Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,18

It was staggering how quickly her reality was going to change when she was ready to accept it.

He hadn’t known Emelia long, but he knew she was full of life with a bright, bubbly spirit. She didn’t ask to be tugged down into their twisted pack dynamic. She wasn’t born a werewolf like the others in his pack—how could she be expected to understand a world filled with werewolves and Luminaries and pack mentalities?

Sighing, Emelia rolled over to face Drake, and tossed the sheets off her body like it was a sweltering summer night. She threw her arms over her head and moaned, robbing the moisture from Drake’s lips. Her tank top had drifted up, revealing a flat stomach and a sexy little belly button…with a silver ring hooked through it. Drake’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. He took back every nasty thought he’d ever had about piercings being trashy or unnecessary or frivolous. All he could think about was smudging kisses over her stomach and gently raking that ring through his teeth.

“Raul, I want you to check into movements of Silas’s European group.” Drake steeled himself for the words. “They’ve remained small and mobile, but I think we have some guys who can track them. I hate to think Silas would stoop this low and try to kill Emelia before we complete the bond, but I’d be stupid not to look into it.”

“Will do, sir.” He let himself out without a sound.

Drake leaned forward, his gaze skimming over Emelia’s succulently rounded breasts, the long, slender curve of her neck, and her petal-pink lips. Her skin was remarkably pale against his black satin sheets. She looked like a porcelain doll with a wild mane of blond hair.

He didn’t want to think Silas’s yearn for total dominance would cause him to send out a hit on an innocent woman, but he couldn’t ignore the humming in his gut, either.

Something wasn’t right.

Chapter Six

Emelia smelled the doughnuts before she saw them. Her stomach rumbled, and for a split second she’d forgotten everything: the biker, the attack, Drake.

She gasped, shooting out of bed. Good Lord, it wasn’t even her bed. It was a steel-poster king-size bed built for a mammoth. The black-cherry covers had been folded back and the satin sheets had been pulled up. Someone had covered her.

Instinctively, Emelia clutched at her chest. Beneath her hands, her ribs were sore and tender to the touch, but a tank top covered her breasts and pants covered her bottom. She was still dressed.

Thank God.

Where the hell was she? The room was cloaked in shadow, with heavy drapes covering the entire wall on the left side of the room. A flat-screen television—had to be at least a 90-inch, the biggest she’d ever seen outside of a theater—was mounted on the wall in front of her, and below that was a small table filled with breakfast goodies.

Towers of pancakes, an opened box of doughnuts, plates full of bacon and sausage, and—heavenly Keurig above—coffee ripped Emelia out of bed. She scrambled to the table, shoved the first cup she spotted under the Keurig machine and punched brew. The lapping sound of coffee hitting porcelain made her stomach clench into a hard fist.

How long had it been since she’d eaten? She was starving…and determined to mow down the entire breakfast spread before someone opened the door and caught her. She shoved a doughnut into her mouth, chomped away, and chased it with a taste of coffee. If she was going to get out of here, wherever “here” was, she would need her strength. Yup, that was it: doughnuts plus coffee equaled strength. She’d always been killer at math.

She groaned, savoring the sticky glaze of the doughnut, as someone knocked on the door. Nearly choking down the food, Emelia frantically searched for a way out. Windows? Bathroom? Could she fit under the bed?

“Emelia, you awake?”

Drake.

“Mmeah,” she fumbled with a mouthful. “But donncomein, I’mmnotdecent.”

The knob turned anyway. Damn it. Emelia dropped the mangled doughnut on the table, set down the coffee, and wiped her mouth with sticky fingers.

Drake strode inside the room and flicked on the light, stopping when their eyes met. Emelia felt like a deer in headlights, frozen when every instinct in her body should’ve been screaming at her to scramble out of there. He wore dark dress pants slung low on his hips and a steel-gray dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned to mid-chest. Ripples of tan muscle bulged beneath the shirt,