This was new, as was the hard throb in her neck and the claw of something so close to raw, red yearning that she felt the rake of it across her chest. His face smoothed, and for a second, there was the ghost of Chris- the lips she had kissed, the angles and planes of a face her fingers knew- and she felt her monster suddenly reach was aware of an ache and a fiery burn that was need and desire flowing like lava through her veins.
It was as if she and Wolf had slipped into a private, silent, well-lit room built only for them. For an instant, where she was, what was happening, ceased to matter. Her dad’s face suddenly flickered in a quick flashbulb of memory: Jump to me, sweetheart. gentle, a light perfume of lilacs and honeysuckle. But now that he was so close, she smelled something else in all that mist and shadow: a scent sweet and. Was Tom lying dead in the snow because of her? “If you killed him, if you hurt him.
“Did you kill him?” She was so afraid for Tom she thought her chest would break. He’d called to her, and then she’d heard shots.
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