After Twilight Page 23

  Donavon. Irish Catholic. That made sense. The feather-soft feel of the mattress beneath her sang a siren’s song. It would beat a sleeping bag on the hard ground, and she’d gotten very little sleep the previous night. But she couldn’t sleep, anyway. Not until she knew if Rick Donavon would be all right, or if she needed to get him to a doctor. She glanced down at him.

  He looked at peace despite the unnatural sheen of his skin. His lashes were dark, thick, and enviably long. His every feature looked as if it had been specially designed to fit his face. Puzzle pieces that made up a striking picture. Stephanie glanced away. She shouldn’t gawk at him while he lay helpless.

  She’d obviously been on her own for too long. Cut off from civilization. Once, she’d thought this was the life she wanted—the life she needed. But three years of solitude had taken its toll. She missed her parents—missed being part of a family. And then there was the matter of men, or the lack of them in her life. Studying her patient, she had to admit that her first reaction to seeing him naked had surprised her. Immediate lust was not an emotion that she’d ever experienced before.

  As if he sensed her appraisal of him, Rick tossed, mumbling incoherently. Stephanie placed a hand against his forehead, more careful this time. He still felt too warm, but not so hot that she thought desperate measures should be taken. She’d give him a while longer. If his fever broke, chances were he’d be all right. If it didn’t, she’d have to figure out how to haul him to her Jeep. All six feet three inches, probably close to two hundred pounds of him. The other side of the bed tempted her. She moved around him and climbed onto the soft mattress. Weary, she closed her eyes. She just wanted to rest them for a moment.

  The hunters chased him again. Only this time, the men had hair on their faces and long fangs like the werewolves Rick had once laughed about in old black-and-white movies. They growled and snapped, their mouths flecked with foam, their eyes glowing red.

  Ahead of him, a woman stepped out of the trees. An angel with blond flowing hair and eyes the color of the forest in early spring. She held out her arms, beckoning him to safety. Rick went willingly into her embrace. It had been too long since he’d held a woman, kissed one, made love to one. Those were human pleasures, and not for the likes of him.

  Her hair smelled like wildflowers, felt silky beneath his fingertips. The full contours of her breasts pressed against him. She smelled good, felt good, and he wanted to taste her lips. They were petal-soft beneath his. After a moment of no response, she opened to him. He kissed her deeply, his hunger for her building, his senses so much stronger now.

  Her body heat rose, fanning the flames of his passion. It was hell, wanting her, but it was heaven, too. Glorious to experience so human an emotion, and agony to know he had no right. The dream shifted. He suddenly sensed her withdrawal—the moment her mind rejected him.

  He clung to the fantasy, unwilling to give it up, to surrender either the pleasure he felt with her or the wonder of being merely mortal. He moved on top of her, pressing her down. His fingers clamped around her wrists, forcing them up over her head. The scent of fear mingled with her intoxicating natural fragrance. He hesitated, the man in him understanding that her reaction was not one of compliance, the animal urging him to continue regardless of her wishes.

  A moment later, pain ripped through his groin. He moaned and rolled off her. The soft, sensuous ripples of the dream gave way to a whirlpool of emotions. He opened his eyes, the brightness of day cutting into his skull. A woman stood above him, her green eyes narrowed, lips swollen and shirt gaping open. He remembered her, the angel in his dream, the woman who’d barged in on him in the shower—the same one who’d spared his worthless life.

  “I thought I was dreaming,” he said.

  Her labored breathing caused her breasts to strain against the gaping shirt, affording him a tantalizing view.

  “Well, you weren’t,” she huffed. “If you’re well enough to do that, you’re well enough for me to leave.”

  And she did. She stormed from the room. Rick groaned and rolled off the bed. He swayed but caught himself. The tranquilizer drugs that had done a number on his system earlier were beginning to wear off. His head still felt a little fuzzy, but he recalled a couple things all too clearly, his hunger for the woman, and the fact that he’d behaved like a rutting beast instead of a man. She was out the door by the time he reached the living area.

