Only those of us craving absolute power turn, losing their minds, what’s left of their souls.
A subtle note of warning threaded through it. She shivered.
Do you smell that? Be careful.
This was too weird. Maggie went to cut off her imaginary friend by thinking of cell mitosis. She stopped. The heels of the wind brought a faint but foul odor.
Like rotting seaweed at low tide mixed with raw sewage. Except this stench carried nothing natural about it. Maggie fingered the chunky turquoise bracelet on her wrist. Grappling with control, she decided to indulge this voice, a fragment left over from her dream. A strong male presence, wanting to protect her.
You’re wearing turquoise. Good.
Turquoise fends off evil seaweed?
No. But it fends off an evil werewolf. For a while.
Maybe I should wear silver as well. Fend off rotting seaweed and werewolves.
Silver? That doesn’t stop them. I’ve tried.
Fear spilled through her like ice water. Tiny hairs on the nape of her neck saluted the air.
You’ve nothing to fear. I’m here now. But don’t remove the bracelet.
The quiet, masculine voice settled her raging nerves. Maggie rubbed her arms, reasoning this internal monologue was a stress reliever.
Superman saves the day. And turquoise is the kryptonite to fend off the Big Bad …
Wolf.
Ridiculous. Wolves in Florida? Only in bars. Her imagination was running amok, result of being alone too long.
She needed company. The pull of human laughter from the Tiki Bar tugged at her like a siren song. Maggie glanced at the dog lying drowsily on the tile. “I’m going out for a bit, Misha. Just a drink and sunset. Stay here and guard the house. And if any burglars break in, try not to lick them to death, deal?”
The dog raised her brown head, then slumped back to the tile. A lump clogged Maggie’s throat. She locked the sliders, went to the bathroom and brushed her hair. Dark purple shadows lined deep hollows beneath her eyes. She thought about cosmetics, decided she wasn’t getting married today. Giving a cursory glance at the turquoise bracelet, she sniffed.
No more imaginary voices. Unhooking the clasp, she let it fall to the counter with a clatter. For a moment, a heavy sigh echoed in her mind.
Ridiculous.
After changing into white linen shorts, a turquoise sleeveless blouse and Birkenstocks, she set off down the beach.
Sand sank into her toes. Maggie slipped out of her sandals, wriggled her toes with delight. Sandals swinging from one hand, she ambled toward the trilling laughter and clinking glasses.
Minutes later, she stood before the thatched hut bar. Buxom women in tight shorts and tighter T-shirts clustered about the bar like bees around a honeycomb. Younger men in wild tropical prints and khaki shorts buzzed around them. Some grizzled salty types downed beer and roared at off-color jokes. She recognized only one person. John, a client, was engaged in serious conversation with a taller man.
Doubts assailed her. What was she doing here? She didn’t drink. But something propelled her forward. Reasoning too many solitary days and nights isolated in her grief caused this yearning, she opted for the company. Maggie shouldered her resolve, slipped into her sandals again and approached.
The bar was elbow to elbow, people sitting on the wood benches, smoking, talking, laughing. Maggie sauntered to the counter with more confidence than she felt. Had she been so alone all this time she’d forgotten how to order a drink?
Then he caught her eye. Maggie’s heart hammered out an erratic beat. She stared.
A black T-shirt stretched taut over broad, muscled shoulders. Faded denim jeans hugged lean hips, molded to muscular thighs the size of tree trunks. Dark bristles shadowed his taut jawline. He had arresting features, a strong nose, firm, sensual mouth and silky black brows. A hank of inky hair hung over his forehead, spilled down past his collar. But his eyes, oh, they commanded her attention. Expressive and dark brown, they were soulful and deep. They observed the bar scene a little sadly, and he held himself aloof.
As if he, too, did not truly belong here.
Biceps bulged as he lifted his beer and drank. Fascinated, she watched his throat muscles work. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.
His gaze swung around, captured hers. For a moment Maggie forgot to breathe. Her hand fled to her throat. Arousal, sharp and deep, flooded her. A deep throb began between her legs.
You’re pathetic. Getting all hot and bothered over a stranger at a bar.
Maggie jerked her gaze away, shouldered her way to the bar. Trying to squish between the bodies crowding the bar, she barely managed to push through. Why the hell was she here, anyway? Ready to flee for the safety of home and hearth, she started to turn when a deep male voice interjected.
