Squaring his shoulders as if resigned to his fate, he slowly turned to face her. His hair was short on the sides and longer on the top, and his face carried a few days’ worth of scruff that emphasized his square jaw, making him look dangerous and even more attractive than he probably had a right to. His eyes were a deep, rich chocolate brown, piercing but somehow soft at the same time.
She was well on her way to getting lost in those eyes when she suddenly realized she recognized him. He was the hunter she’d let get away. A hunter who was a werewolf.
She would have made a crack about how insane this entire situation was, but the expression on his face stopped her. For a guy who had an obvious confidence about him, he looked completely and utterly lost.
He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry I’ve been following you, but something’s happening to me and I think you’re the only one who can help.” When she didn’t say anything, he took a deep breath and continued. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think I’m turning into a werewolf.”
Rachel couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was either that or start crying at the poetic irony that would make poor William Shakespeare choke on his writing quill.
“You’re a werewolf?” she said. “Well, all I can say to that is, no shit, Sherlock.”
* * *
Knox had envisioned his first face-to-face meeting with Rachel hundreds of times. But in absolutely none of those visions had he imagined the woman laughing at him. Yet that was what she was doing, as if his confession that he thought he was turning into a werewolf was the funniest thing in the world.
He had to admit she was even more beautiful up close—in a wild, almost feral way—and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. Her long, blond hair was in disarray from chasing him at light speed through the streets, and her fair skin was glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Which was crazy, considering she wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothes, and the temperature had to be thirty degrees tonight.
He tried not to gawk at her long, toned legs, but he couldn’t help it. They were as perfect as the rest of her, right down to her bare feet.
Knox didn’t realize how hard he’d been staring at her body until he lifted his head to find her light-brown eyes locked on him, brow arched in an expression that might have been amusement. Or anger. He wasn’t entirely sure which.
“What? You have a problem with being a werewolf?” she demanded, her southern drawl sexy as hell. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a hunter. You kill werewolves for fun and now you are one. Ain’t that a bitch?”
Knox really wasn’t sure what to say to that. This really wasn’t the way he’d expected this conversation to go.
“So, are you going to help me, or what?” he asked.
For the first time, it occurred to him that he might have wasted his time chasing her all over the country. To her, he was one of the people who’d tried to kill werewolves like her—attacked her and her friends at a wedding reception no less. Why the hell would she ever want to do anything to help him? Damn, he’d been so stupid. But from the moment he’d seen her at that wedding reception at the SWAT compound, he’d felt like there was something there.
“What kind of help do you think I can give you?”
Her tone had softened, giving him hope. At least for a moment.
“I’m hoping you can tell me how this happened. Because I know I never got bitten by a werewolf. More importantly, how do I make it go away?”
Rachel regarded him thoughtfully, as if deciding whether she wanted to help him or not. Finally, she jerked her chin toward the mouth of the alley. “Come on. This conversation is going to take a while, and there’s a pot of coffee in my apartment with my name on it.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed toward the street. Knox stared after her for a moment, then hurried to catch up. She didn’t say anything on the way to her place and he didn’t want to press his luck by trying to engage her in conversation. When they got there, Rachel had to climb up to the balcony since she didn’t have her key while she insisted he take the traditional way through the apartment building’s front door then went up to the second floor and waited for her to let him in.
Rachel’s place was small but appeared bigger thanks to the light-colored paint on the walls and open floor plan. The earthy tones she’d used to decorate gave the apartment a warm, homey feel, as did the landscape paintings and framed photos of what he assumed were family and friends on the built-in bookcase along one wall of the living room.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, gesturing to the tan-colored couch and matching love seat.
Knox did as she suggested, opting for the love seat. He expected her to head into the kitchen for that coffee she mentioned, but instead, she walked down the hall and into what he presumed was the bathroom. A moment later, he heard the water running and what sounded like a soft grunt of pain.
“You okay in there?” he called.
“Just picking out pieces of glass I got stuck in my feet running after you. I’m fine.”
That sounded painful. And made him feel guilty for making her chase him. He hadn’t intended for that to happen. No, the original plan had been simple. Stop by Rachel’s apartment and knock on her door. Instead, he’d hung around across the street from her building like the stalker he’d become until she went to bed. Or at least he thought she’d gone to bed. He wasn’t quite sure because she hadn’t shut off any of the lights.
He’d just been about to leave when he’d heard her scream. The terror in it had cut right through him and he’d lost it.
The next thing he knew, he was on her second-floor balcony. He’d been this close to busting through the sliding glass door when Rachel had wandered out of her bedroom, slick with sweat and looking like death warmed over. Despite how crappy she’d looked, Knox was relieved she was safe and unharmed. While he knew it wasn’t possible, for a moment, it almost seemed like he could actually hear her heart pounding. The idea that something could scare a werewolf like her shocked him. He’d been so busy trying to wrap his mind around that he hadn’t even realized she was walking toward the balcony.
He’d hurdled the railing, hitting the street below like a bag of bricks thrown from a moving car. The pain was intense but, oddly, not as bad as it probably should have been. Nothing broke, so it was definitely a small price to pay to avoid getting caught.
Not that his clumsy escape had done much good. Somehow, Rachel had seen him and leaped off the balcony like a graceful gazelle. She’d chased him down like a barefoot bloodhound on crack, catching him with ridiculous ease.
