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

any beauty contests, either. One blonde, one a redhead, both fair and green-eyed, powerfully built and
even broader across the shoulders than the brunette.

All three of them were staring at her. She covertly felt her face to make sure ants weren't perched on her
nose or something equally disgusting. "What's up, boys?" They must be selling their hardbody calendars
door to door, she thought, that's the only explanation for the abrupt arrival of three gorgeous men on
her—her!—doorstep. .

"Jeannie," the brunette said. With that one word, she recognized his voice—that deep, velvet
voice—and went cold to her toes. Forcing her expression to remain neutral, she raised an eyebrow at
him.

"Yes?" she said, with just the right amount of impatience.

His shoulders slumped a little and the blonde man shot him a look of compassion. Mouth drawn into a
sorrowful bow, he said haltingly, "I—ah—this is difficult, Jeannie. You probably don't remember me . . .
whurggggh!"

He said 'whurgggh!' because she had hoisted her sneakered foot into his testicles with all her strength.
His breath whooshed out in an agonized gasp and he crashed to his knees. She shouldered past the
astonished redhead and bent over him, shaking a finger in his face.

"You bet your demented ass I remember you! A) Thanks for saving my life, and B) drop dead! Again, I
mean! Now get lost, before I lose my temper—"

"You haven't lost your temper yet?" the blonde asked, aghast.

"—and forget that you saved my life and remember that youraped me in an elevator that was about to
plummet into a basement. If you'd taken five more minutes to get your jollies, we'd both be dead!
You're lucky I don't call the cops on you!"

"I don't think he feels lucky right now," the redhead said, staring at the rapist/savior, who was clutching
himself and writhing on the floor in an undignified way.
"And as for you two," she said, rounding on the redhead, who took a step back and covered his crotch
with both hands, "your friend here has some serious psychological problems. He thinks—"

"—he's a werewolf," the blonde said from behind her. She whirled, part of her not liking the way the
three of them, purposely or not, had boxed her in very neatly.

"You know about the delusion?" Now might be a good time, she thought uneasily, to step back into my
apartment and close the door.

"We share the same delusion," the blonde said, smiling at her with very white, very sharp teeth.

"Well,great ," she snapped, concealing her unease . . . which was rapidly turning to fear. At her tone, the
blonde's eyebrows arched in appreciation. "Maybe you can share the same shrink, too. You—what are
you doing?"

He was sniffing her, like a dog. He didn't touch her, but he got entirely too close and sniff-sniff-sniffed
her neck. "Shit," he said, right before she shoved him hard enough to rock him back on his heels. He