“Room here.”
Tall, dark and gorgeous gestured to the empty seat beside him. She hesitated.
“Grab it before it, or the sunset, is gone.”
His mouth, chiseled and full, quirked in a charming half smile. Maggie mustered a smile and joined him. What the hell. She needed this.
“Drink?” he asked. His voice was deep, smooth, the burn of whiskey sliding down a parched throat.
She didn’t like strangers buying drinks for her. The man arched a silky black brow. “You buy. I get the bartender’s attention. Deal?”
Fair enough. “Pinot noir.”
“Good choice,” he murmured. The stranger signaled. A bartender floated over as if jerked by invisible strings and a minute later, a rounded glass of ruby liquid sat before Maggie.
The stranger lifted his glass. “Here’s to the beauty of nature,” he murmured.
They clinked, drank. Maggie savored the rich taste on her tongue. Awkwardness came over her. So long since she’d conversed with a total stranger other than clients. And such a gorgeous one. She struggled for conversational openers. Cell mitosis wouldn’t do.
“I usually don’t like crowds of strangers, but the scenery in my room was boring. How many times can you watch hurricane storm stories on the Weather Channel without wanting to drown yourself in the bathtub?” the man said.
Maggie gave a reluctant smile. “I tried drowning myself in the bathtub once after watching one, but I had just returned from the hairdresser and had a good hair day for once.”
He laughed. “Here’s to good hair days.”
Maggie clinked glasses. She took another brief swallow. Here we go again, what do you do, do you come here often …
“Baths are overrated. Too much water, unless you share.”
Maggie stole another glance at his firm chin and the delicious sprinkling of stubble. His mouth was full and sensual. Most striking were the eyes, dark brown with swirls of caramel. Enticing. Hypnotic.
He tipped his glass toward her. “Nicolas Keenan, here by way of New Mexico.”
Maggie smiled. “Maggie Sinclair, here by way of the beach.”
She stuck out a palm to shake. Businesslike, how’s it going? But he picked up her hand instead. His palm was warm, a little calloused and swallowed hers.
Electricity shot through her, pure current that sizzled. Never had she felt such deep, primitive emotion. Dark eyes met hers as Nicolas brought her hand to his mouth.
He brushed his lips against her knuckles. A brief, but intoxicating kiss. Maggie fought a wave of sudden lust. Her body tingled pleasantly. He let her hand rest in his, then released it. Wordlessly, she sipped more wine. For a long minute, she felt as if they were alone, two strangers sharing space and more.
“Are you here vacationing?”
Nicolas gave a slow smile. “Out to see a friend. She doesn’t know I’m coming.” White teeth flashed. “It’s a surprise.”
Lucky girl, Maggie thought with an odd pang of jealousy. “Just a friend?”
His steady gaze burned into hers. “And we will be more than friends before the night ends. I’m a very determined man.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Always,” he hinted softly.
Maggie wished someone would want her. She pushed back at her unruly curls. “I’m usually persistent at what I want, but some things are beyond my control.” She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “But that’s life.”
“Sometimes what we think is beyond our control isn’t. We just need a little help,” he observed.
She had the oddest feeling they’d met before. Kismet. Maggie sipped more wine. “Lovely sunset.”
Nicolas nodded. “There is such power and energy on this earth. Only now are most people beginning to understand their world, and live in harmony with the elements.”
“You sound like one of those snotty hybrid drivers who has solar panels and cooks with his own methane emissions.”
Horrified, Maggie bit her lip. But Nicolas laughed. “I drive a truck,” he countered, warm brown eyes twinkling. “I have a ranch in northern New Mexico and hybrids can’t carry bales of hay. I do have solar panels on the roof, only because I hate paying for electricity. And I never fart. Ever.”
He winked. Maggie laughed her first real laugh in weeks.
“But I do host lovely candlelight dinners … when I meet a special lady.”
Tension eased, replaced with something more intense and far more sexual. Wine made her bold. “I bet you even seduce by candlelight. To save power and be romantic at the same time.”
“Not all women. But there’s one special one I would definitely seduce by candlelight,” he said softly.
