I have to do?" he demanded.

She eyed him sadly. "You already know the answer."

He glanced away from her. "I thought so. I wanted to make certain."

"Are you afraid?"

Oddly enough, he wasn't. "Only for her."

The touch of her leathery hand against his face startled him. "When I first saw you, I saw only the wolf hiding beneath your face. Now I look into your heart, into your soul, and I see they are both good."

Another fear plagued him. "Is there hope for my soul?"

"If you do what must be done, you can save your soul. For your sacrifice, you can be reborn."

"What does that mean?" he asked, confused.

She turned away from him. "Go home, wolf. Do what you must; then you will see."

"Who are you?"

The old woman paused, glancing over one humped shoulder. "No one of importance. An old gypsy who makes my living telling fortunes at county fairs. A wanderer who, at times, runs across an unnatural such as yourself."

"Then you've seen others like me?"

With a heavy sigh, she answered, "Yes. And some even more unnatural than you. I do what I can, and sometimes what I must to ease their suffering. But now I trust in you to see to your own fate, and to that of the woman you love. She has been your destiny from the beginning, and you hers."

Rick didn't know if he believed in destiny, but then there was little he couldn't believe in since he'd be-come a monster. He'd come to get verification of what he'd known he must do all along. He turned and walked away, feeling remarkably calm, almost at peace with himself. The answer was simple. All he had to do to save Stephanie was kill himself.

Darkness fell. Stephanie paced the small cabin. Where was Rick? She'd begun to worry about him—worry over the strange feelings the darkness brought with it of late. She felt restless, not quite herself beneath the skin. The walls were closing in on her. She needed to go out.

Wearing only Rick's oversized shirt, she walked outside. Stephanie drew in deep breaths of fresh air. She glanced up at the moon, surrounded by twinkling stars so close it seemed as if she might reach up and touch them. The moon wasn't full, but it was bright, and again she marveled at how well she saw the surrounding area.

Close by, a wolf howled. Did he call to a mate? She felt tempted to throw back her head and answer him. Instead, she rubbed her arms, the chill penetrating her body as well as her heart. There was nothing worse than being alone. Feeling empty inside because she had no family. No mate. No children. No one to turn to in times of sorrow, or in times of joy. She'd thought her heart couldn't withstand the pain of loving again. The truth she'd come to realize was that her heart needed to love again in order to heal.

Lifting her face to the wind, she caught Rick's scent. A moment later, she heard sounds of his approach. The slight snap of a stick, the fluttering of a leaf as he passed. Her pulse quickened. Other emotions gripped her. Need, hunger, desire.

Drawn to him, Stephanie walked out into the woods. His soft footsteps halted. He had caught her scent, as well. She sensed these things—also knew he battled his need for her. Would he fight or flee? Retreat or surrender?

She found him in a clearing a few feet away. He stood straight, rigid in the night. The moon bathed him in a soft glow. His hands were balled at his sides, his jaw clenched.

"You don't know what I am."

"I know that I want you," she said, then moved toward him. "That's enough for me. Enough for tonight."

As if her words, the very sight of her, caused him pain, he glanced away. She ached to be held by him, to feel his arms around her. Reaching out, she touched his face, forcing him to look at her.

"Don't you want me? Can't you give me one night?"

The light dancing in his eyes flared. "You deserve more than one night."

"I deserve you," she whispered. "We deserve each other."

Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his. He didn't respond for a moment; then it was as if she'd opened the floodgates to his passion. He clutched her shoulders and pulled her close, his mouth moving over hers possessively. His tongue danced with hers, teasing, then delving deep. The chill faded—the night sounds drifted away. All she heard was the sound of their breathing. All she felt was his hands moving over her, down to the bottom of the shirt where he bunched it up around her waist.

She wore her bikini underwear beneath the shirt, but hadn't slipped on her bra. His hands moved higher, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing her sensitive nipples.

"I want to see you," he said. "All of you."

He unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders. Stephanie realized she should be freezing, considering the temperature, but she wasn't. She stood before him wearing only the moonlight and her silky panties. He bent, placing soft kisses against her stomach before he eased her panties over her hips, kissing every inch of flesh he exposed.

