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thing. Cristain
jumped out of the passenger side and gestured her inside. He
whispered orders to the werewolf who’d been driving it. She tried
to eavesdrop. God, her head was pounding! The driver disappeared
into the woods and Cristian slid into the car.
    The door slammed and he cursed when she gasped at the
noise. “Sorry.”
    He drove like a bat out of hell. Her head banged into
the roof as he flew down the rocky trails not meant for monstrous
vehicles. But she had to admit, the jeep handled beautifully. How
she’d love to take it for a spin.
    She corrected herself immediately. Aren’t planning on seeing him again,
are you?
    “Where are you staying?”
    “Motel 6.” Her voice wavered.
    By the time they drove into town, her blood was
boiling. Painful knots formed in her stomach. She bent over and bit
down on her lip to hold back a scream. She tasted blood. Cristian
looked at her then swore again. He shifted to fifth and tore down
the streets, weaving around cars with ease. Distantly, she admired
his skill.
    He pulled into the motel parking lot, tires
screeching. She tried to reach for the door but her limbs were
numb. The door flew open and she was cradled in Cristian’s arms.
This was bad. Very bad. She attempted to struggle to her feet but
could barely move. She was at his mercy in every way. Shoulda opted for the
ground.
    At the door, Cristian said, “The key.”
    She opened her mouth to tell him it was in her pocket
but nothing came out. This was worse than being found hanging from
a tree. At least then she had her voice. He sighed and adjusted his
hold, searching her pockets until he found the key card. The door
clicked open and he laid her gently on the bed. She watched him
close the drapes, shutting all light out of the room. Then he
disappeared into the bathroom. It was all she could do to keep her
eyes open. A moment later a cold, wet washcloth rested on her
forehead.
    The pain eased out of her body until she was left
with just a dull ache. She sat up, still dizzy and weak, but his
hand on her shoulder pushed her back down. He started to remove her
boots.
    She jolted upright then winced in pain. “No.”
    Relentlessly, he pushed her back down again. “You’re
in no condition to fight me on this, puiule . Just lay back and shut up.” His
tone was gentle despite it being nothing less than a command.
    He took off her boots, then her socks. When he went
for the waistband of her pants she started to protest.
    “You need to cool down, Natalia,” he interrupted in
an unyielding voice. “I’m not going to try anything while you’re
lying here sick as a dog.” He ran his gaze over her body. “Though
God knows you’re fuckable enough.”
    She wanted to laugh at the irony. Pale, sweating, and
face crumpled in pain and he called her fuckable? But he was right.
She needed to cool off. And why should she care how he saw her?
After today, she’d never see him again anyway. Still, she was glad
she didn’t opt for a thong that morning. His expression remained
clinical as he pulled off her leather pants. Uneven breaths and
stress lines around his eyes told her it took a lot of effort to
stay neutral.
    “Now for your jacket.” He wrapped an arm around her
shoulders and eased her up.
    God
he smells good. Why did he have to smell so good? “The shirt
stays on, werewolf.”
    He pursed his lips but nodded.
    “Thank you,” she told him after he folded her clothes
and set them on a chair. “I’m fine now. You can leave.”
    His answering smile was full of determination. “I
have no intention of leaving until I know you’re going to be
okay.”
    “I believe I just said I was.”
    Ignoring her, he sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Natalia.” His voice was a soothing whisper. “A popular Russian
name. Are we neighbors, puiule ?”
    Neighbors? So he was Romanian. It was one of the only
languages she didn’t speak. She’d travelled so extensively the last
eight hundred years, she’d lost all traces of her