  The smell of coffee hung heavy on the air. He rushed outside, cursing when a splinter from the wooden porch sliced into his toe. The woman had already made it down the steps.

  “Hey!” he shouted. When she didn’t respond, he called, “Stephanie, would you stand still long enough for me to apologize?”

  She stopped. Slowly she turned to face him. He noticed that her shirt had been rebuttoned—all the way to her neck.

  “How did you know my name? I don’t remember introducing myself.”

  Seldom did Rick recall the nights he ran wild with the wolves. But he remembered the scene just before dawn, the meeting between the men and this woman, Stephanie Shane. He recalled her bravery, pieces of conversation, and how she’d stood up to the men. The rest blurred, he supposed because his mind had shifted between man and beast.

  “You must have told me at some point, or I wouldn’t know.”

  “I suppose,” she admitted, then lifted a brow. “You were saying something about an apology?”

  Rick wasn’t sorry he’d kissed her. If given half a chance, he’d kiss her again. “I’m sorry if I did anything you didn’t want me to do.”

  “That little introduction between my knee and your crotch should have been a clear indication that I didn’t want you to do anything to me. And I don’t count that as an apology. Good-bye, Dr. Donavon, and good riddance.”

  She wheeled away and stomped off. He had to admire her sass. His gaze lowered and he admired the way she looked walking away, too. Rick started to call out, but thought better of it. Let her dislike him, consider him a beast, believe the worst, because it was the truth. She should steer clear of him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The fading scent of her fragrance clung to his clothes.

  His head still pounded. He turned and walked back inside the cabin. He’d experimented with drugs before, hoping he could knock himself out before the change claimed him. It hadn’t worked. Nothing had. For three years he’d suffered his curse. Been trapped in a nightmare—had awakened during the stages of the full moon with the taste of blood in his mouth, the stench of death clinging to his skin. Stephanie Shane’s intrusion into his life only made the nightmare worse. She was a reminder of all he could not have.

  Rick moved into the bedroom. Her jacket lay draped over an old rocker that had belonged to his grandmother. He collapsed on the bed. The drugs, along with his need for sleep, caused him to drift off. He awoke abruptly, his heart pounding. He glanced toward the window and the darkness beyond. Lifting a hand, he stared at the thick hair that hadn’t been there earlier. Pain ripped through him. He doubled up, clutching his gut.

  Sounds of bones popping, changing, rearranging themselves made his stomach churn. That along with the intolerable pain. He fought the change just as he always did, knowing that, as always, he would lose in the end. Pain shot through his gums. He knew without looking into a mirror that his teeth were growing, becoming canine. He howled at the injustice of it all and tore at his clothing. Usually, he stripped before the change took place. Tonight, he supposed he’d hoped that because he’d felt a man’s needs, a man’s desires earlier, it would be different. He’d hoped that Stephanie Shane might save him again. Save him from himself. But hope waned, and without it, he gave in to the inevitable.

  • • •

  Stephanie awoke with an immediate sense of danger. Cold air drifted through the flap she’d left open on her tent. Darkness had fallen. She sat up and came face to face with a wolf. Her breath caught in her throat. A pair of glowing eyes stared directly into hers. The saliva dried up in her mouth. She sensed tha
t to move or to make a sound would instigate an attack.

  Her dart gun was in the pocket of the jacket she’d left at Rick Donavon’s cabin. She didn’t have a weapon, not even a stick to beat the animal off should it attack. There was nothing she could do but stare helplessly back at the wolf. That and silently beg for it to leave. The animal leaned forward, sniffing her hair. It sneezed, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  What did it want? She had no food in her tent. Stephanie had learned long ago that anything edible should be kept in storage containers inside her Jeep when camping. Of course, she was edible. Rick Donavon had said the wolves were hungry and that was the reason they attacked sheep.