Her fingernails bit into his shoulders. Despite his skillful attentions, she wanted to see him—touch him the way he touched her. She twisted her fingers in his hair and forced him up, their mouths meeting again while she unbuttoned his shirt. His skin felt smooth and warm beneath her touch. She shoved his shirt along with his jacket off his shoulders, allowing both to fall to the ground.

The sensation of skin against skin sharpened her desire for him. She wanted to feel all of him. Fumbling with his belt, she undid the buckle. His jeans were tighter than usual in the area of the zipper, but she managed to free him. His size impressed her. She wrapped her fingers around his sex. He sucked in his breath sharply, then rid himself of boots, socks, and all clothing that remained. When he stood before her naked, she could only stare, marvel at his perfection.

He was sleek, muscled, tall, and dark. She would have been content to stare at him longer, but he pulled her back into the warmth of his arms. His mouth sought hers, his hands roaming, teasing, pleasing. He found her greatest weaknesses, her most private secrets. His fingers stroked her gently, but her response was not tender. She wanted him to claim her—wanted to claim him in return. With that intention in mind, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to the dew-damp ground.

Rick wanted to love her gently, slowly, completely, but she drove him beyond rational thought. He allowed her to pull him down, then covered her beautiful body with his. Her long legs parted, inviting him inside. He went eagerly, gasping at the tight, hot feel of her as their bodies joined. She gasped, as well, and he realized he might be hurting her.

Man overcame beast, and for her, he gentled the wolf. He eased back, dipped his head to her full breasts, tracing the circles of her nipples with his tongue before taking them in turn inside his mouth. She moaned, her fingers twisting in his hair. He slid his hand between them, stroking her into readiness. Her hips arched and she took him deeper inside her, forcing a moan from his lips.

The sounds of their labored breathing echoed around them, and then the song began. A serenade from the wolves gathered on the distant bluffs. A song of celebration. The song they sang when one mate found another. Louder and louder the cries echoed around them, and harder and harder he strained, pumped, fighting for the control to wait for her. She was heaven, inside and out, perfectly made for him and him alone. Even as he felt the tremors of her approaching climax, saw her eyes glowing up at him, he realized that his surrender had been a mistake. Leaving was much easier when loving wasn't involved. But he did love her, had loved her from the beginning.

Her back arched, she cried out, sucking him down into the deep vortex of his own release. It was heaven, loving her, and it was hell, because he knew he had to let her go. Her arms crept around his neck; her mouth found his and drained the fight from him. As he surrendered to her again, dark whispers floated through his head. The selfish side of him suggested he could keep her. Could make her his and his alone. His mate. His lover. His monster.

Chapter Ten

Stephanie ran her hands over Rick's soap-slick skin. They had spent the night making love. Only once outside; then they'd gathered their clothes and moved their activities inside. Virile was definitely a word she'd use to describe him. The man had a hearty appetite for more than food. He'd put the coffee on while she started her shower; then he'd climbed inside the steamy enclosure with her.

She could get used to this, she admitted, tracing lazy soap designs on his back. He turned and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. Her pulse jumped. She has thought she'd be too sore from a night of vigorous lovemaking to want him again this morning, but she'd awoken feeling wonderful. Finding herself wrapped within the arms of a handsome man hadn't hurt.

The soap slipped from her fingers. She kissed him, sliding her tongue inside his mouth. He groaned and pulled back.

"You dropped the soap," he said, then smiled wickedly. "I'll get it."

He took his sweet time about retrieving the soap. Stephanie didn't complain. He kissed her knees, the inside of her thighs, and moved higher. She braced her hands on each side of the shower wall to keep her legs from buckling. He was very good with his mouth, with his hands, his whole body, for that matter. She closed her eyes and let sensation take over.

Her body, long starved for affection, responded quickly to his tender explorations. She felt the tightening in her stomach, the gathering ecstasy with each steady stroke of his tongue. When she could stand no more, she urged him up. He lifted her onto his straining sex. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, felt her back pressed against the slick shower wall.

He filled her completely, gave unselfishly, and sent her plummeting over the edge into madness. His own release exploded inside her. She loved the deep animal sound he made when he surrendered to pleasure. The gentle nip of his teeth against her neck. The husky words he whispered in her ear.

In his arms, she felt complete, whole, and happy for the first time in a long while. But happy for how long? She pushed the thought away, not ready to deal with it. She'd bravely told him that one night would be enough for her, which had been easy to believe until morning found them still together. What now? She must have said the words out loud, because he nuzzled her ear and answered, "Coffee and breakfast."

