"Mary Janice Davidson - Wyndham Werewolves 01 - Love's Prisoner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

"I still think this is nuts," Derik said gloomily. "And bad luck. Of all the times to get stuck in an
elevator—with an ovulating female who couldn't fight you off, who just happens to be human and not
believe in werewolves—"

"Gosh," Jon interrupted with a grin, "what are the chances?"

Derik ignored his friend."—who's going to go right out of her mind when we try to bring her home. Man,
I hope she's not pregnant."

"It will work out," Jon said, but they both heard the doubt in his tone. "Humans mate with werewolves all
the time, and vice versa."

"All the time' was a gross exaggeration ('once or twice a generation' would have been more accurate),
but neither Derik nor Michael pointed that out.

"Jon's right, pardon me while I choke on that phrase," Derik said, giving his pack leader a friendly clap
on the shoulder that would have felled a human male. "It'll work out. C'mon, chief. Let's go get your
mate."

***

At least, Jeannie thought grimly, I don't have to worry about chasing anyone down for child support.

She was in her bathroom, staring at the double pink line which, the instructions assured her, meant she
was positively pregnant. One bout of sex after going without a partner for three years, and she was well
and truly caught.

Among other things, it was problematic that her baby's father had been a little unhinged. It was also
problematic that he was dead. Jeannie had no idea—none at all, not even a smidgen of an idea—what to
do now. Her mind, after taking in the double pink line (such an innocuous color for such a momentous
event), had shut down, and the same thought kept cycling through her brain: now what? Now what?
Now what?
 There was a firm rap on the door and, annoyed at the intrusion, she went to answer it. She peeped
through the eyehole and saw three large men standing quietly on the other side of the door. They were
dressed in dark suits; the one in the middle was the tallest, with dark hair, and he was flanked by a
blonde and a redhead.

What fresh hell is this, she wondered. Normally she would have at least asked for their names before
opening the door, but the shock of that double pink line was still governing her actions, and she swung
the door wide.

The one in the middle was almost enough to distract her from her news—he was, simply put, one of the
finest looking men she had ever seen. He was tremendously tall, with longish, wavy black hair that looked
thick and touchable; her fingers itched to see if it felt as lush as it looked. His eyes were a funny,
gorgeous color—the pupils were large and dark, the irises yellow-gold. His nose was a blade, and his
mouth had a sinfully sensuous twist to the lower lip. His shoulders were ridiculously broad; his coat was
belted at a slim waist.

"Yuh . . ." She coughed and tried again. "Yes?" She glanced at his companions and they wouldn't lose