  A flash of teeth showed in the darkness. The animal yawned, shook his head, then sauntered out. Even though the animal had left, she was afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

  A distant howl raised the hackles on the back of her neck. Would this one answer the call? Invite others to join him? She scrambled to the tent flap and tried to zip it closed. Her hands shook badly. Once she accomplished the act, Stephanie searched the floor for her flashlight.

  The sudden presence of light calmed her. She crept to the flap and unzipped it enough to shine her flashlight around the area. The wolf stood close by. The light helped her see him better, and she swore it was the same wolf she’d tracked before dawn. He was as big and as black, but when he moved, she dismissed the possibility. This wolf did not limp, showed no signs of injury.

  She followed his movements until he disappeared; then she sat back and took in deep gulps of air. What a strange place. She’d never had such close encounters with wolves before. Usually, they were timid, and she had to chase after them or hide cameras in order to observe the animals. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d gotten a close glimpse of not just one, but two wolves. Too close.

  Stephanie crawled to her sleeping bag and climbed inside. The adrenaline rushing through her veins would make sleep impossible, at least until she calmed down. What she needed was a distraction from her recent encounter with the wolf.

  Rick’s handsome face immediately surfaced, offering a solution. She didn’t want to think about that wolf, either. Not his ruggedly handsome features, or his magnificent body. She certainly didn’t want to think about that kiss, or the fact that she had responded to him before she’d realized what she was doing—what he was doing. She really had been on her own for too long, and thoughts of Rick Donavon weren’t helping her to relax one bit.

  Other thoughts drifted to her. Remembrances of her childhood. The happy days before too much sadness had entered her life. Gradually, she drifted off to sleep. She dreamt of wolves, and of Rick Donavon, but the dream became jumbled, and somewhere along the way, she had trouble distinguishing between the two. The wolves and the man.

  Chapter Three

  The night had been a long one. Stephanie rose at the crack of dawn and placed her cameras in strategic places around the area. She scrambled eggs in a sturdy cast iron skillet over a fire, feeling as if she hadn’t rested at all. She glanced at the bandage around her wrist.

  The bite needed further attention. She berated herself for not making it a priority. Oddly enough, she felt no discomfort beneath the bandage, which she supposed was the reason she’d been lax in giving the injury proper care. She planned to examine the bite as soon as she finished breakfast.

  After stirring the eggs again, she rose and stretched. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply of the crisp, pine-scented air. When she opened them, movement directly ahead caused her to stiffen. An animal had darted from behind one tree to another. One too large to be a squirrel or a rabbit. Stephanie eased back down and grabbed a sturdy stick she’d used to poke the fire.

  A twig snapped. A larger shape came into view. She dropped the stick, but on second thought, moved it within easy reach. Rick Donavon strolled into her campsite, her jacket draped over one arm, a thermos tucked under the other.

  “I brought coffee,” he said, lifting the thermos. “A peace offering.”

  His dark good looks nearly took her breath away. She had to remind herself to breathe… and not to stare. “I could have used that jacket earlier,” she grumbled, stirring the eggs.

  He walked over and sat beside her. “I see your mood hasn’t improved since we parted company. Still mad about that little kiss?”

  Her face heated. It had not been a little kiss. Tongues and groping had been involved. “I’ve already forgotten about that,” she lied.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him frown. His expression almost made her smile. His next words kept her from giving in.

  “Then you’re just naturally cranky in the mornings?”

  She looked at him. “I am not.”

  “Unsociable?”

  “Not as a rule.” She leaned down, dug two tin cups from one of her packs, and shoved them at him. “Make yourself useful and pour.”

  Rather than take the containers, he took her wrist. “What happened here?”

  The warmth of his touch penetrated the flimsy bandage. She was unnaturally aware of him. The deep sound of his voice. The gentleness of his touch. The clean soap-and-water smell of him. “Guess I got too close to the wolf I was tracking yesterday.”

  His gaze snapped to her face. “Did it bite you?”

