Free Wolf Moon Rising by Lara Parker Page A

had forgotten how common
    she could be. “What are you doing out here?” She looked past
    him. “Did you see—?”
    “Yes. Quentin. I saw him run into the woods.”
    “I have to go after him . . .”
    “Why? What do you want with him? Here— let me—” He
    reached for her, but she snatched her hand away.
    “What are you doing?” Her eyes gleamed and she frowned
    at Barnabas, obviously miff ed at his attempt to restrain her.
    Distracted by a sound, she looked past him again into the trees.
    A gust of wind fl ew through the treetops, and clumps of snow
    fell from the branches, making soft plopping sounds.
    “Th
    e storm, my dear, and the cold. You are not dressed
    warmly, and the woods are fi lled with drifts, you could become
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    disoriented, freeze to death out here . . .”
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    “Oh, don’t be absurd . . .” She made for the forest, and
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    again he moved to block her way and opened his cape, as if to
    protect her. He was near enough to remember her scent, a ferny
    woodland odor, and in the cold air she radiated a heat that was
    tantalizing. He was quivering with desire. She was so alive, so
    solid, and vibrant with energy. A longing to possess her now,
    this woman who had so infuriated him, to fold her against him
    and to quench his desperate thirst, drowned any lingering
    thoughts of his rival running under the moon.
    She sidestepped to move past him, but he reached for her
    and took her arm. Th
    is time she stopped and looked at him, and
    then a strange expression darkened her face. “Barnabas? What’s
    wrong with you? Are you alright?”
    “Of course . . .”
    He knew what she had seen— a diff erence in him, a fright-
    ening diff erence, his skin smoother and whiter, his hair blacker,
    eyes bloodshot, and deep shadows in his face— like scars. But
    there was something else she saw, something in his presence, a
    calm foreboding. He must have seemed menacing with his dark-
    ened brow because she stepped back, drawing her arms across
    her breast. It was the fi rst time he had seen her since his trans-
    formation, and he was more amazed than ever at her resem-
    blance to Angelique, the same wide eyes.
    “You . . . you don’t look like yourself,” she said. “You look . . .
    odd. Maybe it’s just the moonlight. Anyway, I have to fi nd
    Quentin.” She was covering her trepidation, wanting to get away
    from him. “Something has happened— I . . . I have to go . . .”
    “At least let me give you my cloak.”
    She shook her head and backed further from him, wary now,
    made uneasy by an intuitive sense of danger. Barnabas probed her
    mind; he could read her suspicious thoughts, her struggle to com-
    prehend, and her fear infl amed him further.
    “I insist. Wrap this around you.” Th
    e trees blurred as he
    reached for her and enfolded her, and everything went out of his
    mind. He felt her warmth as he drew her to him, and then her
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    breasts as he swirled the cloak around them both. She squirmed
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    Lara Parker
    in his embrace and cried out, “No! Barnabas! Stop!” but he
    smothered her, and in the darkness created by the hood he found
    her mouth and kissed her.
    His heart was pounding in his ears as— just as he had
    planned every night in his casket— he thrust his mind into hers.
    In the end it was all so easy. He could feel her giving in to
    him, becoming pliable, softening under his spell. When he felt
    she was deep in a trance, he kissed her again, and her mouth
    was as warm as wine.
    She was trembling, both aroused and terrifi ed, and when
    she looked up at him, his fangs descended. Her eyes fl ooded
    and she sucked in her breath, but still she clung to him. He
    lowered his mouth beneath her hair, and she shuddered when
    he found her. Her surrender aroused in him a vague contempt;
    nevertheless, bliss enveloped him as he drank.
    Th
    e