Daringly, she set her wineglass down, met his smoldering gaze. “And how would you do it? Seduce her? What if she didn’t want to be seduced?” she challenged.
“It wouldn’t matter. Because when I set my eye on something I want, I can be quite ruthless. I would pursue her endlessly, until she surrendered to me.”
She saw in the swirling depths of his dark eyes his determination—the relentless energy of the hunter pursuing what he wanted. A little shiver snaked down her spine.
“And once you caught her? Why should she surrender?”
“I would tell her she’s the only woman in the world for me, someone special sent just for me. That I would die unless I made love to her, and how perfect she is, how absolutely lovely. I would coax a smile to her sad face, kiss away her fears and whisper to her that there was nothing to fear. I would take very, very good care of her,” he murmured.
This man, he sounded so familiar. Must be her alcohol-doused brain. Maggie moistened her mouth, tossed her hair. Flirting couldn’t hurt. When was the last time she’d flirted?
“How good?” Maggie challenged. “Because you’d have to be good. Very, very good.”
He leaned closer, until she could count the black bristles shadowing his jaw. His smoke-and-whiskey voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Trust me. I would be good. Very, very good.”
Heat coursed through her. Maggie sank into his liquid gaze, the dark vortex pulling her down. He looked at her as if she were that woman, and he wanted to love her all over until she sobbed for mercy.
She drained her wine, focused on the crimson-gold sun swallowed by the horizon. “It’s so beautiful. So right. I love this time of night. Dusk.”
“The edge of night filled with promise.” His hooded eyes regarded her. “There’s one sight in nature I find more stirring than a spectacular sunset.”
“That is?”
“A full moon.”
She nodded. “Yes, a full moon can be quite inspiring, can’t it?”
A soft laugh rumbled from his deep chest. “Yes,” he said, gazing at her intently. “Indeed, it can be quite … inspiring.”
Chapter 3
Her delectable aroma drove Nicolas mindless.
Primitive lust coursed through him. Her scent hovered on his tongue. Female, musky, aroused. Exciting. Nicolas picked up the brown bottle of beer, took a long swig. The icy liquid slid down his throat but did not cool.
Liquor would not quench his thirst. Only Maggie would now. Sweet, delicious Maggie, the taste of her flooding his senses.
He’d heard of the driving relentlessness of the mating urge when werewolves found their draicara. “When you find her, watch out. Catching her scent turns you totally animal. You forget everything. You just want to rip her clothes off and mount her,” one of the newly mated pack males had said.
Nicolas had always scoffed at such mindless loss of control. As the pack’s fiercest warrior, he prided himself on his restraint. All those times he’d bedded scores of women after a hunt, releasing savage energy built from fighting Morphs, he’d never lost control.
Now he knew the other male hadn’t exaggerated. He’d expected his draicara to be attractive. The chemistry strong, but not this explosive. Not as if the entire world had faded, and the sun’s last rays shone exclusively on her.
A nimbus of silky dark red curls framed her heart-shaped face, pert nose and soft, rosy cheeks. Her large, expressive eyes were the blue of a quiet lake. Her mouth, ah, her mouth! Full, soft and inviting.
Maggie stole a glance at him. Smiled. She tossed her head and moistened her lips. Desire darkened her eyes.
Oh, yes. She was feeling it, too.
Nicolas’s body tightened pleasantly as he imagined the things he could teach her to do with that lovely mouth.
Shorter than he’d envisioned, Maggie barely cleared his chin. Her figure was a bit too thin, her cheeks slightly hollow. He’d fatten her up, personally hunt her fresh game. His gaze flicked to her full breasts. He imagined cupping them in his eager palms, testing their heavy weight. Enjoying her little moans of excitement as he gently stroked his thumbs over the pearling nipples. Then bending his head to taste, he’d swirl his tongue over one. Oh, yes.
Maggie frowned. Two lines, facial punctuation marks, formed between her silky dark brows. Nicolas was utterly charmed.
“Be right back,” his sexual fantasy murmured.
She sprang off the bench, nearly spilling her wine. Drunk with lust, he eyed the white linen shorts hugging the tempting halves of her rounded bottom. His hands itched to squeeze. He imagined feeling the smooth skin of her plump ass caressing him as he mounted her from behind and drove into her in the traditional mating position.
