Taming The Shifter

She did not know that he could speak in the same voice he used in his human form. She didn’t know anything about werewolves, and she could never learn because the rules of the pack were as strict as the rules of the Secret Vampire Society. Perhaps stricter, because no exceptions were ever made within the pack.

At least they hadn’t been when his father had been the leader. His uncle was unlikely to make exceptions, either, as his pride demanded he be as fearsome a leader as his brother had been—even though he was not nearly as ruthless.

“Get back,” she said, her voice soft but the command unmistakable. “I’m not going to let you finish him off.”

Finish him off? Who? Just what the hell was inside the Dumpster?

He moved closer, hoping to catch a glimpse. But on all fours, he could not see inside the metal bin. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to ease the fear that had her gripping her gun and flashlight tightly as if she was ready to use either as a weapon. But his speaking to her, in his present form, would only scare her more—and put her in more danger.

“Get away!” she said, her voice rising and cracking with her panic. “Leave me alone!”

If only he could...

Every time he left her, trouble found her. Usually here in this damn alley. He moved closer to the Dumpster, needing to know what she had found this time. He needed to know which secret she was at greater risk of discovering.

But in moving closer to the Dumpster, he also moved closer to her. The gun shook as she trained the barrel on him. “I know you can’t understand me,” she said, “but I’m begging you to just leave me—and him—alone.”

Just as he had that first night they’d met, he ignored her commands. And he surged up on his hind legs. With his front ones braced on the edge of the Dumpster, he peered inside. And now he understood her horror and the scream she had probably involuntarily uttered.

He didn’t recognize the man, but he recognized the wound. Someone had torn out the throat of the victim—as he had threatened to do to his enemy. But this man was not his enemy. Neither was Kate.

But she didn’t realize that. Trembling with fear, she stared at him—her eyes wide as if she was afraid to blink in case he attacked.

He wanted to say her name, wanted to soothe her fears. But she probably thought he’d done this— either in his present form or his other one. She had been there the night he’d made this threat to Reagan; that was why she’d shot him.

She looked about to shoot him again. But instead of backing away from her, of leaving her alone, he stepped closer. If only she could see that he was no threat to her...

That he wanted to soothe her fears.

But she breathed fast, in frantic pants. “Please, don’t make me do this...”

He wasn’t growling, wasn’t snarling—wasn’t doing anything to intimidate her but being. And that, with his mammoth size, was intimidating enough.

“Please...” The plea slipped through her lips with a whimper.

She didn’t want to shoot him tonight any more than she had that first night when she’d broken up his fight in this very alley. He understood that now. That he had left her no choice.

He had a choice—he could speak to her, could explain what he was. He wasn’t sure that she would understand, but he was sure that knowing the pack’s secret would put her in danger. No, he had no choice, either. He would rather endure whatever pain she might inflict on him than put Kate’s life at risk. But that urge to comfort and protect her had him moving closer to her.

“Stay back,” she yelled at him, as if raising her voice might make him understand—if he really was just the creature she thought he was.

He had moved too close to her—so close that he’d backed her right up against the Dumpster behind her—the Dumpster she thought held his last victim. And she was scared that she would be his next.

If only he could assure her...

But he had no choice. And neither did she.

She’d shot him once to protect another man. Tonight she lifted the gun and she shot him to protect herself.

The bullet seared through his pelt and then his skin, burying deep in his flesh. He dropped to the asphalt as blood gushed from his wound.

And he heard her scream again...

Chapter 5

His blood had been spilled again. Even in his human form, Reagan’s sense of smell was extrasensory. It was past dawn now, but no light shone into the alley. If his vision wasn’t extrasensory, too, he might not have noticed the crime scene tape cordoning off the entrance. He’d seen it as he’d stepped right over it.

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