Rick turned out to be an excellent cook as well as an exceptional lover. Stephanie sat at his small kitchen table, attacking the scrambled eggs and toast as if she hadn't eaten for days. He watched her over the rim of his coffee cup, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"I have a surprise for you today," he said.

Since her mouth was stuffed with eggs, she lifted her brows to indicate he should continue.

"You wanted to see a den, remember? I know where one is."

"Are there pups?" she asked despite her full mouth.

"A litter of four about five weeks old."

"Can I film them?"

"I think I can convince the mother to allow you close enough."

Excited, Stephanie jumped up from the table. "I need to go back to my campsite and get my camera equipment." She moved around the table and hugged his neck. "I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes." She left humming a happy tune.

Rick wished he felt as carefree. The night he'd spent with Stephanie had been incredible. And not because it had been so long since he'd made love to a woman. With her, it wasn't just sex, but something deeper. A commitment because his heart had been included in the exchange. He loved her. Maybe he had from the moment he glanced up and saw her green eyes shooting sparks at him because he'd taken advantage of her. He'd taken advantage again last night. Knowing what he must do, he should have walked away from her. But he hadn't… couldn't, in fact.

He couldn't be honest with her, either. She wouldn't believe him if he told her the truth. She'd think he should be locked up in a mental hospital. So he'd taken that one night with her. Told himself it was his last chance to give and receive love. His last time to feel human again. But last night had been a mistake, because now that he loved her, he wasn't sure he could let it end with one night.

Rick rose from the table and gathered the dishes. He glanced at the calendar and cringed. Only three days until the full moon. Three more days of loving her; then he must end the nightmare. Why? the dark whispers began again. Why couldn't he continue his life, but with a mate by his side? He'd no longer be alone. He could help Stephanie adjust to her new life.

He shook his head, denying the tempting thoughts. Forcing Stephanie to share his cursed existence would be a selfish act. A cruel one. His plan was to help her finish her research and get her the hell gone. He only had three days. They'd have to hurry. He'd promised to contact the Fish and Wildlife Service himself as soon as she left. She could scurry back and get her project up and running.

Then he'd be called to do what he must. On the first night of the full moon, he'd take his life and save hers. He'd do it before the changes began. He'd have to or she'd suffer. Her scent still hung in the air. Rick closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Visions of tangled limbs and smooth, damp skin filled his head. He could happily spend the rest of his life with her, and he guessed he would.

Trusting or not, the female wolf hadn't been all that compliant about allowing them to stick their heads in her den. Just in case, Rick had brought along a mild sedative. The female had let him give her the drug; then they'd waited until she grew calm. Stephanie had both camera and video recorder. She took several shots of the frisky pups. Now she sat among them, cooing and lifting them, kissing each one on the head.

Despite the dark clouds gathering overhead, Rick smiled at her antics. She glanced up and smiled back at him. His heart warmed at the sight of her, wolf pups climbing all over her lap. She looked so beautiful to him in that instant, so innocent and trusting. She deserved a special man. Deserved a normal home and children of her own. She deserved all he could not give her.

"Come play with us," she urged.

Rick walked over and sat beside her. "That sedative will be wearing off soon," he warned her. He glanced up. "And it looks as if we're in for a storm tonight."

She turned her gaze on him. "I may have to take refuge at your place. I'm scared of storms."

He laughed. "You're not afraid of anything."

"We could pretend I am," she said, smiling seductively. A moment later, she sobered. "I mean, if you want me to stay."

What he wanted was forever, but he'd settle for another night with her. "Or we can pretend that storms frighten me."

It was her turn to laugh. "Okay," she agreed. "I like that better."

Thunder rumbled overhead. The female wolf resting inside the den growled.

"Time to go." Rick rose and offered Stephanie a hand up. "Come on, we'll have to run to make it back before the storm breaks."

After placing the pups inside the den with their mother, Stephanie took his hand. Rick shoved her video camera beneath his shirt and watched as she did likewise with the camera hanging around her neck.

Another loud rumble of thunder had him tugging her away from the den. They scrambled down a bluff and ran full out across the meadow where they had made love the previous evening. Large drops of rain fell from the sky. Stephanie squealed and pulled ahead of him. She ran inside the cabin, leaving the door open.

