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to catch."
    "No. Avalanche closed the roads." The man grunted, turning the heat up.
    Mary's heart sank. Now there was nothing to do but go home. But when she turned and got her first look at the man, her words died in her throat.
    The first thing she noticed was that he was insanely beautiful. Liquid black eyes stared out of a tanned face that belonged on the cover of a magazine. He had high cheekbones, and a wide, full mouth. Dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun at his crown, and with his neatly trimmed beard, he looked like he should be wielding a war hammer and commanding lightning.
    "My name is Andre," he said, unsmiling. "Andre Mitchel."
    "Mary Locke," she whispered back.
    It wasn't his beauty that caught her voice in her throat. It was the scar on his cheek, black against his skin, curved into the shape of a bass clef.

Chapter Two
     
    He kept the light in the cab on so he could see every move she made. So far she hadn't done much besides buckling her seatbelt and rubbing her arms. Her long green eyes kept darting over to him, a sure sign of unease.
    Mary Locke, Paul Locke's daughter. He'd seen her before, though she didn't know it.
    He watched her from the corner of his eyes. Her long, black hair was tugged back into a tight braid, and she toyed with the end of it, curling and uncurling the loose bit around her finger over and over again.
    "So what were you doing out there in the snow, anyway?" Was she hunting? He'd never seen the girls hunt, let alone on their own.
    She rubbed her arms. "My grandmother is sick. I have to go take care of her. My flight is tomorrow, so…"
    A sick grandmother? Andre almost winced. The family was the most important thing in the world to him. Or at least, it was once. But who knew if the girl was telling the truth? She looked to be about four years younger than him; in her mid-twenties, then. If he knew Paul Locke and his 'community', she was probably running from her overbearing husband before she could give birth to her fourth or fifth child.
    "How much longer?" she asked.
    "We're almost there."
    The mid-calf dress she wore was soaked through. It clung to her voluptuous body, showing off each curve. Her cute button nose wrinkled as she sneezed, and she covered her little rosebud mouth with a long, slender hand. Smooth, unblemished skin the shade of alabaster flushed with the cold.
    He never thought that a stinking werewolf could be so beautiful.
    ***
    She was sure he was watching her, even though every time she glanced at him, his eyes were on the road before them.
    By the time they stopped, so had her chattering teeth. Her dress was still soaked through, and shivers ran down her spine, but she was beginning to warm. The snow was coming down so thick that Mary could hardly make out the building that the truck's headlights shone on. It seemed to be a log cabin of some sort.
    "Where are we?" she asked and hoped he'd think the tremble in her voice was because of the cold.
    "It's my cabin." He turned, and his black eyes bored into hers. "You're from around here. You didn't know about me and this?"
    "I don't get out of the house much," she said honestly.
    Andre grunted and got out of the truck. If she knew how to hotwire vehicles, she'd have been tempted to stay where she was. But if he knew that she knew he was the Bear, or if he wanted to kill her, wouldn't he have done so already? Wouldn't she already be lying dead in the ditch?
    He wasn't going to hurt her. She knew that deep inside of herself, but there was a niggling voice at the back of her head that told her to be afraid.
    There was bad blood between Bears and Wolves. Mary didn't know when or how it started, but she had heard stories of how Bears were monsters from the time she was a small child. Her mother's grandfather had been murdered by one on the journey from Russia to the Americas. Both her father's parents were killed by Bears. And Andre had just attacked her for no apparent reason, other than she was a Wolf