He stared at her, as if it was taking him a while to process what she had said. His pupils contracted, and his nostrils flared wide.

Then he launched himself off the wall and was on her, his big body pushing her with frightening intensity against the door frame. His mouth was nipping frantically on her neck. He hit a nerve that sent lightning down her spine, and her knees buckled.

As a rich musky scent rose from his skin, he lifted her into his arms in a jerky, uncoordinated move that banged one of her shoulders painfully against the door. She kept still as he stalked down the hallway with her; she’d seen a wolf in rut before and knew better than to do anything but meekly submit.

Except, she couldn’t help touching his face to see if the ruddy tinge on the edge of his cheekbones was warmer than the rest of him. And then her fingers had to linger on the corner of his mouth, where a small quirk so often betrayed the amusement he otherwise kept hidden.

He turned his head a little and closed his teeth on her thumb, hard enough she felt it, but not so hard that it hurt. Maybe, she thought, as he opened his mouth and released her thumb only to move his head and catch her ear in the same light nip that sent a wave of heat from her earlobe that scorched unexpected places, maybe she was in rut, too. She certainly had never felt like this before.

Even though there was no one else in the house, he closed the door with a foot, enclosing them in the dark warmth of his bedroom.

Their bedroom.

He didn’t so much set her down on the bed as fall down with her, making urgent sounds that were more wolf than human while he did so. Or maybe it was her making the noise.

He ripped her jeans, getting them off, and she returned the favor. Feeling the heavy cloth part under her hands was satisfying. More satisfying was the warm silk of his skin under her fingers. His hands were callused, and though he was obviously doing his best to be gentle, they sometimes bit in as he struggled to move her where he wanted without lifting himself off of her.

With her wolf in ascendance, he didn’t frighten her in the least. The wolf knew he would never hurt her.

She understood his passion because she felt the same way: as if nothing was more important than the touch of her skin to his, as if she’d die if he left her. The fear and her usual distaste of sex-even the wolf wasn’t bestial enough to do more than endure what those others had done-was so far gone it wasn’t even a memory.

“Yes,” he told her. “Soon.”

“Now,” she ordered him sharply, though she wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted him to do.

He laughed, and it rattled rustily in his chest. “Patience. ”

Her shirt ripped and her bra soon followed it, then it was her naked skin against his flannel shirt. Frantically, she tugged and pulled at it, popping buttons and half-choking him before she got it off. Her urgency seemed to inflame him, and his hands jerked her hips into position.

She hissed as he came into her carefully, and far too slowly. She bit him on the shoulder for the care he took. He growled something thickly that might have been words-or might not have. But only when he was satisfied that she was ready did he release the control he’d been holding on to by fingertips ever since Asil had left.

The first time was fast and hard, but not too fast for her. They’d barely finished when he began again. This time he set the pace and held her back when she would have forced him to speed up.

She’d never felt anything like it, or like the satisfied peace that followed her into sleep. She could get used to feeling like this.

She woke up in the middle of the night to the unfamiliar sound of the furnace turning on. Sometime in her sleep, she’d rolled away from him. He lay on the other side of the bed, his face relaxed. He was snoring lightly, almost a purr, and it made her smile.

She reached a hand toward him. Then stopped. What if she woke him up, and he was angry with her for disturbing his sleep?

She knew, knew he wouldn’t care. But her wolf, who’d helped her through all they had done to her, who had let her enjoy his touch, was sleeping, too. Anna curled up on her side of the bed, finally rolling until her back was toward him. Her restlessness must have disturbed him, because suddenly he surrounded her, spooning in behind her. The sharp alarm she felt at the suddenness of his move woke the wolf.

He threw one arm over her waist. “Go to sleep.”

With the wolf to protect her, she could give herself over to the way his body heat made her muscles and bones relax into the rightness of his presence. She gripped his wrist with one hand and held it over her belly before letting sleep grab her in return. Hers.

When he woke her up, it was still dark outside.

“Morning,” he said, his voice a rumble under her ear. It felt so good that she pretended to still be asleep.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled over quickly twice. She managed a squawk as they rolled right off the bed. She landed on top of him, and her hip on his belly vibrated with his silent laughter.

“Like that, is it?” she muttered, and, before she remembered his wound, touched her fingers into the muscle just under his ribs.

“Quit that,” he mock growled, catching her hand so she couldn’t tickle him again. He sounded amused, so she must not have hurt him. “We have a job to do, woman, and you’re slowing us down.”

“Hah,” she said, and wiggled her hip a little, making them both very aware that he’d probably agree to a delay in getting ready. Then she wiggled a little more determinedly and slipped free of his hold.

“Morning,” she told him. “Time to go.” And she sauntered naked out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

He watched her go with appreciation, aware of the spark of true happiness that lit his soul. She didn’t look beaten at all this morning-and that little sashay of her hips told him that she was feeling pretty good.

He’d made her feel like that. How long had it been since he’d been the cause of someone else’s happiness?

He lay back on the floor to enjoy it until his conscience kicked in. They had a job to do. The sooner they got out into the woods, the sooner they’d be back and free to play.

To that end, he tested out his wounds experimentally. They still hurt, and they’d slow him up a little-but as Samuel promised, he was feeling much better. And not just because of Anna.

He was dressed and collecting his winter gear from the closet-he’d have to find someplace else for all of it, so Anna could have half of the closet-when Anna came back in. She was wrapped in a bath sheet, having evidently lost some of her boldness while in the bathroom.

He decided to give her some space. “I’ll fix breakfast while you get dressed.”

Her eyes were on the floor as she skittered past him. If his ears hadn’t been sharp, he wouldn’t have heard her nervous “Okay.”

But nothing would have kept the rank smell of fear from his nose. He froze where he stood and watched her keep her shoulders rounded in submission as she knelt on the floor by her box of clothes.

He tried to open the link between them…but it was no stronger than it had been yesterday or the day they’d first met.

He’d never been mated before, but he knew how it was supposed to work. Love and sex would bind human to human-then the wolf would choose, or not. Since their wolves had already clearly chosen, since he’d chosen, he’d been sure that their lovemaking would seal the bond.

He looked at her, the knobs of her spine and the sharp edges of her scapula showing clearly that she needed to gain some weight-a visible sign of the suffering that she’d endured in Leo’s pack. The worst scars didn’t show: werewolves seldom scar on the outside.