When he entered, he saw her stomping around and rubbing her arms. "That rain is freezing cold."

"Maybe I can warm you up," he said.

In answer, she quickly removed her camera from her neck, set it on the bar and began stripping. She dropped her wet shirt on the floor on her way to the bedroom. Rick growled low in his throat and followed.

Later, while the rain made drumming noises on the roof, and lightning flashed outside the windows, he held her naked and content in his arms.

"Rick?" she asked. "Do you ever think about leaving this place?"

Of course he'd thought about it. But where could he go except another remote place just like this one? A place where he could run wild during the full moon with those of his kind. "No," he answered.

"Would you consider it?" she asked after a hesitant pause.

"I can't leave, Stephanie," he said point-blank.

"It's not as if your business is thriving. And a good vet along on an expedition is always a plus."

There was nothing he could say to spare her feelings. He'd love to get out of this place, back to civilization, or to follow her around on her expeditions doing whatever he could. Anywhere she was would be fine with him. But that wasn't possible.

"I might consider leaving," he amended his earlier answer. "I'd have to get some things in order first."

"Well, of course," she said. "I didn't mean tomorrow. I meant… someday."

He kissed the top of her head, wishing he didn't have to lie to her. There was no future for them. "I'd like for you to meet my parents," he said, then realized he'd expressed the thought out loud.

Stephanie shifted so that she could see him. "I'd love to meet them."

His mother, he felt certain, would be very pleased with Stephanie. She had once complained that the women he dated seemed plastic and shallow. She'd insisted that he meet a sweet down-to-earth girl and get married. He had the perfect woman lying in his arms, and no right to hold on to her. Rather than lie to Stephanie further, he kissed her into silence.

A kiss led to a touch, a touch to another kiss; then nature took its course. He made slow love to her while the storm outside raged. Rick felt grateful for one more night of being human. One more night to love her, hold her, and wish it could last forever. But even lost in the feel and taste of her, he couldn't block out the clock ticking in his head. Time would soon run out for them.

Chapter Eleven

"Leave? What do you mean, leave?" Stephanie asked. She and Rick sat at his kitchen table again, having coffee and toast. She'd spent the previous day getting some great coverage of the wolves. With him by her side, she'd even managed to get coverage of the pack attacking a sheep herd.

She'd tried to hide the strange things happening to her from Rick. There was no way she'd tell him she felt the urge to run wild with the wolves. To take down prey and feast on blood. He'd think she'd gone bonkers. And maybe she had. But his kisses chased away her fears. In his arms, she forgot the weird way she felt at times: her keen night vision, her hunger for raw meat, her desire to howl at the moon.

"I think you should get things started on the other end," he answered. "I told you I'd call the authorities later today. You need to get a rescue started, use your pictures and research to make a case for our wolves."

"But why can't I just wait for the authorities to show up here with you? I could tell them—"

"I'll tell them," he assured her. "Your job is to show them."

He had a point. She needed to get her pictures and material back to the organization as soon as possible. It would take the proper authorities a while to arrive on the scene anyway. The truth was, she didn't want to leave him. She'd felt uneasy all morning, as if something were about to happen. Something bad.

"And you think I should leave right away?" she asked, hoping he'd say he didn't want her to go at all.

"The sooner the better," he answered.

His response hurt her feelings. She tried to hide it by lowering her gaze. "It won't take me long to pack up. I can be gone by this afternoon."

Rick rose from the table. "If I help, you'll be on the road faster."

All right, she wasn't imagining his haste to get rid of her. She shouldn't have expected anything more. All she'd asked for was one night, and she'd received more than that. Still, he didn't have to act so cold about it. He didn't have to shove her out as quickly as possible so he could get on with his life.

She rose. "No need. I'm used to doing for myself. I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Snatching up her cameras, Stephanie headed for the door. As fast as a predator, Rick blocked her exit.

"I—I don't know what to say," he stammered.

She glanced up. "You could say 'don't go.' You could say you'll come with me. You could at least say you'll miss me while I'm gone."

"I will miss you." He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she thought he'd pull her close, but he released her almost as quickly as he'd taken hold of her. "Take care of yourself."

