Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1)

Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1) Page 6

Carly bit back a groan at the memories of touching … petting … cooing, for Christ’s sake. Since when had she gotten so damned dumb? Most people would have gotten either animal control or a gun. Or both, for that matter. But not her, Carly thought ruefully. Oh no. She looked at blood and claws and teeth the size of a great white’s and just melted.

She shifted slightly in the old iron bed and sighed gustily. She’d been known to have her moments of stupidity, yes. But last night had been bad, even for her. Bad enough that she’d be lucky if she didn’t end up winning a Darwin award for it, posthumously of course, for dumbest method of proving the theory of natural selection. Had she really imagined that the animal had sought her out specifically? That they’d had some sort of weird connection? God, she must be losing it. It was obviously time to either up her caffeine intake—again—or cut back on her hours. To think she’d been determined to try and pick it up. Carly shuddered slightly, remembering the details of every vicious dog attack she’d ever seen reported on the news.

At least she hadn’t actually done it. Not that coaxing a staggering, bleeding canine train wreck into her car (and then her house) had been any better. He’d followed her willingly, Carly remembered. Determinedly, even. But maybe he hadn’t come to and dragged himself after her because he’d wanted help, she thought with a grimace. Maybe he’d just been hungry. And hadn’t she just recently heard about some pit bull actually eating someone?

But it was too late now, damn it. She’d gotten Barkley the Possibly-Man-Eating Dog settled in front of her nice new gas fireplace on a pile of old blankets. She’d brought home and fussed over an overgrown carnivore of indeterminate appetite, not to mention temperament. And eventually, she was going to have to call either the vet or the pound. Or, if things really went to hell, the local SWAT team.

Carly hunkered down further for a good session of stewing. Then a sudden, lusty snore from directly behind her had her thoughts scattering to the wailing wind outside. Her eyes flew open, full of disbelief.

Following her home was one thing. But had that massive, ripped-up animal actually followed her to bed?

After spending a frozen moment torn between flattered surprise and outright horror, Carly steeled herself and rolled slowly over. What else was left to do? It wasn’t like she could talk him into giving her a break on her snow day. No sudden movements, she reminded herself. Just in case.

Please let him still be friendly, she prayed silently, remembering nothing of big pleading eyes and everything about huge, dagger-sharp teeth. Please let him be … The thought ended abruptly as Carly got her first look at what had curled up with her in the night. She closed her eyes, hard. Opened them. Tried it again when the first time had produced less-than-satisfactory results. But no matter how many times she blinked, it absolutely refused to turn into a dog. And it stubbornly refused to stop being a big, buck-naked man.

Carly felt all the blood drain from her face as her widening eyes took in well over six feet of definitely-not-a-dog. Her mind, still sluggish from sleep, tried desperately to wrap itself around what she was seeing. In her bed. Sprawled out on his stomach. And snoring, no doubt dreaming of what he had planned for her.

I should run. I should go for the phone. And a knife. What kind of sicko snuggled up with you all night, then did God-knows-what to you in the morning?

Adrenaline flooded her veins like ice water. Her muscles tensed, heartbeat accelerating until she was sure her unwanted bedmate would hear it. And then … and then he’d …

Carly forced herself to focus. If she didn’t want to complete that thought, she was going to have to be smart. Careful. And very, very quiet. She maneuvered herself slowly up onto her elbows, then, ever so slightly, nearer to the edge of the bed. Inches, she told herself. Only inches. Even if it felt like miles.

She glanced quickly at the door, gauging distance and laying plans, and then back. At him. Jesus, he was huge. Carly drew in a shaky breath as silently as she could manage. She moved again, inching along, then waited to make sure her shifting weight wasn’t disturbing his sleep. A pause, and then another snore had her exhaling with relief.

Almost there … almost there …

Why had she been sleeping so close to him? Carly wondered miserably as she inched along in slow motion. How could she not have realized he was there? But then she reached the edge, freedom finally within her reach, and pushed those thoughts back. Nothing was going to do her any good now but silence and speed. As long as he didn’t wake up.

Please, God, don’t let him wake up.

She angled her head just a little to peek through the thick fall of wavy dark brown hair that mostly obscured the side of her unwanted guest’s face. Just to make sure. Just to be certain.

It was then, when her scream of terror welled up and then froze mid-throat and her limbs turned to unresponsive jelly, that Carly realized she’d waited too long to run.

