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for
that?”
    "His daughter?  He is not your lover."
    "Of course not, he's like a father to me."
    "Then I will merely defeat him, not kill him."
    Nori shook her head at his statement.  "Do you really
find it that easy?  To take a life?"
    "It does depend on what I am fighting for."  His
voice had softened to a seductive degree. "What would you kill for?"
    "My freedom, the people I love, but never for
sport."
    “But there is more in you than that.”  His voice was soft,
his eyes searching and her hackles rose.
    “What does that mean?”
    “You are quite capable of violence yourself, when you let
go.”
    “I don’t let go.”  She spaced each word out carefully.  Her
anger ignited by his arrogance, and the fact that he was right.  He saw too
much.  “Don’t pretend you know anything about me.”
    “But I do know you,”  he said, his eyes trailing down her
face and touching all her rounded curves.  “Like calls to like.”
    Nori ground her teeth, aware that her blood was rising and
her scent was mingling with his in the close confines of the coach.  She
recognized the beginning of the mating dance, though she had never felt it
before.  Lucky for her, he could not know what her scent reaching out to wrap
around his really meant; she was certainly not going to enlighten him about her
body’s betrayal.  Instead, she pulled her legs up, knees against her chest.  She
wrapped her arms tightly around herself, wanting to be as far away from him as
possible. 
    He watched her, his eyes narrowed as he tried to read her. 
He lifted his chin and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and taking their
combined scent deep inside and Nori growled low.  His eyes snapped to hers,
full of heat.
    “What is happening?”  His voice was a soft shiver up her
spine. She closed her own eyes, placing her head on her knee and shutting him
out as best she could.
    He touched her bent head, and she sprang up as if the soft
caress had been an attack. She was on him before he could do more than fall
back against his seat.  She was straddling him, her hands around his throat,
her extended nails cutting into his skin.  Her eyes feral lavender and a growl
coming from deep inside.  Menelaus was surprised enough by the transformation
that his hands were up in the universal sign for surrender.
    “It would be best,”  she growled, her voice hardly
recognizable. It had become so low and sultry, her fingers in a fine position
to crush his windpipe.  “If you kept your hands to yourself.”
    He had to be aware how precarious his position was.  How
close she was to losing it completely, but he showed no fear. If anything, his
desire seemed to be heating up right along with hers.  “And if I don’t?”
    For an answer, her hands tightened, cutting off his ability
to talk. Her nails dug into his neck until blood began to trail down her nails, 
she could smell his blood mingling with their combined scents.  Still his eyes
showed no fear, and she watched for it.  Finally, she released him. He didn’t
react.   
    Her eyes no longer human, she licked the blood off her
fingers, never taking her eyes from his.  His pupils dilated with each sensual
lap of her tongue.
    “Bloody hell,” he breathed, as if it was dragged from his
belly.  Sitting as she was, straddling his lap, she could feel his erection. 
She rubbed her body up his, her breasts against his chest and then his face,
like a cat. 
    This time he was the one who growled, his hands fisting at
her hips to pull her back down, grinding her against his rock hard erection. 
She leaned down, and lapped at his neck, removing the last traces of blood and
causing him to growl again, his hips jerking against hers.  Then his hands
bunched into her hair and he turned her head, holding her still while his lips
plundered hers, his tongue catching the taste of his blood in her mouth.  He
held her tighter, slanting his head to reach more.  She was not the only one
out of control.  Her