Not the first time. Werewolf sex could be quite rough, too intense and passionate for her first time. Threading through Maggie’s female arousal was the distinct impression of innocence. Sexy, yes. Enticing. Oh, yeah. But experienced. No way. He’d bet a raw steak on her being a virgin.
He imagined gently initiating her in making love. Slow, sensual caresses. Perhaps a hot oil massage, his fingers sliding over her silky skin, caressing and stroking, delving into her secret hollows and making her writhe and plead. Slow for her first time, with lots of orgasms to compensate for taking her virginity. Then finally, igniting her passion and tangling together with her in hot, raw animal sex. He grew hard as granite, thinking about it.
Blood thrummed hotly in his veins. Nicolas hungrily watched Maggie walk toward two men.
What the hell?
Fists clenched, they fumed at each other. One, bristling sharp as the spikes on his crew cut, boasted muscles worthy of a veteran WWE wrestler. The other was leaner, but tall and wiry. They looked ready for a fight.
They were going to fight!
He swiveled, realized the crowd had quieted. They stared at the men, expecting action. He focused on the scowling men. And Maggie, his Maggie, was hurrying up as one drew back his fist.
Nicolas leapt off the bench. He bolted toward them, muscles tensed as he prepared to defend his draicara.
Maggie stepped between the pair snarling like angry dogs. She placed a hand on each man’s arm. Her honey-smooth voice rippled in soothing tones. “Stop it. John, you don’t want to hurt this man. Whatever it is, you can work through it without hitting each other. You don’t want to hurt each other. Listen to me. You’re here for a good time. Calm down. It’s all right.”
Serenity radiated from her. Maggie’s aura of peace extinguished the tension between the hot-tempered men like a bucket of ice water on a campfire. The two looked at each other, tension fading from their bodies. This is silly, their expressions said. Why are we doing this?
Nicolas ground to a halt between the pair. They backed off. “Lay a hand on her and I’ll tear you apart,” he growled.
Not giving them a chance to think it over, he wrapped his fingers firmly about Maggie’s wrist and tugged her back to their seats. Admiration for her courage and spunk filled him. Deep inside she possessed the qualities to battle the Morphs. Nicolas bit back frustration. First though, he must teach her to make war, not peace.
Better yet, make love. Then make war.
“What are you doing?” she protested.
“Saving your sweet little ass.”
He herded her back to the bar, barked an order for another pinot noir to the bartender. Nothing for him. He couldn’t risk another sip. Not if he had to stand ready and protect her from breaking up fights where she could get hurt.
Defiance snapped in her sea-blue eyes as they resumed their seats. The bartender set the wine down.
Nicolas pinned her with a censured look. “What the hell were you doing? They outweigh you by a hundred pounds.”
Maggie lifted her stubborn little chin. “I don’t like violence. John has already been jailed for getting into one fight. And what right do you have to interfere?”
“Same right you do.” Only more, he thought grimly. No way in hell would he allow her to endanger herself needlessly. “I had no desire to see you take a punch in the face.”
Her expression softened. “And I had no desire to see them fight. Fistfights serve no purpose.”
“They serve a great purpose when the fist is headed at your face. A man has to do what he must to protect his own.”
Her lovely mouth wobbled. “Sometimes a man is better off turning and walking away than risking violence. Men can die from a fight.”
“And there are those who seek nothing but a fight. You don’t turn and walk away from them. Because they’ll hunt you down and rip you into pieces while you’re singing the praises of peace and harmony. What would you do then, Maggie?”
Her gaze grew distant. “I’d try to negotiate.
Beg for my life, if necessary. And escape. Run.” Her voice dropped. “Anything … but fight.”
“There is no compromise. No negotiation. Run and they’ll run faster after you. Plead and they’ll ignore you. You must kill. Or be killed. Rules of the jungle, Maggie.”
“This isn’t a jungle.”
“Everywhere is a jungle. The covering is just different.” Nicolas braced his hands on the bar, scanning the crowd. The rose-gold sun had sunk into the gulf. Dark shadows spread over the sand. On the beach, the men playing volleyball laughed as they ceased the game.
Nicolas studied Maggie. Instinct urged him to see inside. Get an idea of her emotions. No. No invasion.
