The fucking thing howled like an unholy creature from a monster movie.
Run, dammit. Get out of—
She couldn’t move, not even to swallow. Holy crap, what was happening? Darkness surrounded Gwen, pressing in. Goose pimples rose on her arms from the clammy air. She shivered.
A strong arm, a man’s, tightened around her, holding her close. Who was he? Why was he doing this?
The answer edged close, only to skitter away. She struggled to bring it back and wished she hadn’t, suddenly recalling a sharp prick on her neck, followed by a stinging sensation. The dart she couldn’t pull out. Falling to her knees in the alley. An ugly goon dragging her deeper into the shadows, toward an area that was too cold. Weird whirring sounds from some kind of motor that hadn’t been there before. A wolf attacking.
She sucked in a breath.
The man caressed Gwen as though to quiet her fear. Heat seeped from his body, penetrating her damp clothes. He was clearly strong and carrying her. To where?
The hospital? Was he a paramedic? Had the thug or the wolf injured her? If so, why wasn’t he using a gurney? Where was the ambulance?
Gwen fought like hell not to black out. Her lids were weighted, impossible to part, similar to when she’d had too much to drink. More pictures flickered in her mind.
She was back outside the hospital, her gaze locked with the guy she’d seen there tonight. He smiled at her as he had earlier, the gesture welcoming, engaging, filled with male heat and promise she couldn’t resist.
Was he the one who carried her? How was that possible?
Her arms swung back and forth with his next steps, these uneven as though he was climbing a set of stairs. His shoes smacked against them, the pressure of their combined weights causing the wood to groan. The odor of damp vegetation obscured all other scents. Branches rustled in the persistent wind. Rain drummed hard, sounding like someone typing at warp speed on a computer keyboard.
She heard the rasp of metal against metal and tried to place the sound. Had he inserted a key into a lock?
Hinges squealed briefly as he opened the door…an all too familiar noise. As known to Gwen as the home’s scents, lavender and vanilla from the Febreze that Staci, her cousin and roomie, always sprayed.
He’d brought Gwen to the modest house she rented? How did he know she lived here? Had she told him? When?
She worked her mouth, trying to ask. Hell, she would have been happy to make one frigging sound but couldn’t. Helpless and silent, she recorded his entrance into her home. The hardwood floors registered his movements just as the outside stairs had. He closed the door, then negotiated the darkened interior with surprising ease, not bumping into the coatrack or disturbing the beaded curtain Staci had hung in the living room’s arched doorway.
The multicolored crystals clacked against each other with the blast of air that had pushed inside. Wind chimes near the front window tinkled like tiny bells, not slowing his pace in the least.
He moved with confidence, as though he’d been inside countless times and knew the layout…or he could see very well in the dark.
Into the hall he went, bypassing rooms. Gwen worried that Staci would come out of her own room and ask what was going on. Not a smart move. The girl had barely survived the so-called accident her former boyfriend had caused. Who knew what this shit would bring?
Just stay where you are. Do not make a sound.
Staci didn’t. Rain pattering the roof and the man’s steady breathing were all that broke the silence.
With that, Gwen remembered…her cousin was still at the hospital, working her shift at the gift shop. If Staci stopped for a drink or dinner before returning home or if she decided to study for her classes, she wouldn’t be back for hours.
Relief flooded Gwen. A curious sense of well-being banished her concern, not only for her cousin but also for herself. From the drug the thug in the alley had put in her?
James Dobson, Kurt Bruner