Claiming the Wolf

In the doorway, palms to the white-painted wood frame, leaning forward and huffing as if he’d run a marathon, stood the werewolf who had rescued her. Hart. She’d never forget that name. It was ironic on this beefy hunk of wolf. And yet, she suspected she was more wrong about the irony than she could ever guess.

“What the hell?” She stepped aside as he plunged forward and landed on the sofa, hands to the back of it to support his weak stance. Had he run here? “How did you find me?”

“Followed your scent. It’s strong. And the big surprise is it runs through my system now. I can suss you anywhere. Weird.” He turned, leaning against the sofa. His muscle-strapped chest heaved and he seemed to relax as he took in the room, the bare white walls and furniture, and bright red pillows and rugs that popped like bloody stains. “Danni, right?”

“I’ll give you two minutes, wolf.” She thrust the blade up under his chin. The man didn’t flinch, yet his gray-blue eyes grew serious and his breaths calmed to silence as if a ninja preparing for the kill. “What do you want?”