Aline Hunter - Enemy Mine

And if he saved me, why isn’t he here? Why wasn’t he waiting in the room when I woke up? Did he leave me? Is this some kind of revenge? Does he expect me to pay for what I’ve done?

“Shepherd is nothing more than a name. The people who are born with it choose their own destiny. You of all people should know that. I wouldn’t judge—”

Whatever Ava was going to say didn’t come. It was like watching a scene in The Twilight Zone . One minute the teeny woman had advice to impart, the next she turned to the door as if she expected someone to step inside.

Within seconds, someone did.

Emory.

Oh God.

Mary’s knees almost caved when she saw him in all his glory, his body and face clearly identifiable in the light radiating through the window. How in the hell had she forgotten how big he was? Six foot three and all muscles, rigid planes and hard lines. The dark stubble on his face made him mysterious yet sexy, matching the hair that was brushed away from his face. There was concern in his light brown eyes, as well as a heat she’d seen aimed in her direction a time or two in the past. He walked toward her—no, he prowled—each step deliberate and as smooth as butter.

He frowned when he saw her. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. Doc hasn’t put you in the clear.”

Who cared if an inner warning screamed he wasn’t entirely a man? At the present moment all she could think about was the way he talked, of the husky cadence of his words. His voice was the aphrodisiac she remembered, sending waves of fire from her belly to areas of her body she’d never dared touch or explore. Her nipples tingled, hardened and formed jutting points as a wet heat built between her thighs.

Knock it off! She shifted her legs together as she backed her way toward the wall. You haven’t seen him in months. After the way you treated him, you have no idea if he’s even interested anymore. He saved you. He didn’t promise you the world.

Fear crashed into her as she dredged up the memory of screaming in his face, terrified of the changes in his features. The reminder removed any trace of her growing desire. What if he harbored a grudge? What if he was angry for what she’d done? Maybe he thought he could get to her family through her? He had no idea of the horrors she’d endured once she’d returned home and learned how demented her uncle and her relatives were. Although he’d found her living elsewhere—something else she didn’t fully understand—he couldn’t possibly know why she’d run or how difficult it had been to escape the farm in Colorado.

“Easy there, angel eyes,” he murmured in a placating tone and stepped around the bed, continuing in her direction. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Angel eyes.

She closed her eyes, remembering the first time he’d called her that. She’d argued that angels had blue eyes, not brown, but he’d insisted that her eyes and face were those of an angel. It had been the first strike in her emotional armor, allowing him to snake his way into her heart. Not long after she was silly putty in his hands.

When she felt fingers gently twine around her wrist, she gasped and her eyes flew open. Emory was even bigger up close. The black T-shirt covering his torso was drawn tight over the muscles beneath, revealing the outline of his pecs as well as the defined six-pack abs below. She kept her gaze level on his chest, afraid to meet his eyes. Her breathing was stinted but she could still smell him. It shouldn’t be legal for a man to smell so good—all clean, seductive and undeniably Emory.

Mortification swept through her when he touched her cheek and she flinched. She’d been hit in the face so many times it was instinctive to move away, to keep a safe distance.

“Ava,” Emory said, the word coming out as a low growl, and Mary had to force aside panic in order to remain still and passive in his grasp, “it’s time for you to go.”

“Okay.” Ava didn’t sound certain about being asked to leave, which only increased Mary’s alarm. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

Soft footsteps, the creak of a door opening and closing and Ava was gone—leaving Mary alone with one hell of a large shifter male who might just want her dead.

Don’t freak out. Don’t lose it. Just breathe.

“Shh,” Emory whispered and pulled her to his chest.

She wasn’t sure why he was comforting her until she realized she was whimpering. The sound made her sick and took her to dark places she wanted to forget—memories of pain, loss and terror. Tears stung her eyes but she didn’t allow them to fall. Instead she sagged into Emory’s chest, leaning on his strength, allowing him to shelter her from the world if only for a short time. He ran his hands along her spine in a light motion, traveling from her nape to the indentions above her buttocks. A spike of electricity shot through her, following the gliding brush of his fingers.

“No one will harm you.” Anger was in his voice and she wondered what had put it there. “I swear.”

“Not even you?” She wanted to take what she said back as soon as she heard herself speak. The arms around her became tense and Emory’s chest went still, as if he was holding his breath. After several seconds he relaxed, stepped back and placed his hands on each side of her face. She froze when he lifted her chin and she met his gaze. His irises were mesmerizing, brown with radiant amber centers.

“I can’t change what I am but you have no reason to fear me or mine. None of us will ever hurt you—especially me. You’re as essential to me as the air I breathe. Without you, I’m nothing.”

The intensity in his expression eradicated any rational thought. If he was lying, he was an expert in the craft. With the way he looked at her, she believed what he said, took it as gospel and not idle pillow talk. Despite their history, no matter what had occurred in the past or waited for them in the future, his feelings apparently hadn’t changed.

Heaven help her. Maybe she was deluding herself because she wanted to believe he still wanted her, yearned for her. Prior to learning he was a shifter, she’d imagined going to her knees before him, giving him total control, allowing him to teach her all of the ways to give and receive pleasure. Yes, when she’d learned what he was—half man, half wolf—she’d been scared of him. Who wouldn’t be? The discovery had been a shock, something she didn’t want to believe.

But now…

Now it wasn’t fear she was experiencing.

She’d always been attracted to Emory, had wondered as she lay awake in her bed alone and restless what it would be like to spend a night in his arms. Girlish daydreams had merged with the fantasies of a woman full-grown. Her virgin status was only due to the death of her parents and the strict upbringing after their loss. Now she wasn’t an innocent, wide-eyed schoolgirl. She’d seen and done things that had made her grow up hard and fast.

His warm breath caressed her lips as his mouth hovered over hers. “Mary…”

It wasn’t the lust in his gaze that caused her to shiver, it was the way he said her name, as though he were drowning in tempestuous waters and it was the last word he’d share with the world before he sank beneath the surface. She waited, trembling in his arms. Before he closed the distance and kissed her, she closed her eyes. There was more than physical desire in his expressive, amber-hued irises. Something she wanted to see and therefore worried might be a figment of her imagination.

Once she gave herself over to Emory, she had a feeling there was no going back—not for her, at least. Despite knowing about the existence of shifters, she didn’t know about or understand the eccentricities involved when they dated, had sex or lavished affection on the opposite sex. If Emory was more beast than man, her heart would be broken when he got what he wanted and moved on.