Under Her Skin (10 page)

He didn't slow to catch his breath when Osborne answered the phone. "Who fired?" Nathan asked.

"I did. It's Mark Fuller, hopped up on something. He took off, out of the house."

"Injuries?"

"Not me or Miss Letty, sir. I hit Fuller but it didn't slow him down."

"Did he have a weapon?"

"If he did, he didn't use it."

All right. "Hold your position. We're coming up on the house now."

Or
he
was. Nathan disconnected, searching for Emma. Her tracks followed the footprints across the wide, moonlit clearing that separated his house from the woods, but he didn't see her or Fuller.

He stopped, used the wide trunk and low branches of a pine at the clearing's edge for cover. The shadows around the house were deep; movement near the back porch caught his eye.

Fuller. Hunched over, and using an eerie, loping gait that sent prickles of dread down Nathan's spine. That gait didn't look human or wolf, but simply
in
human. Moonlight reflected in Fuller's eyes as he turned his head.

He stopped, straightened—and stared directly at Nathan.

Nathan held his breath, but his hopes that Fuller had just been searching the tree line and couldn't see him were dashed when he hunched over again and began loping toward him. An eager, hungry growl carried across the clearing.

Nathan stepped out of the trees, set his feet, steadily aimed his gun. "Drop to the ground, Fuller! Get down, or I
will
fire!"

The werewolf kept running—grinning, panting.

Nathan squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed the snow behind Fuller's left leg. But he kept on coming.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of Nathan's neck; he fired again: an abdomen shot that twisted Fuller to the side, briefly, before the bastard righted himself. If anything, he seemed to run
faster
. Nathan had time for one more shot. The chest was a bigger target than the head. The head was a kill shot.

His next bullet ripped through Fuller's scalp, laid white bone open to the moonlight. He didn't miss a step.

Nathan stumbled back, searching for the tree branch. He'd get higher, defend himself from a better position, if he had time.

A dark form raced across the clearing and launched at Fuller. Nathan heard the impact of flesh and bone, saw the wave of snow that flew back from the two bodies hitting the ground.

Nathan sprinted toward them. Growls filled the air, yips of pain. Emma's?

No, Nathan realized with relief as their twisting battle came to a halt. Emma pinned Fuller on his back with her large forepaw pressing into his bloodied chest. Her teeth closed over his throat.

Fuller wheezed, his eyes opening wide. He flailed at Emma with his right hand. The thumb was gone, but a tiny protrusion of pink flesh had already begun to grow in its place.

Nathan aimed his weapon at Fuller's head. "Don't move, Mark. Just stay still."

Fuller obeyed, dropping his fists to the snow at his sides. His chest heaved as he tried to draw in air. His frantic gaze met Nathan's. "Can't...stop."

"We'll try to get you help," Nathan promised. But he had a feeling they weren't going to get Fuller out of this field. Madness filled the other man's eyes, and Nathan didn't trust that Fuller would stay down if Emma let him go.

But he was staying down now, so Nathan asked, "Did you kill those women? Rape them, and leave them off the highway?"

As if in ecstasy, Fuller's eyes rolled back into his head. He ran his tongue over the grin that stretched his lips. "They were...so good. Want more."

Emma's snarl echoed Nathan's own rage.

"And what were you planning to do here?"

Fuller raised his right hand. "Knew...you'd find...fingerprint. Knew...you'd stop me. I can't...don't want to stop."

Nathan shook his head in disbelief. No, he wouldn't have found a match. Fuller had never been charged or booked. His prints wouldn't have been in the system.

Fuller's hips lifted and rocked. Emma shifted her grip on his throat. Fuller's voice rose an octave, took on a sing-song rhythm. "But when I came to your house, I smelled her. Oh, Miss Letty, Letty, Letty—"

Emma tightened her jaw, cutting off the sick refrain, but the bastard's hips continued to thrust up and down.

"Hold still," Nathan ordered.

