heavenly
voice sounded from the side of the house.
“Nash!” she managed to scream.
As Nash rounded the building, the
three Wolves swiveled their heads in his
direction. He didn’t even raise his voice
and they scattered with their tails between
their legs. A sharp pain pierced her
shoulder as the Wolf pinning her to the
wall scratched her in its haste to flee.
“What in the hell?” Nash muttered,
watching the three Wolves disappear into
the darkness with narrowed eyes. He
rushed over to Maralee who staring up at
the waning gibbous moon rising above the
trees. Not full. Where had they come
from? And why had they attacked
unprovoked?
“Are you hurt?” he asked, touching her
face.
“I think so,” she said shakily. “My
shoulder.”
He glanced down at the red stain
spreading across her white shirt above her
collarbone. “You’re bleeding,” he said,
touching the wound with trembling fingers.
“What were they thinking?”
By ‘they’, Maralee assumed he meant
the three hungry Wolves that had tried to
eat her.
“That I look tasty?” She laughed
nervously.
“I’m sure that’s not it,” he murmured.
“I’ll have to go after them, but first we
need to get you inside and treat your
wound.”
Go after them? What did he think he
could do against three malicious Wolves?
He wrapped an arm around her back
and urged her forward. She stumbled on
wobbly knees. Without a shred of
hesitation, Nash scooped her up into his
arms and carried her towards the front
door.
“This isn’t necessary,” she said,
though she clung to him and snuggled into
his warmth. “If I’d had my sword—”
“You would have killed those boys,”
Nash said. “Do you really think that’s the
answer?”
“If you hadn’t shown up, they would
have killed me. I have a right to defend
myself!”
“If they wanted to kill you, you’d
already be dead,” he said. “Still, I can’t
let them get away with this.”
He carried her into the house and set
her down near the fire on the bearskin rug.
His fingers found the buttons of her shirt
and began unfastening them. She caught his
hand.
“What do you think you are doing?”
she sputtered.
“Treating your wound.”
He stared at her for a moment and her
hand dropped. He finished unbuttoning her
shirt, pushed the fabric from her shoulder,
and looked at the wound. Blood leaked
from three parallel gashes. Maralee was
more concerned that her bustier was in
plain view, but his eyes did not stray to
the curve of her breasts swelling above
her underclothes. She squelched her
disappointment. Proper young ladies
didn’t want men to ogle their partial
nakedness. Did they?
“This is pretty deep,” he said, touching
the area just beside the three long
scratches that marred her skin.
“It’s not bad,” she said breathlessly.
He didn’t respond, but instead
lowered his head and drew his tongue
over the wound.
Maralee stiffened. “What are you
doing?”
“This needs to be cleaned.” He
glanced up at her with concern.
He can’t be serious.
She stared at him, too shocked to
voice a complaint. He lowered his head
again, lapped up the excess blood, and
then licked the wound with slow, gentle,
methodical strokes. He continued until the
painful sting had lessened to nothing and
the bleeding had stopped. Maralee was
lost in the feel of his tongue against her
flesh. Her breasts felt oddly heavy, their
tips taut with need. She wondered what
his tongue would feel like against her
nipples and shuddered.
“Are you cold?” he asked, looking up
at her again.
Couldn’t he tell she was on fire? She
moved away from him, flushing with
embarrassment. “I’m all right,” she said,
turning her back to him. She gripped the
sides of her shirt before her, hiding the
evidence of her arousal.
“I’ll be gone for a little while,” he
said and climbed to his feet.
She looked up at him, her eyes on his
mouth,
voice sounded from the side of the house.
“Nash!” she managed to scream.
As Nash rounded the building, the
three Wolves swiveled their heads in his
direction. He didn’t even raise his voice
and they scattered with their tails between
their legs. A sharp pain pierced her
shoulder as the Wolf pinning her to the
wall scratched her in its haste to flee.
“What in the hell?” Nash muttered,
watching the three Wolves disappear into
the darkness with narrowed eyes. He
rushed over to Maralee who staring up at
the waning gibbous moon rising above the
trees. Not full. Where had they come
from? And why had they attacked
unprovoked?
“Are you hurt?” he asked, touching her
face.
“I think so,” she said shakily. “My
shoulder.”
He glanced down at the red stain
spreading across her white shirt above her
collarbone. “You’re bleeding,” he said,
touching the wound with trembling fingers.
“What were they thinking?”
By ‘they’, Maralee assumed he meant
the three hungry Wolves that had tried to
eat her.
“That I look tasty?” She laughed
nervously.
“I’m sure that’s not it,” he murmured.
“I’ll have to go after them, but first we
need to get you inside and treat your
wound.”
Go after them? What did he think he
could do against three malicious Wolves?
He wrapped an arm around her back
and urged her forward. She stumbled on
wobbly knees. Without a shred of
hesitation, Nash scooped her up into his
arms and carried her towards the front
door.
“This isn’t necessary,” she said,
though she clung to him and snuggled into
his warmth. “If I’d had my sword—”
“You would have killed those boys,”
Nash said. “Do you really think that’s the
answer?”
“If you hadn’t shown up, they would
have killed me. I have a right to defend
myself!”
“If they wanted to kill you, you’d
already be dead,” he said. “Still, I can’t
let them get away with this.”
He carried her into the house and set
her down near the fire on the bearskin rug.
His fingers found the buttons of her shirt
and began unfastening them. She caught his
hand.
“What do you think you are doing?”
she sputtered.
“Treating your wound.”
He stared at her for a moment and her
hand dropped. He finished unbuttoning her
shirt, pushed the fabric from her shoulder,
and looked at the wound. Blood leaked
from three parallel gashes. Maralee was
more concerned that her bustier was in
plain view, but his eyes did not stray to
the curve of her breasts swelling above
her underclothes. She squelched her
disappointment. Proper young ladies
didn’t want men to ogle their partial
nakedness. Did they?
“This is pretty deep,” he said, touching
the area just beside the three long
scratches that marred her skin.
“It’s not bad,” she said breathlessly.
He didn’t respond, but instead
lowered his head and drew his tongue
over the wound.
Maralee stiffened. “What are you
doing?”
“This needs to be cleaned.” He
glanced up at her with concern.
He can’t be serious.
She stared at him, too shocked to
voice a complaint. He lowered his head
again, lapped up the excess blood, and
then licked the wound with slow, gentle,
methodical strokes. He continued until the
painful sting had lessened to nothing and
the bleeding had stopped. Maralee was
lost in the feel of his tongue against her
flesh. Her breasts felt oddly heavy, their
tips taut with need. She wondered what
his tongue would feel like against her
nipples and shuddered.
“Are you cold?” he asked, looking up
at her again.
Couldn’t he tell she was on fire? She
moved away from him, flushing with
embarrassment. “I’m all right,” she said,
turning her back to him. She gripped the
sides of her shirt before her, hiding the
evidence of her arousal.
“I’ll be gone for a little while,” he
said and climbed to his feet.
She looked up at him, her eyes on his
mouth,
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