“I’m so sorry. Here I am with a mate that I’m not sure I want, and you desire someone you can’t have.” I shook my head amazed by the irony.
Misty was a beautiful young woman, close to my age. She wore her fiery hair in a textured shag that framed her waiflike features. Her skin was creamy, free of any blemishes. Like me, she had emerald eyes. She was petite, with narrow hips and small breasts. I always felt too shapely around pixies like Misty. Any man would be thrilled to have a woman (werewolf) like her.
“Goodness! I didn’t mean to get all mushy about my …” She looked up, embarrassed.
“Forget it,” I countered. “I’m the master of mushy. Ask Zane.”
“Speaking of Zane,” she paused, her tentative expression revealing the uncertainty she felt broaching the subject. “He loves you …”
I started to interrupt but thought better of it when I noticed the gleam in Misty’s eyes. She was determined to have her say.
“He was never really interested in Jazmine. Numerous females have tried to seduce Zane. Many have been disappointed. Any female I know would be honored to have Zane Marshall for a mate or husband.”
“Those females are the same species. I’m human. This match just isn’t right.” I struggled to remember the reasons why a relationship with Zane wasn’t acceptable. The biggest barrier I could come up with was his bull-headedness, which if I were honest with myself, rivaled my own. Admitting how much we were alike wasn’t easy.
“You love him. I can see it in the way you look at him when you think no one is watching. Passion sizzles between you two like bacon in a frying pan.”
The bacon comparison was too much. I couldn’t stop the laughter. It intruded into our serious discussion, causing Misty to double over; her own melodic giggles sending me into a renewed frenzy. Several customers shot annoyed glances our way as we continued to escalate, releasing any previous tension that might have lingered between us.
Choking back tears, I somehow sputtered, “Bacon? I can’t believe you described our attraction as sizzling bacon.”
“So maybe it was a bit melodramatic,” she said, still fighting for control.
Much to the pleasure of the nearby tables, a stern-faced waiter chose that moment to deliver our check. Grabbing my arm, Misty led me to the cashier and signed her name on the bill. “Being the owner’s sister has certain benefits.”
“Free food is always a perk,” I agreed, pleased to have met Misty. Laughter in the midst of my present situation was good medicine.
“Would you like to walk around the grounds outside? It’s like exploring a jungle without the danger,” she offered. “I promise that my brother and your mat … husband will be wrapped up in their plotting session for hours.”
Knowing she was probably right and eager to have some danger-free fun, I found myself agreeing.
It was apparent that Misty had been right in her description of the resort’s grounds. They were amazing, especially the sound effects. An authentic roar caused me to grab Misty’s arm. Instead of laughing at my reaction, she tensed, raising a finger to her lips.
In the same fluid manner that I’d seen Zane move, she lowered herself into a defensive crouch. Like Zane, her eyes changed to scarlet as she surveyed our surroundings.
Remembering my own talent, I probed the area with my mind, seeking anything out of the ordinary. It didn’t take long to locate another nonhuman presence.
She smells so good. I want to taste her flesh, her blood. But, no-o-o-o-o, Jazmine needs the little bitch intact. Maybe one bite?
Hoping that Zane would hear me at this distance, I blasted the thought to him. Logan had suggested that as mates our telepathic communication abilities might increase.
“Get behind me!” Misty hissed.
The familiar vibration hummed through the air, preceding an explosion of clothes from her tiny frame. For a brief second I saw her nakedness; then she was on all fours covered in luscious grey and silver fur. Though not as big as the male wolves, she was still magnificent.
A snarl tore from her throat as our enemy stalked from the brush. So much for no danger in the make-believe jungle.
“Just give the human to me and I’ll let you live,” the hulk-of-a-man growled. “You hardly know her. She’s just a pitiful little girl.” Flashing a knife, he grinned menacingly, taunting us.
Seeing the crazed look on his face had the opposite effect on me than it should have. Instead of scaring me,