Fuller lowered his hand again, but his other hand moved beneath his waist, pulling out—

"Gun, Emma!" Nathan shouted. "Get back!"

Her jaws clamped around Fuller's neck as she twisted away. The rip of flesh was drowned by the roar of a gunshot.

Emma yelped. Nathan shoved her to the side, stomped his boot into the bloody cavity she'd opened in Fuller's throat. He aimed between the bastard's eyes and fired.

Nathan whipped around. Emma lay on the ground, blood spreading over and melting the snow beneath her.

"Emma, Emma, Emma." He fell to his knees, lifted her head onto his lap, stroked his hands over her fur, searching. It was a belly shot. Bad. Really bad for most wolves. "Tell me you're going to be okay."

He heard the crack, felt her ribs bulge beneath his hands. "Jesus Christ, Emma." He tore out of his coat, covered her with it, held her through the transformation. As soon as she lay panting and sweating in his arms, he said, "I just meant for you to nod your head."

She laughed breathlessly, showing him her pale stomach. Blood stained her skin, but the wound had vanished. "Nice trick, huh?"

His relief grabbed him by his throat, and took away any response he might have had. He hauled her up, sealed her mouth with his kiss, let her feel every emotion rushing through him. She clung to him, returned everything he gave.

He stood and swung her up against his chest, her bare legs dangling over his arm. They stared down at Fuller's body for a silent moment, then Nathan began carrying her toward the house.

He took a long breath. "So, in a little while, once we've got everything settled, maybe you'll take a risk with me."

She lifted her head to look at him. "Marry you?"

His stomach dropped, but there wasn't a bit of him that didn't like the idea. "Well, that, too. But I'm thinking more along the lines of you…biting me." He brushed his lips against her mouth which had fallen open in surprise. "I'd like to run with you."

Tears shimmered in her eyes before she buried her face against his neck. "Yes," she said. "Of course it's yes. We can be our own little pack." Her lips kissed his skin; her teeth followed it with a nip.

He laughed, pressed his lips over her hair. "Let me get you home first."

"I'm with you," she said simply, and her arms tightened around his neck. "So I'm already there."

THE END

About the author:
Meljean is the bestselling author of the
Guardians series
and the
Iron Seas series
. She was raised in the middle of the woods, and hid under her blankets at night with fairy tales, comic books, and romances. Meljean left the forest and went on a misguided tour through the world of accounting before focusing on her first loves, reading and writing–and she realized that monsters, superheroes, and happily-ever-afters are easily found between the covers, as well as under them, so she set out to make her own. Meljean lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and daughter.

Find out more about Meljean at her website:
http://meljeanbrook.com/

"Never look them in the eye." Uncle Gerald murmured.

Grace nodded. He'd calmed down some when they had boarded the plane, enough to offer her a reassuring smile, but now as they landed, he turned pale. Sweat gathered at his hairline. Gripping his cane, he scanned the human currents of the airport as they entered the terminal building. His fingers shook on the pewter wolf's head handle. She'd seen him take out a couple of men half his age with that cane, but she doubted it would do them any good now.

He cleared his throat, licking his dry lips. "Never contradict. Never ask questions. Don't speak until you're spoken to and then say as little as you can. If you're in trouble, bow. They consider it below them to strike a bowing servant."

Grace nodded again. This was the sixth time he recited the instructions to her. She realized it calmed him down, like a prayer, but his trembling voice ratcheted her own anxiety until it threatened to burst into an overwhelming panic. The airport, the booming announcements spilling from the speaker, the crush of the crowd, all of it blended into a smudged mess of colors and noises. Her mouth tasted bitter. Deep inside her a small voice protested, "This is just crazy. This can't be real."

"It will be fine," Gerald muttered hoarsely. "It will be fine."

They passed the gates into a long hallway. The bag slipped off her shoulder, and Grace pulled it back on. The simple action crested her panic. She stopped. Her heart hammered, a steady heavy pressure pushing on her chest from inside out. A soft dullness clogged her ears. She heard herself breathing.