  She laughed over the sudden concern mirrored on his face. “Probably barely broke the skin. It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Let me see it,” he demanded.

  Stephanie snatched her wrist away. “You’re not a doctor. Not an M.D., anyway.”

  “Humor me.”

  Since she had planned on tending the bite, she unwound the bandage. Light bloodstains marked the inner gauze, but when she looked at her wrist, she had trouble believing her eyes. There was no wound. No teeth marks. Nothing.

  “That’s strange,” she whispered. “I could have sworn he bit me.”

  “You’re certain?”

  She glanced up and found the vet’s face too close for comfort. His eyes were intense, searching. Stephanie shrugged. “Obviously not. I must have been mistaken.”

  “Did you examine your wrist after it happened?”

  His questions wore on her nerves. She still felt confused by her lack of an injury. It didn’t make sense. She had felt the animal’s teeth sink into her flesh.

  “There was no time, and it was dark inside my tent. I just poured disinfectant over my wrist and wrapped a bandage around it.”

  “Did the disinfectant sting? Like the skin had been broken?”

  Sighing, she answered, “The skin wasn’t broken or I’d have teeth marks, or at least scratches. Even a scratch or two couldn’t have healed this quickly. It isn’t possible. Could I have a cup of coffee now?”

  For a moment, he looked as if he wouldn’t drop the matter. He finally turned his attention to pouring the coffee, but she noticed that his hands shook.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked, noting that his eyes looked clear. Still, she was concerned about the shaking.

  He shoved a coffee cup toward her. “I bounce back quickly.”

  Lifting the cup, Stephanie breathed in the scent before she took a sip. “What was wrong with you yesterday?”

  Rick shrugged. “Twenty-four-hour bug, or maybe too many beers with the guys the night before.”

  “You should learn to dodge those silver bullets,” she said, giving her eggs another stir.

  His head turned toward her. “What?”

  “Isn’t there a brand of beer called a silver bullet?”

  He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. “Oh, yeah, those silver bullets.”

  Something he’d said yesterday still bothered her. The words he’d spoken and the suffering she’d seen in his eyes. Stephanie moved the eggs from the fire and turned to him. “When you were ill, you asked me to kill you.”

  The cup he held stopped halfway to his mouth. His face flushed slightly. “You know how hangovers are. Sometimes you just want to be put out of your misery.”

&n
bsp; She couldn’t so easily dismiss his plea, whether he was out of his head with fever or not. “I’ve never seen anyone react that way to alcohol. Food poisoning has been known to bring on fever and chills, but—”

  “That was probably the culprit,” he interrupted. “I tend to eat my meat too raw.”

  Stephanie shuddered. “You shouldn’t eat meat at all. I’m a vegetarian.”

  For some reason, he found her declaration funny. When he laughed, she noticed how straight and white his teeth were.

  “You find that amusing?” she asked.

  Still smiling, he said, “A vegetarian veterinarian. Try saying that three times fast.”

  She laughed, too, breaking a little of the tension. The smell of cooked eggs made her stomach rumble. She felt starved but didn’t want to eat in front of him. That left only one alternative. “Would you care for breakfast?”

  His smile faded. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. You know what they say? Feed a stray and it’ll just keep hanging around.”

  Stephanie thought it would be best if he didn’t hang around. She had trouble keeping her eyes off him. Although he claimed to feel better, she thought he looked tired. Which reminded her of why she felt exhausted.

  “I had a late night visitor,” she said.

  A dark brow rose.

  “A wolf,” she continued. “It was very strange. I woke up and he was inside my tent, staring at me.”

  The cup in his hand shook again. He set it down. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming? Wolves don’t usually—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “They usually avoid people. But I wasn’t dreaming, and I could have sworn it was the same wolf the hunters had wounded. But when I followed him outside, I noticed he wasn’t limping, showed no sign of injury at all, so it couldn’t have been the same animal.”

  “You should leave,” he said. “It could be dangerous here for you.”