“Morning, darling,” rumbled a deep, velvety voice still thick with sleep as one amber eye opened to meet her gaze. “Enjoying the view?”

Her mind raced, frantically searching for something, anything she could do to immobilize him. Sic her new dog on him, maybe? And then it dawned on her: Oh, God, the dog! Her eyes flicked to the angry red slashes crisscrossing his back, obvious evidence of a vicious fight, and she knew: the dog, or whatever it had been, was gone. Carly felt tears sting her eyes as she realized that this asshole had probably killed the poor creature so she wouldn’t be alerted to his presence. All her former thoughts about having brought home nothing short of Cujo were instantly forgotten. Whatever that animal had been, he hadn’t deserved this.

Fear turned to furious loathing as a red haze descended over Carly’s vision and years of training from her two belligerent older brothers flashed quickly through her mind. This guy thought he could just sneak in here, kill an innocent animal, take what he wanted from her, and then leave? Jackass should never have messed with a Silver, then, because boy did he have another thing coming.

“Bastard,” she hissed, and punched him in the head as hard as she could.

Then she ran.

t t t

He’d obviously lost his touch, Gideon thought as pain exploded in his temple. He really should have kept his comment to himself, and he knew it, but when he’d awakened under her intense (and, so it had seemed to him, appreciative) scrutiny, he’d forgotten himself for a moment. After all, he’d never had a woman use her fists on him after spending the night with him.

Then again, he thought as he grunted at the surprising pain such a small thing had managed to inflict on him— but then he was still feeling a bit under the weather, he excused himself—he had never before gotten into a woman’s bed by pretending to be a pet. Not that he’d ever thought he looked much like a pet in wolf form … it was a bit insulting, really … and oh, hell, there she went to find something to stab him with. Gideon supposed his wounded pride would simply have to wait.

Gideon rose like lightning from the bed and had her in four long strides, moving so fast that she barely had time to let out a quick squeak before he’d silenced her. He pressed her back against the wall of the hallway, pinning her slight form with his massive one and keeping her mouth covered with one hand. He could feel her against him, every inch of her vibrating with fear. Gideon cursed himself for making her feel that way after all she’d done for him last night, though he knew for certain that there was nothing he could have done about Changing in his sleep. When his body had healed enough to do so, it simply had, and he was wise enough not to bother blaming himself for it. No, what he blamed himself for, at the moment, was getting into the woman’s bed in the first place. What the bloody hell had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? Looking into a pair of wide eyes the deep, true blue of the evening sky, Gideon hardly knew.

It wasn’t like him not to remember. Then again, Gideon thought, it wasn’t like him to get very nearly ripped to pieces by a trio of renegade werewolves and then stagger into the arms of a woman to heal him. He frowned slightly, trying to ignore the effect his expression had on his captive. If only he could remember. He recalled the fight, yes, with perfect clarity. And then he’d dragged himself, and there’d been some kind of a scent in the air he’d been nearly frantic to find the source of.

Just then, as though he’d summoned it with a thought, Gideon caught another whiff of the intoxicating scent that had found him his safety last night. It was crumb cake and fresh berries, he thought, inhaling a bit more deeply as his eyes dropped to half-mast in a rush of sheer, unexpected pleasure. It was whipped cream. It was knickerbocker glory. It was …

It was her. Gideon’s gaze refocused in surprise, his eyes locking with hers, even as the delicious smell thickened and enveloped him so that he had to struggle not to start rubbing his stupid head against her and rolling around like a damned cat in heat. Gideon gave her a quick up and down, as much as he could, and his frown deepened. She was just a tiny bit of a thing! She looked like, any moment now, she was either going to vomit or pass out from fear! And his instincts were telling him, no, screaming at him, that this was his mate?

He’d been mistaken, Gideon thought with a soft, defeated groan. He hadn’t come to America. He’d gone to Hell. And wouldn’t you know it, he thought with a dark sort of amusement, it was cold.

A muffled noise against his hand brought him back to the reality of his current situation. Gideon’s mind moved quickly, brushing aside his irrational reaction to this woman for the moment and focusing on how best to explain his situation and bring her over to his side. It was true, by the cold gray light of morning this didn’t look like the world’s best idea. But Gideon wasn’t really seeing that he had many options except to convince her to let him stay until the storm had passed, both literally and figuratively. He could try to get out and find another place to hole up while he healed, but he saw two big problems with that right off the bat; one, he didn’t have a stitch of clothing either on or with him, and two, if he left this woman now, she’d send the police right along after him.