Free Dark Wolf Rising (Bloodrunners) by Rhyannon Byrd Page B

the edge of the alcove.
    Holy...crap.
    She blinked again, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d been worried Eric was getting his ass kicked—but she needn’t have been. He was standing in the hallway, hands clenched at his sides and his chest heaving, powerful muscles and veins bulging beneath the golden skin on his arms, while a massive, unconscious man lay at his feet.
    From the look of things, Eric had been the one kicking ass.
    She smiled, relieved to see that he was okay, even though she was finding it difficult to keep her thoughts straight. One moment everything made sense with perfect clarity, and in the next, she couldn’t remember what they were doing there...or why she was finding it so difficult to concentrate.
    “Eric,” she said, her voice coming out as little more than a whisper. But he heard the scratchy sound, his head instantly lifting, hooded gray gaze locking with hers. “Are you okay?”
    He gave a jerky nod, then reached down and swiped up what looked like a knife from the floor. The blade was long and gleaming, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It should have scared the bejesus out of her, but Chelsea felt strangely at ease as she watched him walk toward her, that lethal knife still clutched in his hand. For all his animal-like intensity, she was confident he wouldn’t hurt her—that he’d do whatever it took to protect her.
    She watched him with rapt fascination, thinking it was ridiculous, the way she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this man from the moment she’d walked away from him. That kind of obsession wasn’t like her, and she didn’t care for it. Wasn’t comfortable with it. Didn’t know how to handle it. She was scared to think about what it meant—but she wasn’t scared of him. Yeah, her head might be spinning, but she knew her best bet of getting out of that place alive was the gorgeous hunk who’d just slipped the knife in his boot, and was now reaching down to grasp her arms, pulling her back to her feet.
    She took a deep breath, loving the way he smelled as she kind of slumped against the solid length of his muscular body, her legs like noodles. She thought he might be saying something to her, but her head was spinning too quickly now to make out the words. She seemed to be floating in a warm, lackadaisical daze, her senses drowning in the feel of the man wrapping her in his arms.
    It seemed so strange to think that they’d met only last night. As mad as she’d been with him, it’d been so hard to walk away from him in that parking lot. There’d been a moment there, when he’d been standing so close to her, that she’d almost thought he was going to try to kiss her. Or suggest she invite him into her hotel room. But then he hadn’t. Instead he’d gone all master and commander on her, his arrogance making her want to scream, reminding her too much of her father.
    But...wait. Hadn’t he kissed her after that? She could have sworn that he did. She’d been lying in her bed, thinking about him, and then he’d been crushing her beneath his hard, powerful body, taking her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss that had nearly caused her to go up in flames.
    Or had that been a dream? she wondered, crying out as Eric suddenly shoved her back against the wall and turned to face another assailant who came out of nowhere. Damn it, she couldn’t get her mind to focus enough to figure out what was real...and what wasn’t, and cracking her head just now hadn’t helped. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight. After all, she thought she’d just seen this new opponent snap at Eric with a gleaming set of fangs.
    Eric was standing with his back to her, his big hands locked around the other man’s arms as they grappled for control. Somehow managing to stay on her feet, Chelsea braced herself against the side of the alcove with one hand, and reached out to tap his shoulder with the other. “Hey, Eric.”
    “Christ! Not now, Chelse.”
    She