Tears threatened. Stephanie blinked them back. "Of course I will," she said, her words clipped. "Good-bye, Rick."

Before she made a fool of herself, she brushed past him and out the door. She didn't look back, either. Her heart felt as if it were breaking, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he'd hurt her. How much she had foolishly come to care for him.

Real love took time. Rick had simply been an infatuation. Her hormones had been on the rampage. He'd used her for sex, and she'd allowed him to do so. Had, in fact, encouraged him. And it was great sex, so she shouldn't complain. She'd stopped believing in fairy tales years ago. Men and women seldom lived happily ever after in today's world. She was on her own, had been for the past three years, and probably would be for the rest of her life.

"No problem," she said to bolster her spirits. But it was no good. She did believe in fairy tales. She wanted true love. She wanted a husband and children. She wanted Rick. The tears gathered again, and she allowed them to fill her eyes. Even allowed them to flow down her cheeks. A good cry never hurt anyone.

"I love you, Stephanie."

She stopped and wheeled around. No one stood behind her. Her gaze frantically searched the area, hoping against hope that she hadn't imagined his voice in her head. Hadn't wanted him to love her so much that she'd conjured up his voice in her mind. But he was not there.

He was back at the cabin, had already dismissed her. Not a care in the world. He probably felt relieved that she'd left. Happy that he could continue with his boring little life. Thankful that she hadn't cried or made a scene so he wouldn't have to feel guilty.

"Typical man," she muttered, turning to resume her trek to the campsite. He wanted her gone, fine. She would leave, and she'd concentrate on the task at hand. When she returned to the area with the documentary team, she would not melt on the spot the minute she saw him, or hope like a silly schoolgirl that he'd have a change of heart—rush to her, go down on one knee, and beg her to be his wife. The thought was so pleasing she almost forgot how angry she was with him. But not for long. She was out of here, and Rick Donavon be damned.

"Dammit," Rick swore, fumbling through his closet like a madman. Thanks to an unexpected visit from Hugh Fielding, the hour had grown later than he'd realized. Rick had told him about the traps, and the sheriff had agreed to dissuade the farmers from setting them again.

Hugh had also agreed to contact both the Fish and Wildlife Service and the United States Department of Agriculture concerning the problem. Stephanie, and other wildlife defenders like her, would see that the animals were not destroyed, but relocated to another area where wild game was more abundant, and livestock less likely to be threatened.

He'd taken care of everything he'd wanted to tie up today—making certain that Stephanie left, his concern over the wolves, and the letter to his parents. It was the longest letter he'd ever written, telling them he missed them and would come for a visit soon; then he'd casually mentioned that he planned on doing some hunting in the next few days.

A glance out his bedroom window confirmed that it would soon be dark. His hand closed around what he'd been searching for, his gun-cleaning kit. He wanted his death to look like an accident. He'd retrieved the rifle he purchased before his hunting trip with Jason. His parents would believe the rifle had accidentally discharged while he was cleaning it. No guilt for them. No wondering what they had done wrong or if they could have done something to make him change his mind.

He wanted Stephanie to believe his death had been an accident, as well. His one regret was that he hadn't told her that he loved her. He'd crept into the woods and hidden, making certain she packed up her campsite. Watching her drive away was the hardest thing he'd ever done. But she was safe now, would soon be safe forever. At least from the curse that plagued him.

Rick grabbed his rifle, a box of ammunition, and the gun-cleaning kit and moved into the living area. He glanced at his favorite chair, frowned at the idea of messing up the place, and went outside. He propped the rifle against the cabin, placed the cleaning kit and the ammunition on the steps, then went back inside. There was something he'd forgotten. He walked into the bedroom. With shaking hands, he picked up the rosary resting on his nightstand. He fingered the beads, then closed his eyes and prayed.

He prayed for courage, prayed for his eternal soul, and prayed for those he loved to be watched over and protected. His hand shook harder, and he knew it had nothing to do with fear. The change was coming. It lurked just beneath the surface of his humanity. The beast wanted to be free. Rick replaced the beads and hurried through the cabin.

Once outside, he sat on the steps and fumbled with the box of ammunition. He'd managed to get two shells loaded when he spotted headlights on the road moving toward him. "What now?" he growled in frustration.

