Kathy Love - My Sister Is A Werewolf

“Did you like it?”

Jensen blinked, realizing that Melanie was still talking to him.

“I’m sorry,” he blinked again, trying to focus, “what did you say?”

She smiled, not seeming to sense his distraction. “Jill said you went to college in New York. Did you like it there?”

“I did,” he managed to say, even though he could still feel the other woman’s eyes on him. His excitement spiked.

He slid a glance in her direction. She was watching him, her light blue eyes, almost eerily pale, direct and unblinking.

Who was she? Why was she staring at him?

“… I didn’t know how I’d like it here, because it’s so small-town. And aside from the occasional bout of loneliness, I have really liked the change. Small towns are all that people say. Everyone knows each other. And people care about each other, help each other. It’s nice.”

Jensen nodded again, realizing that Melanie probably thought bobbing his head up and down was the extent of his communication abilities. And at the moment, it was. Again, he caught a glimpse of the pale-eyed woman in his peripheral vision. A man approached her, and he tried to feel relief. Her boyfriend or husband-that was good. But instead he felt oddly irritated.

“Of course,” Melanie said with a small, rather shy smile that still managed to show she could be interested in him, “it’s always nice to have a new face in town.”

He forced another smile back. This was too damned weird. Yet he couldn’t stop glancing again at the stranger. She sat, perfectly still, her attention trained on him. She didn’t even seem to register the man beside her. Jensen shifted, his body reacting to that steady gaze as if it was a touch, stroking over him, teasing his burning skin.

“Here we are,” Brian said, setting down another soda water in front of him. Both Brian and Jill took their seats, and the other woman was mostly blocked from his view.

Good, Jensen told himself. His reaction to the woman had to be an aberration, a response brought on by too many memories. He just wanted to have another quick drink and then go home.

“Hey there, what’s a pretty lady like you doing sitting by herself?”

Elizabeth flicked a quick look at the man who braced his arms on the table, leaning toward her. Then she returned her gaze to the other man. The man with the eyes like the deepest forest.

But in that glance, she had made note of the man next to her. He was average height, muscular, good-looking in a rough sort of way. His blond hair was shaggy. His jeans were a little greasy on the thighs, like he’d been working on a vehicle of some kind and had used the denim as a wipe rag. The same engine grease lined his fingernails.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the shaggy blonde asked.

“No,” she heard herself say, not looking at him. She had to watch the one with the eyes, the forest eyes. She had to study each of his moves. Tracking her prey.

“Come on, one drink won’t hurt. I’m as harmless as a lamb.”

Elizabeth tore her gaze from the man she wanted, meeting the blonde’s eyes directly.

“But I’m not,” she stated, her voice little more than a low growl.

Instead of being turned off by her warning, the blonde’s interest heightened, his attraction filling the air like the musk of an animal. He wanted her. He wanted sex.

“Well, that’s how I like my women. Dangerous.” He grinned, and more arousal radiated from him.

Go with him. Take him back to his place, screw his brains out, and get yourself under control. One human male will serve your purpose as well as another.

No, not just any man would do. Only one.

“Go away,” she stated flatly, looking back to the man at the other table, although she was irritated to see her view was blocked by his returned friends. No matter, she could still keep an eye him.

“Come on-”

“Go now,” she snarled, and maybe this time there was just enough crazy in her eyes, because the shaggy blonde backed away. Then he shrugged, trying to look as if he couldn’t care less that she’d rejected him. He strolled back to his friends, a table of men who all watched her with interested eyes.

She registered their attention, then moved hers back to her target. She shifted so she could see that he was taking occasional sips of a drink, listening to his friends, but talking very little himself. And he was making a concerted effort not to look at her.

Pointless. She’d have his full attention before the end of the night.

He leaned toward the pretty blonde at his side, trying to hear something she said over the off-key croon of yet another karaoke singer. The woman touched his arm as she spoke.

A shard of possessiveness ripped through her. He was her man. At least for tonight.

That could be his girlfriend, his wife, her reasonable mind murmured, the notion barely registering through her need.

So. She just wanted the use of his body. Then the blonde could have him back.

“I heard you weren’t interested in my buddy.”

A growl built in the back of her throat at yet another interruption, but some tenuous hold on her human side made her restrain the noise. Still, her only thought was that she couldn’t lose sight of her prey. She didn’t even glance at the new speaker. All her senses were locked on the man at the table in front of her.

“Maybe I’m more your type.”

She fought back another irritated growl, but this time she did turn to the man standing very close to her.

This guy was taller than the last, more muscled, a goatee and an arrogant twist to his lips. His hair was equally as shaggy as the blonde’s, but a shade darker, somewhere between blond and brown.

She let her gaze move slowly down his body. Thickly muscled arms, a broad, equally muscled chest. A noticeable bulge was outlined by his faded jeans.

“No, you’re not my type,” she stated, her voice low and husky with need, but not for this mortal.

Then she sensed her man moving.

She whipped her eyes back to him just as he rose from his chair. Tall, lean muscles moving under his blue button-down shirt, long legs encased in worn jeans carrying him smoothly across the bar. She started to rise, too. She had to follow him. But the man at her side touched her arm.

She sneered at him, registering him as little more than an annoyance, then she made to follow the other man, noting that he headed to the men’s room rather than the exit.

“Now, you are hardly giving me a fair shot here,” the man beside her said, catching her wrist in a large hand.

She spun back to him, this time not containing the growl that rumbled from deep in her throat. The man’s eyes widened slightly at the sound, but still he didn’t release her.

“Let me go,” she warned, intense rage filling her. This was her chance. She had to go after her man. She couldn’t allow anything to come between herself and her choice.

But instead of dropping her wrist, the man tugged her toward him. Her body hit his, her chest brought fully against his massive one. The contact enraged her more, all her instincts growling, fight. And she obeyed. She shoved him hard, barely controlling the strength of her overstimulated body.

The large man launched through the air, crashing down on a tabletop. The man and the table crumpled to the ground, the noise causing everyone at the bar to turn in her direction. The music, lyric-less and oddly discordant, did nothing to fill the sudden silence of the room. All eyes were on the man-then on her. Even the latest karaoke singer just gaped, his hand on the mic.

Elizabeth looked around her, then back to the man, who struggled to his feet. She backed away, stunned by what she’d done-or rather, what the wolf had done.

God, she was losing it. She was totally out of control. She had to leave now, while her rational mind had taken a brief hold on her thoughts.