“Relax, princess.” The wolf-man spoke from behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around to look. Nathan had the right idea. Back door. Running. Yeah, all of it sounded fantastic.
“Betsy.” The man spoke again even as she rushed toward the door. “I can smell your fear. I get it, but you have no reason to be frightened of me.”
She skidded to a stop—she recognized his voice. An image of the wolf’s eyes flitted to her mind. Along with the voice, it all suddenly made sense to her. She wasn’t crazed. She had seen those blue eyes—on the would-be-perfect-except-for-the-long-scar-on-the-side-of-his-face Cyrus Fennell.
After pivoting, Betsy faced him. “You.” Her world shifted off its axis. Dizzy, she gripped the wall next to her.
“Yes. Me.” He was dressed exactly the same as he had been in the coffee shop. How was that possible? How was any of this possible?
“Is this some kind of joke? Or have I fallen asleep?” She rubbed at her head, desperate for any conclusion except the one in front of her. Maybe Nathan had set the whole thing up to test her or something. If she wasn’t dreaming, then Nathan’s involvement seemed as likely as any.
“No.” He shook his head, his voice lower than she remembered. “I realize this was handled very badly. I guess I lost my mind when I heard how he was talking to you and then I smelled your blood. I saw red.”
There had to be sense somewhere in what he said, in this whole evening. Somewhere in the chaos there was always order.
“What do you want with me?” The world didn’t revolve around her, but first he’d approached her at the coffee shop and now—here he was in her house. She was the only common denominator.
“You said I smelled like power. How do you know what that smells like?”
“You followed me here because I said something flippant? Because I gave you a crazy answer instead of saying that you smelled like cinnamon or vanilla or coffee beans or something? I’m sorry. I’ll sniff again and see if I can do better.” She looked at the clock. It was almost six. She had to find Nathan and make sure he called his father for his daily check-in. That meant she had to get this man or wolf or whatever as good and gone as a turkey around Thanksgiving time.
But she couldn’t chop off his head. He’d shift into a wolf and stop her before she could—where the hell had that thought come from?
“See, here’s the thing.” He held his hands out in front of him as though he wanted to pacify her. She stared at his long fingers, transfixed by his every motion. What was it about this man that was so interesting? Well, other than the whole wolf thing.
“The thing?” She scanned the room until she found what she needed. The knife she’d used to chop the onion. It was still on the counter. If she couldn’t hurt him, she could at least make him aware she meant business.
“You’re right. I do smell like power.”
Ego much? “Great. I’m so happy I was right.”
She moved to the left, keeping her gaze off the knife. Let him believe she was turning off the water at the sink. Anything, but what she intended to do. It helped that she still couldn’t seem to look him in the eye. When this was over, if it ever was, and her parents were free of Nathan’s family, she’d find a therapist. Someone who could explain to her why she did the things she did. And then how she could stop doing them.
“But that’s the thing.” Cyrus turned and walked away from her. She appreciated the sight of his backside when he moved toward the counter. What she didn’t like was that he picked up the knife she’d wanted and placed it on the opposite side of the room where she wouldn’t be getting to it. How had he known that’s what she’d intended? He twisted to look at her and she almost gasped from the sheer masculinity pouring off him. Only her sense of self-preservation kept her from reacting.
“Go on.” She had to find something else. Or maybe she should make a run for it. That would be the sensible choice, right?
“The fact that you know I smell like power is because you can really smell me. You’re like me, princess. Do you understand what I’m saying? You’re also a wolf.”
Betsy stopped moving and forced herself to raise her eyes to meet his, even though it hurt to do so Why did it feel like someone had placed a weight on them and made them heavier when she tried to stare at him head on? “I’m not a werewolf or whatever you are. I think I would know if I had the ability to go furry. I get one visitor every month, regularly, and it has nothing to do with the full moon or walking on four legs.”
Cyrus turned beet red. One second he looked all hot and scary, and the next, he flushed and looked anywhere but at her. Men were all the same. Mention the period, and they had no idea what to do with themselves.