Wild Invitation A Psy Changeling Anthology - By Nalini Singh Page 0,14

a thousand knots.

"Stop staring at him," she muttered noiselessly to herself. She hadn't said much more than hello to him for the past forty-eight hours, but if she didn't keep her eyes to herself, he'd figure out just how hard it was for her to maintain her distant air. She ached for him and the ache was a pulsing beat in every inch of her skin...and worse in lower, hotter places.

Breaking the connection through sheer effort of will, she focused on the dancers in the middle of the Circle. They were part of an impromptu gathering sparked by the full yellow moon, a happy diversion from the general air of wary alertness that had gripped DarkRiver since the attack by the ShadowWalkers. That wasn't to say that their defenses were compromised.

Those on watch were being spelled by off-duty packmates so everyone could join in the fun.

And it was fun - warm, friendly, brilliantly alive. Several people had pulled out instruments and the music was energetic and strong. She clapped along with the players, and when Lucas came to offer her his hand, she took it with a smile. "Watch out, I've got two left feet."

He grinned, the savage markings on one side of his face - markings he'd been born with - making him look more panther than boy. "Good thing I don't scare easy."

Laughing, she let him swirl her around in an energetic dance that required enough of her concentration that she almost stopped thinking about Nate.

When the tall juvenile snapped her back into his arms, she was breathless.

"You're in a good mood," she said, glad to see him happy for once.

There was darkness in Lucas, such darkness. She knew it would be there until the day he took vengeance on those who had stolen his family from him. He was four years younger than her, but looking into those eyes, she saw not a child but a man. Lucas would one day be an alpha of incredible strength, of that she had no doubt.

He held her closer, touching her with the easy friendliness of Pack. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and swayed to the gentler beat that had replaced the pounding dance music.

"So?"

"So I thought you needed to be held." The words were blunt, the tone affectionate.

"Thank you. I did." There was no need to lie. Not with Pack.

"Dorian said you don't want us to beat some sense into Nate." He sighed as if in disappointment. "Are you sure?" She laughed at his teasing. "I like him in one piece, but thanks for the offer."

"Do you want to dance with him?

'Cause he's heading this way."
Happiness Chapter 7

SHE SMELLED THE rich earthiness of Nathan's distinctive scent before she could answer. It hit her system like a drug. An instant later, the heavy weight of his hand dropped on to her hip. "Luc. Go find a girl your own age."

Lucas released her. "I think I like sexy older women - why don't I keep Tammy and you find someone else?" Nate's growl was met with unrepentant laughter as Lucas threw Tammy a wink and walked away. She paid little attention to the exchange, her entire body focused on Nate as he placed both his hands low on her hips and pulled her back against his chest.

"What the hell are you wearing?" He spoke against her ear, his breath hot.

It was an effort to think. "Jeans and a sweater. Is that a crime?"

"The sweater is orange and anyone can see down your cleavage."

She forced herself to laugh. "Nate, the vee isn't that deep and the color is soft peach, not orange." It went beautifully with her hair and eyes, throwing up golden highlights she'd never have believed possible.

"It's fucking painted on your body, just like your jeans."

"Watch your mouth, Nathan Ryder." Firming up her tone, she put her hands over his and began to sway against him.

It wasn't a calculated act - her body simply craved the contact. "I'm nineteen years old. This is what women my age wear."

His breath seemed to catch for an instant. "You don't."

No, she didn't. It had always seemed to her that she shouldn't aggravate the situation between them by being deliberately sexual. But tonight, she'd followed Juanita's advice again and gone wild. The jeans - bought on a whim in New York - shaped her butt, and from the good-natured whistles she'd inspired in male packmates, it wasn't a bad butt.

As for the long-forgotten sweater, baggy when she'd been a gangly thirteen, it