Her hand shook as she picked up the wineglass. Ruby liquid sloshed over the rim. Droplets splattered on the laminated counter, quivered, dark as blood. Nicolas fought a rising premonition. He gently touched her wrist, marveling at the heat sizzling between them.
“Are you okay, Maggie?”
Expression distant, guarded, she gulped down the wine. Nicolas kept quiet. Finally, she took a deep breath. Her voice cracked.
“I shouldn’t have … have come here. I knew this was a mistake. I just wanted … a little diversion. Some company. I’ve been working so hard.”
He didn’t invade her thoughts. Nicolas read her expression instead. It said she wanted to retreat to the safety of her four walls, where she didn’t have to encounter fistfights.
“What kind of work do you do?” He kept his tone casual. Inside, he ached at her wild look, like a cornered animal.
Enthusiasm chased away dark shadows from her eyes. She began talking about her practice as a veterinarian. Nicolas fired one question after another. Kept her talking, distracted her from leaving. He learned she’d been raised by a parade of indifferent foster parents after her mother and father died when she was twelve. Only after she turned fourteen did she finally have affectionate foster parents. Her foster father was a physician and encouraged Maggie’s studies.
“I skipped grades and graduated high school at sixteen and went to college. My foster father wanted me to major in premed and I was desperate to please him because he had been so good to me. It was almost … like having a real father.”
Her tiny sigh pierced him like a dart.
“I thought they both loved me as if I were their real child, until my second year of school when I knew I wanted to become a veterinarian. My foster father threatened to stop paying my tuition if I changed majors. Animal doctors weren’t as skilled as real doctors.”
Maggie’s gaze dropped to the counter. “I couldn’t force myself to comply with his wishes so they cut off all contact with me. It was challenging, but I had a few scholarships and worked through school as a phlebotomist.”
Nicolas steeled himself against the rising urge to take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “Your foster father was wrong. It takes a special skill, and empathy to treat animals. Animals don’t talk, and can’t communicate with words as to what’s wrong.” He gave a wry smile. “But in many ways, they’re easier to be around than people.”
A little laugh escaped her. “You think so, too? I had to force myself out to come here. Sometimes I don’t want to be around people, especially men. They can be such wolves.”
Nicolas raised a questioning brow.
“Not you. You don’t have that wolfish demeanor. I like you. No one else would have cared if one of those men hit me. And you’re very cute,” she blurted out.
A radiant flush tinted her cheeks. Nicolas was utterly enchanted.
“I’ve studied wolves, you know,” she confessed.
He raised a dark brow. “Oh?”
“As an undergrad. My major was zoology. I spent a summer out West working with a conservation program relocating wolves. It was fascinating watching them work as a pack. Real teamwork. Did you know that, in a pack, the beta wolf is responsible for ensuring the alpha male’s orders are carried out?”
“I’ve heard something about that,” he murmured.
She cocked her head, looking adorable. “I’m babbling. It’s the wine. I shouldn’t have had that second glass.”
Pulling out a wad of bills from her pocket, she tossed them down on the bar. Maggie stood on wobbly legs, swaying like a palm tree in a head wind. Nicolas stood, laid a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll take you home.”
Auburn curls flew as she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a short stagger down the beach.”
“Then I’ll stagger with you.” He took her elbow, steadying her as she slogged through the soft sand.
“Besides, I have to keep you safe from the Big Bad Wolf.” Nicolas winked. Maggie laughed. It was a gurgling laugh that reminded him of crystalline streams tumbling over rocks.
Wind combed through her hair. Darkness thickened, draping the beach in ebony. Yellowish light from beachfront homes and towering condominium buildings cast oblong pools on the sand. Above them, a canopy of stars glittered like tiny jewels. A sailboat, blue light bobbing atop its mast, drifted as it headed south for the inlet.
He guided her around an abandoned beach bucket threatening to trip her. Had Maggie ignored her night vision, or did the fact she never experienced the change dim her wolf senses?
Sand kicked up in little eddies as they walked. They wended through a small stand of palms. Maggie paused before a tidy, two-story whitewashed house. “Thank you for seeing me home.”
She leaned against a swaybacked palm trunk, lacing her hands behind her. Clearly in no hurry to say goodbye, leaving him standing in the dark. His night vision showed interest flaring in her deep blue eyes.
