tiny black dots between her legs that showed she’d removed the hair there. He wondered why she would do that. That’s where the scent was that told a male whether he wanted to mate with the female or not. Those smells told the male if the whispers spoke between them, if their offspring would be healthy and strong, and other things Jak didn’t know because he hadn’t smelled his mate yet.
“I’m thanking you for rescuing me,” she said, taking the bottom of his shirt in her hands and pulling it up and over his head. Her eyes ran over his chest, her gaze stopping on each scar one by one. Something came over her face, and he didn’t know what it was. She swallowed and took a step back, reaching out to run a finger along the worst of them, the ugly raised skin on his side that had come from the wild boar’s tusk, the one that had almost killed him. He watched her like she was a snake, and he wasn’t sure whether she was going to slither by or strike at him.
Her finger moved slowly and he hissed out a breath, the feeling of being touched by another human for the first time since he was a child making him want to fall to his knees. He wanted to push this woman—this stranger he didn’t trust—away, and he wanted to beg her not to stop. “You’ve been to battle,” she said.
He looked at her, taking his own finger and running it along the pink scar right over the removed hair between her legs and then lifting her arms where scars crossed the skin on the insides of her arms. “So have you.”
Their eyes met and her face went lighter. She looked sad. She dropped her hands. “I . . . yes.” Her voice came out choked, and the smile she wore looked like a lie. She took a deep breath and moved forward again, returning her hand to his naked skin. “Do you want me, Jak?” Before waiting for an answer, she stepped forward and put her lips on his, running her tongue along his lower lip. She gripped his head in her hands, dragging her fingernails through his hair. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t know why. He should want this. To mate. Shouldn’t he?
The feeling of her soft, wet tongue on his mouth sent lightning shooting between his legs, making him swell and harden. But even though his body wanted, there was something not right in the way she smelled to him. She smelled like berries, but ones that were too ripe and had already dropped to the ground. Too sweet. Too much. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to mate with her. And she was shaking again, but there were no goosebumps on her skin, and his cabin was warm from the fire.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He wrapped his fingers around her small wrist, taking her hand off him and her lips came away from his. “I’m not like them,” he said, rough sand in his voice, taking her by the upper arms and setting her away. He brought the blanket to her, wrapping it around her shoulders again and covering her nakedness. He didn’t know exactly who “they” were, but whatever enemy she’d run from had taken her clothes and made her scared enough to run mostly naked out into the snow, made her offer her body to him though he had not asked for it, or done anything to make her want to give it to him. He hadn’t fed her, or hunted for her, or brought her gifts that made her dance.
She stared up at him and he saw tears shining in her eyes. She nodded and walked to where she’d dropped her clothing. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt he’d outgrown long ago and handed them to her. “The seams are gone in places because I used the thread, but they’ll keep you warm. You can stay here for a little while if you need to. I have weapons.”
She smiled, and to him, it seemed sad. “You’d fight for me, wouldn’t you? A stranger.”
“Yes.”
She smiled again and used her hand to touch his cheek. “You’re very attractive, you know that? Not just here”—she turned her hand over and ran it down his face and over the bone of his jaw—“but here.” She patted the place where his heart beat under his skin.