The closer the vehicle came, the harder his heart pounded. Stephanie's Jeep pulled up in front of him. He groaned, his hands clamping tightly around the barrel of the rifle. She opened the door and climbed out.

"I couldn't leave," she said, walking up to the porch. "I had a feeling. A feeling that something bad was about to happen."

What she felt was the wolf beneath her skin. Her body preparing for the change. "There's nothing wrong, Stephanie," he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "If you leave right now, you should be able to reach a hotel before it gets too late."

"I had planned on driving through the night." She took a step closer and glanced at the rifle in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning my gun," he answered. "Just passing time."

"You told me once that you're not the hunting type. Why do you need a gun?"

"I don't need it," he answered. "I'm just cleaning it!"

She looked a little taken aback by his impatient explanation. Rick immediately regretted losing his temper, but dammit, she was supposed to be gone. Safely away from him and the nasty business he must conclude.

"You should be careful," she said. "People get killed every day messing around with guns. Is that what happened to your brother?"

"No," he answered, but didn't bother to elaborate. He didn't see any way for this situation to end but badly. Sparing her feelings wasn't anything he could do at the moment, "i told you to leave earlier," he reminded. "I've already taken care of everything with Hugh. You're no longer needed here."

Her bottom lip trembled. He wanted to jump up and take her in his arms. Rick forced himself to remain seated, his expression blank.

"Or wanted," she said, lifting her chin. "I thought you cared about me."

The expression of hurt on her face was almost his undoing. He wanted to tell her she hadn't been wrong about him, or what he felt for her, but then she wouldn't leave. In order to be kind, he had to be cruel. That was nature's way.

"I cared about having a good time," he said. "And now the good time is over. Get in your Jeep and leave."

Rifle in hand, he rose and walked into the cabin, shutting the door. He closed his eyes and waited—silently begged her to obey him. His skin had started to itch. His gums hurt. The sound of her vehicle starting nearly made his knees buckle. She would probably hate him from this day forward, but that was just as well, too. She'd be more willing to find someone else and get on with her life.

Worried that time had run out, Rick lifted the rifle, placing the barrel against his heart. His finger found the trigger. He said another short prayer and started to squeeze. The cabin door burst open.

"Rick?" Stephanie whispered. "Look at my eyes. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of myself. My eyes are glowing!"

And they were, as he suspected his were. She suddenly took a step back. Her glittering gaze moved from the rifle to his eyes.

"W-what's going on, Rick? What's happening to me… to you?"

"I don't have time to explain," he said. "Just go. Get away as fast as you can. I promise, you'll be fine soon."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Why do my teeth hurt? I feel strange. My skin itches."

"Go!" he shouted.

When she just stood there, staring at him, he swore. Rick lifted the rifle to his chest.

"Rick?" Her voice shook. "What are you doing?"

"I'm saving you. I love you, Stephanie."

She moved faster than any animal he'd ever seen—practically flew across the room. The slight force of her weight was enough to knock him off balance.

"No!" she screamed, wrestling the rifle from him with superhuman strength. "I won't let you do this! I love you, Rick."

"Then kill me," he ordered. "It's the only way to save yourself. Don't you see what I am?" He reached out, showing her the hair forming on his arms. "I'm a monster! I'm a werewolf!"

She backed away from him, still clutching the rifle. "T-there's no such thing as werewolves. You're just sick. I'm sick. We're hallucinating."

He opened his mouth, showing her his canine fangs. "Does this look like a dream? It's a nightmare, Stephanie. A living hell I have to save you from. I bit you, remember? That first night? It was me you saved. I'm the black wolf!"

She shook her head. "No. This can't be happening. It's not possible. People can't turn into wolves."

"Look at your hands!" he shouted.

Her gaze lowered to her hands, clutched around the rifle in a death grip. He saw the fur there, blond, but thick. Her gaze widened. A whimper of alarm escaped her throat.

"If you kill me, the hair will disappear, Stephanie. It's the only way to break the curse. The only way to spare yourself the hell I've gone through during the past three years."

She lifted her terrified gaze. But more than horror showed in her eyes. "But what will happen to you?"

Pain ripped through him, made him double over. "I can die in peace," he bit out. "Do it, Stephanie!"

"No!" She threw the rifle down. "I've lost everyone I ever loved. I don't want to lose you, too."

