Primal Law (Alpha Pack #1)(7)

The woman.

Again, the scent of her invaded his senses. With the danger past, he let his limp prey drop from his jaws and finally took stock, letting the aroma of citrus and vanilla fill him, the crisp, clean essence of her imprinting on every cell of his being. A strange rush fired his blood, as though the man inside the beast had mainlined a load of coke, a comparison he could honestly make. A much younger, more reckless Jaxon had flirted with the edge of no return before he'd gotten his act together and joined the Marines.

Instinct told him that the effect of this woman's scent had the potential to be twice as intoxicating as any drug, and much more dangerous to the man and to the wolf.

Turning, he saw her. Edging around the front of the dilapidated car with her hands on the hood, eyes wide with shock, trying to put the vehicle between them. The predator in him tensed, focused his attention solely on the woman, and he moved forward slowly. Began to stalk her-but not for the reason she might think.

She was slim and small, fine-boned, with a delicate face that was all angles and dominated by big sky blue eyes. Almost an elfin face, especially with the shoulder-length pale blond hair framing those sweet features. He doubted her head would reach his chin, and all things considered, she'd tuck against his chest and mold perfectly against his much bigger body.

Mine.

And why the hell would he go all possessive over a woman he didn't know? His irritation with himself emerged as a growl.

"N-nice puppy," she stammered, stumbling as she kept moving backward, around the car. "Good puppy. Aren't you p-pretty?"

The wolf snorted, which came out like a sneeze. He'd been called a lot of things, very few of them complimentary, and certainly never pretty. But from her? He could live with that.

She grabbed for the passenger door handle and tugged, only to find it locked on that side. Eyes round with fear, she stared at him, and he recognized the moment she realized she was trapped. There was nowhere to go, no escape.

The woman was his.

Kira stared at the . . . dog? Husky? Wolf?

Wolf-man?

No. She had not seen a pissed-off Rambo wannabe burst from the shadows, strip off his shirt, and turn into a big ball of fuzz. That image had to have been a product of her terrified, overwrought mind. But it had seemed so real. She blinked, studying the animal warily as it returned her regard.

The creature was huge, with creamy white fur tipped in black and gray around its face, ears, shoulders, and back. His eyes were a steely blue-gray and seemed to look straight into her soul. Despite the blood marring his coat on his right shoulder, he was beautiful.

And he'd easily ripped apart two grown men, one of them armed. Another glance at the gore confirmed that part was definitely no figment of her imagination.

He continued to advance on her, and she shrank against the passenger's side of her Camry, heart hammering in her throat. She couldn't outrun him if she tried, a fact reflected in those piercing eyes. They were eerily intelligent, almost daring her to try so he could enjoy the thrill of chasing her down.

"Nice puppy," she crooned again, voice wobbling. Holding out a shaking hand, she tried a command. "Stay!" The beast stopped, cocked his head, an almost bemused expression on his canine face. "Good boy. Sit!"

He did.

Some of her fear began to ease and she wondered how well trained the animal was. Maybe he was someone's guard dog that got lost? He'd certainly protected her from those bastards. "Roll over."

At that, the creature's form began to waver. Sort of reshape. She blinked rapidly, thinking there must be something wrong with her vision. But no, she was simply losing her mind after all, because fur retracted, became skin. Paws became hands and feet with very human limbs attached. Tufted black ears went away; the snout disappeared and was suddenly a regal nose.

And now a black-haired man crouched where the wolf had been seconds ago. A big, very naked man who unfolded his tall body and gazed down at her, one corner of his mouth quirking upward.

"I'll do a lot of things on command," he drawled lazily. "But I don't roll over for anyone, sweetheart."

Her brain fritzed. "I-I . . . you . . ." She trailed off helplessly, unable to form a coherent response.

Her eyes raked his body, and she thought he had to be about six-foot-four and more than two hundred pounds. He was pretty well ripped, his chest, long limbs, and torso sculpted with muscle. Thick, strong shoulders led to defined collarbones and a broad chest sprinkled with springy dark hair and graced by two bronzed male ni**les. His right shoulder was marred by a bloody gouge, just stopping at the edge of a large tribal tattoo of gorgeous scrollwork that spilled over the deltoid area and ran down his arm. Did it extend down his back as well? There also appeared to be some sort of design worked into the swirls on his shoulder, but she didn't pause to study it.

Her scrutiny drifted lower to his taut, ridged stomach, the dip of his hips. Skimmed down mile-long athletic legs. A network of scars twisted around his right thigh, knee, and calf, and she wondered how the terrible injury had happened, but it did nothing to detract from his physical potency. Inevitably, her attention settled at the apex of his thighs, to the proof that whatever else he might be, one hundred percent pure male stood before her now. A well-endowed man, even in repose, his impressive sex nestled in a neat thatch of curly dark hair.

A hysterical giggle escaped before she could stop it. Her wolf manscaped. How courteous, since he obviously didn't have a problem with public nudity.