Jeaniene Frost - Under Her Skin

"I thought you were letting me go," I said. "Yet here you are, still in the forest instead of in bed at your cabin."

Daniel turned. He was still too far away for me to see his expression, but his voice sounded raw. "I was letting you go, but no wolf can sleep while his mate is in danger."

Mate . Such a primitive word, and so possessive. All things considered, we barely knew each other. Why wasn't I uneasy at hearing it? Why did warmth spread over me, even as I was shivering in the cold night air?

I swallowed. "How can you be sure?"

He was at my side in the next heartbeat, enfolding me in his arms, his body heat almost searing my skin.

"I knew it as soon as I smelled your scent," he said, low and rough. "I told you, that's how it is with wolves. That day with Gabriel—I wasn't tracking him. He and the others had masked their scents so I wouldn't be able to trace them. But I found them anyway because I'd been tracking you."

This was overwhelming. I shuddered even as I leaned in closer to him. "Daniel, everything has happened so fast…"

He caressed my face. "Don't judge by that. Breathe me in. Tell me what you feel."

I inhaled near his neck, absorbing the mix of wood smoke, cinnamon, and musk that made up his scent.

Contentment battled with lust inside me. I wanted to throw Daniel to the forest floor, rub my body all over his, claim his flesh as my own, and then hold him and never let go.

"I feel more than I have a right to," was what I said, voice shaky.

He bent so that his lips were almost brushing mine. "I give you the right. I want you to claim me as yours."

And I wanted to be claimed. That was the truth of it. Whether it was me or the wolf inside who'd made this decision, I didn't know. But I felt it through every fiber of me.

I'd asked Daniel days ago if it was him I was talking to or the wolf. It's both , he'd said. Always . I hadn't understood then, but I did now. The wolf didn't feel like it was a separate entity from me anymore; it was me, but without all my fears, doubts, or hesitations. The wolf was me stripped of all my pretense, and it knew, unequivocally, that Daniel was mine.

And so did I.

"Take me home," I whispered. It was an invitation and a promise. I wasn't giving up my family or my friends, but I'd first learn to live in harmony with the wolf in me, and I'd do it here, with the help of my mate.

Daniel picked me up and carried me to his cabin. I was smiling the whole way.

Jeaniene is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Night Huntress series and the Night Huntress World novels. To date, foreign rights for her novels have sold to fourteen different countries. Jeaniene lives in Florida with her husband Matthew, who long ago accepted that she swears like a sailor, rarely cooks, and always sleeps in on the weekends. Jeaniene and Matthew are the proud parents of Gypsy, their very spoiled dog who believes Jeaniene’s only purpose in life is to cater to her.

Find out more about Jeaniene at her website: http://jeanienefrost.com

Five years ago, Emma Cooper would have thought a blown tire in the middle of a blizzard was bad. But bad was the small, spiked metal ball her fingers found embedded in the rubber—and worse was the truck, its headlights on bright, pulling off the two-lane highway and onto the shoulder twenty yards behind her Jeep.

The tire iron in her hands rattled against the one lug nut she'd had time to crack loose. She hadn't even raised the jack yet; it lay on the icy asphalt behind the flat front tire.

No, not much time had passed at all. He must have been waiting off the road for her to drive by, his truck concealed by the dark and the snow.

Don't panic , Emma told herself, and pulled in a long breath between her chattering teeth. Now was definitely not the time to panic.

Still gripping the tire iron, Emma rose from her crouch. The rattling rumble of his diesel motor cut off. The pounding of her heart filled the sudden, snow-muffled silence.

Stay calm. She tugged open the front door of her Jeep, slid into the driver's seat, and hit the locks.

Emma had been living in Seattle the past five years, but she'd kept up on the local news. In the last eighteen months, four vehicles—each with flat tires—had been found abandoned on this rural stretch of an Oregon highway. Each time, searchers recovered the body of a woman from the surrounding woods. Each woman had been raped and strangled.

The truck door slammed shut. Oh, God. She squinted against the glare of headlights in the rearview mirror, but couldn't see anything. With her right hand, she rummaged blindly through her purse on the passenger seat and found her cell phone.

It had been years since she'd dialed the number, but she still knew it by heart. Nathan Forrester answered on the third ring. She spoke over his sleep-roughened greeting.

"Hey, Sheriff Studly." Emma could see the dark figure in her side mirror now. The silhouetted shape was tall, and wearing a thick coat and a cowboy hat. She couldn't tell if he carried a gun. "I'm on the side of the highway with a flat tire, and I could really, really use a lift."

"Emma? Oh, Christ. Emma, listen— don't accept any help. "

"I didn't plan on it." She stared at the mirror. He'd walked half the distance to her Jeep. Her fingers tightened on the tire iron, her nails drawing blood from the heel of her palm. Stay calm. "But I think he plans to offer help anyway."

She heard Nathan swearing and running across a wooden floor. "Where are you? You still have your Jeep?"

"About ten miles before the Bluffs turnoff. And, yes. I still have it."

"Okay, Emma, I'm on my way, but you've got to drive. Stay in low gear. The flat tire will pull hard at your steering wheel, but your Jeep will go. So you start it now and get the hell out of there."

Emma jammed the phone between her cheek and shoulder, turned the ignition key. The engine fired up. A shadow darkened her window.

She looked over just he swung her jack through the glass.

It was worse than the others had been—the window shattered, the door hanging open, blood splashed in the snow. Gun in hand, Nathan jumped from his Blazer, his unlaced boots skidding on the icy road. He slid into the side of the Jeep, glanced inside.

The seats were empty.

The breath he drew to roar her name felt like the first he'd pulled into his aching chest since he'd heard the breaking glass and her aborted shriek.

"Emma!"

The echo faded, leaving the whisper of falling snow and the low growl of his truck engine. A trail of blood and thrashed snow led behind the Jeep. Nathan followed it, the freezing air biting at his face, his uncovered ears.

From the pine trees alongside the road came the snap of a breaking branch. Nathan swung around, scanning the night. The light from the half-moon barely pierced the tree line, and the shadows between the pines danced in the flashing red and blue lights from his truck. His muscles tensed; something was moving through the woods, its eyes reflecting the strobe lights like a cat's. He aimed his flashlight, switched it on.

The high-powered light flooded Emma's pale face before her hand flew up, shielding her eyes.

Oh, thank God. Thank God. His knees almost gave out, but through some miracle, he remained standing. He skimmed the light down her body, and his heart lurched. Blood stained her sweater and jeans. He pushed into the snow drift on the highway shoulder, began to wade toward her. "Are you hurt?"