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“You,” he whispered with his mouth on hers. “It really was you.”
Ignoring shaky limbs that refused to behave properly and his heart’s off-beat rhythm, Colton leaned into her. Licking gingerly at her lips, nipping lightly at the corners of her mouth before again sealing his lips to hers, he took her breath into his lungs, and felt that breath warm him.
Had this slight, ebony-haired creature truly fought beside him, placing herself in jeopardy in order to help? Although Rosalind’s mouth was momentarily motionless beneath his, Colton sensed with every instinct he possessed how much she wanted to respond.
He wanted her in that moment as much as his beast had desired her in the park. Every inch of him yearned for her, now that he’d been awakened and had captured her in his arms.
One word resonated in his mind, on its own loop, playing over and over.
Mine.
Wolf Born
Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
LINDA THOMAS-SUNDSTROM writes contemporary and paranormal romance novels for Mills & Boon® Nocturne™ and Mills & Boon® Desire™. A teacher by day and a writer by night, Linda lives in the West, juggling teaching, writing, family and caring for a big stretch of land. She swears she has a resident Muse who sings so loudly, she often wears earplugs in order to get anything else done. But she has big plans to eventually get to all those ideas. Visit Linda at lindathomas-sundstrom.com or on Facebook.
To my family, those here and those gone, who always believed I had a story to tell.
Contents
Everyone had demons.
“Some species are just closer to them than others,” Colton Killion muttered as he ran beneath the light of a huge Miami moon. For a werewolf like himself, the desire for what the moon offered fit into another category altogether. But now wasn’t the time for beastly antics. He’d had an emergency call.
Drenched in moonlight, and in human form, he sprinted over a wide stretch of dirt and grass. The night air, filled with the scent of the ocean and a dozen kinds of Cuban food, burned his throat as he sucked in it, and left a warm sensation in his groin.
Running appealed to his animal nature.
At the moment, though, he couldn’t afford to blow his cover. Two other cops were on his heels, running as fast as their human legs would take them. The radio on his shoulder kept repeating directions interspersed with static.
“Officer down. All units on the south side respond to the following address. 521 Baker.”
The harsh words wouldn’t have been half as bad without the address