Even through the pain, her words settled over him like a healing balm. She loved him despite the monster he was—regardless that her own soul lay in jeopardy. Her heart was truly pure. She loved unconditionally. And so did he. With a growl of pain tinged with joy, he sprang on the rifle she'd dropped to the floor. Rick had the weapon in his hands, pointed at his heart before she could react. He squeezed the trigger, and the explosion echoed off the wall along with her scream.

Stephanie fell to the floor beside him. He lay very still, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. The glow began to fade from them.

"No!" she screamed. Grabbing his collar, she tried to make him sit up. He was a dead weight. A dead man. Before her eyes, the thick fur that covered her hands disappeared. She felt her teeth retract, become normal. But nothing could stop her heart from breaking.

She buried her face against his neck. "I would have loved you anyway," she whispered. "I would have become an animal if it meant staying by your side. I love you, Rick. Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone again."

Tears ran down her cheeks. She threw the rifle aside and snuggled her body on top of him, hoping her warmth would penetrate the coldness she felt creeping into his limbs. This man, monster or saint, had sacrificed himself for her. He'd done so to save her soul. To spare her the same pain he had endured. His love was true. The everlasting kind. The kind she'd been searching for all her life.

She held him tighter, wishing she felt the beat of his heart against her own, wishing for all the tomorrows they would never share together.

"Come back to me," she whispered. "Come back to me, Rick."

A strong current of heat raced through her, almost as if she'd exploded inside. She tried to rise, but felt merged with Rick's body. She felt dizzy. A loud ringing noise started in her ears. She groaned… no, he groaned.

Stephanie's head shot up. She glanced down at him. He gasped. His eyes fluttered open. They were blue. And they were not glowing.

"Stephanie?" he whispered. "What happened?"

"Rick," she sobbed his name. "You came back to me."

His brows furrowed, and then he tensed. "It didn't work. Get away from me." He struggled, pushing her away from him. He reached for the rifle, but Stephanie grabbed it first.

"It's all right, Rick. Look at me! Look at yourself!"

He stared at her, glanced down at the smooth skin on her hands, then lifted his own. There was no thick fur there. He rose, moving to the bedroom. Stephanie scrambled up and followed him. He stared into the mirror at his image.

"Is it really over?" he whispered. "Did you save me?"

Stephanie stepped up behind him. "I don't think I saved you. I think you saved yourself. One selfless act of love made your heart pure again, made you reborn."

"The old woman." He turned to her. "She said saving you would save me."

"Y-you spoke to her?" Stephanie stammered.

He clasped her shoulders. "Don't you understand now? It was me she warned you about. I thought she might know for certain how to break the curse, so I hunted her down."

"Then she never meant to hurt me," Stephanie said. "She only wanted to help."

He stared deep into her eyes. "People aren't always what they appear to be on the surface. Surely you've learned that tonight."

She leaned forward and kissed him. "I learned something more important tonight. I learned the true meaning of sacrifice. You gave your life for me."

"I love you. I couldn't let what happened to me happen to you."

"I love you, too," she whispered. "And I would have withstood anything to stay with you." Stephanie took his hand and led him through the house, outside where the moon hung full in the sky. As if awestruck, he stared up at the heavens.

"This is the first time in three years I've seen a full moon and known it was just a celestial body in the distance."

Since he looked as if he might fall, she made him sit on one of the porch steps, then sat beside him.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. I need to find my brother."

She turned to him, surprised. "I thought he was killed in a hunting accident."

"Attacked by a wolf," he explained. "The same one that bit me. He's a werewolf, too. If I can find him, I can tell him how to break the curse. All he has to do is find true love."

Her heart melted. "Where is he?"

"Canada."

Smiling at him, she said, "Canada has great wildlife. Lots to film."

He took her hand in his. "Will you come with me?"

"Anywhere," she promised. "As long as we're together."

His mouth moved toward hers; then he paused. "I just had an idea. We'll take the old woman with us. She has the sight and can use her abilities to make finding Jason easier."

Stephanie wasn't listening. She'd become lost in the depths of his eyes, in the wonderful sense that she'd finally come home again. She leaned closer to him. Their lips met in a promise neither time nor curses would ever threaten again. They were mates, would be for life, and they had work ahead of them. Wolves to save, and lost souls to rescue. And somewhere along the way, a life of their own to begin.