Maisie trilled with excitement.
Full lips warmed hers as his hot tongue slipped inside her mouth. This kiss was nothing compared to the one from ten years ago. This kiss put the other one, the kiss she’d held on a pedestal and used as a benchmark for the last decade, to shame.
A storm built inside her to match the one outside. Her blood turned molten as it flowed through her veins.
Eric explored her face and neck with his mouth as he roamed her body with his hands.
She wanted more. She wanted to touch and taste, somehow erase their painful past and create a new one. She snuck her hands up his torso and splayed them against his hard chest. His heartbeat pounded against her open palm.
Did their history matter? Not right now. The mating call was gone, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other’s company. Who cared what happened after they left the cabin? Brenna certainly didn’t. Not at this moment. Not with his tongue tracing a swirling path down her neck.
Eric suddenly pulled back with a groan, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth.
The sexual fog lifted from her senses and the surrounding environment refocused. Wood burned in the fireplace, cracking and popping as the heat laved her skin. The occasional cold draft from the poorly sealed windows and doors snaked across the room, the faint smell of dish soap used to clean the couch and Eric’s clothes, the vanilla candles, the howling wind blasting through the surrounding forest outside… One sense overpowered it all.
Taste.
The taste of Eric’s chocolate-infused mouth coated her tongue.
Eric must’ve forgotten whatever it was he planned to say because he was kissing her again and making her senses sing. Her eyes started to drift shut as she enjoyed the lingering flavour teasing her taste buds.
Something large and furry crashed through the window, spraying the room with glass shards. Eric ripped his face away from hers and jumped to his feet. A wolf straightened from the ground, snarled at them, and launched into the air, straight for Brenna.
Eric moved in time to intercept the large furry wolf flying through the air. Not a normal wolf. A werewolf. His unfamiliar scent slapped her in the face. The two crashed to the floor by Brenna’s feet and rolled. The werewolf’s teeth snapping the empty air, inches from Eric’s face. He wouldn’t have time to shift to protect himself.
Heart in her throat, Brenna raced to the back room. Her brother used to stash a .22 rifle in the cold storage room, defying Canadian gun laws. She stumbled into the dark room and groped the shelf, ignoring the snarls from the other room. Her fingers ran along the cold surface of the rifle’s stock. She snatched the gun and grabbed a handful of rounds. Some fell from the shelf and tinkled as they hit the tiled floor.
She shoved the extra bullets in her pocket and slid the first round in the chamber. A single shot, bold action rifle against an angry unknown werewolf. What could go wrong?
Everything.
But she just had to distract the wolf long enough for Eric to shift. She couldn’t hear him yelling and growling anymore.
She ran back in the room. The werewolf hunched over Eric. Blood was everywhere. She pushed the bolt forward and snapped it down. Locking the rifle into her shoulder, she held the rifle firmly, flicked the safety, aimed, and pulled the trigger. With a .22 calibre, the rifle didn’t kick back, but the sound still punched her eardrums. The werewolf yipped and jumped back.
With shaking hands, Brenna pulled back the bolt. The empty casing flew out and clattered to the ground. She dug out another round and chamber. The werewolf snarled and stalked toward her. Eric lay prone in a pool of his blood by the fireplace. He wasn’t shifting. Why wasn’t he moving?
Why wasn’t the beast attacking? The wolf had stopped snarling and shook his head.
Brenna lifted the rifle and fired again. Too wide, the bullet grazed the wolf’s haunches. She had too much adrenaline rushing through her veins. She needed to breathe. Focus. Ignore the fear and take aim properly.
The werewolf glanced over his shoulder briefly before refocusing on her, stalking forward again. He still hadn’t attacked. What was wrong with him? He was huge with the typical gray wolf colouring but stood nearly twice the height and width of a normal wolf, he radiated power and intimidation. With matted fur and a tangy scent, he trained his cold gaze on Brenna and snarled. His fangs dripped with saliva and Eric’s blood.
A feral.
Nothing else explained this attack. No pack. No motive. No sense. Ferals attacked humans and other werewolves indiscriminately until they got put down. Nothing and no one could calm their rage. This one should’ve already lunged at her, but as if invisible ropes held him back, he remained put, alternating between shaking his head and growling.
Brenna pulled another bullet out of her pocket. It slipped from her fingers and fell, clinking as it bounced off the hard wood floor. Ice clamped her spine. She pulled another round from her pocket. Gripping it tightly, she placed it in the chamber, slid the bolt forward, took a breath and aimed on her exhale. The bang of the shot filled the cabin. The bullet pegged the werewolf square in the forehead. The wolf’s head snapped back.
Brenna lowered the rifle.
The wolf’s head lowered. An angry red wound marked the center of his forehead. She hit him between the eyes in the T-zone. The wolf staggered. The bullet had bounced off his supernatural skull and though it phased him, it wouldn’t down him.
Brenna reloaded. She had nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide. She tried to peer around the hulking werewolf to locate Eric. No luck.
The wolf straightened. He narrowed his cold eyes at her and leaned back, loading his weight on his hindquarters.
Oh no.
