"Mary Janice Davidson - Wyndham Werewolves 02 - Jared's Wolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

Her mouth popped open, both at the man's sudden appearance and his exceptional good looks. He was
the handsomest non-pack member she'd ever seen. Too bad she had to kick him off their property.

He opened his mouth and she spoke, too; they said in unison, "You can't be here."

They reacted in unison, too: "Ican't be here?"

Moira stared at him, almost afraid to speak, and heard him say, "I'm really sorry. It's incredibly
dangerous here. I'll try not to hurt you."

His unbelievable speed so shocked her, she let him hit her. He struck her with the flat of his hand, just
below her chin, hard enough to knock her back into the frozen ground, hard enough to render a human
unconscious.

Instantly, he was lifting her into his arms, carrying her away like a demented bridegroom. Demented and
blind—he hadn't noticed she hadn't been knocked out.

Outraged, she seized his nose and twisted. He howled and dropped her; her butt thudded into the dirt.
He clapped both hands to his face, but not before she saw she had given him a nosebleed. Good.

"That hurt." She flipped to her feet and growled, literally growled. She could feel the fine hairs on the
back of her neck come to stiff attention. If she'd been in her wolf form, her fur would have been standing
out in bristly spikes. "You're an interloper, a trespasser, a creep, and this is private property."

"This is a derrible blace," he warned nasally, still clutching his nose. "You cad be here." He seized her
elbow with a bloody hand and tugged. She set her feet and didn't move. He pulled harder. She kicked
his ankle and heard the 'crack' and his groan at the same moment. "Lady, for Christ's sake, I'b drying do
save your life here!"

"My life doesn't need saving, moron, idiot, twit. Get your degenerate hands off me or I'll snap your
spine."

"Fuck it," he muttered. He let go of her so abruptly she staggered. Then he stepped back, pulled out a
gun, and shot her in the throat.

***

Jared watched the gorgeous blonde topple over and had to fight a sigh of relief. Cripes, what a balls-up!
He hadn't thought she'd ever go down. His own damned fault—he was so worried about really hurting
her he'd gone too easy. Hadn't had the heart to give her a really firm slam. And he'd paid the price: his
nose was still streaming blood. The tranquilizer had worked (thank goodness for the Boy Scout motto!),
but now what?

After years of research, of greasing palms, of knocking skulls together, of doing anything to get the
information he needed, finally,finally, he had the murdering bastards cornered. His reconnaissance trip
had instantly been cut short when he'd run across the woman. He'd been watching the Wyndhams for
weeks and had their routine memorized . . . this was the time of day when the grounds were usually
deserted. But there she was—obviously she hadn't read his recon notes—right in the line of fire, looking
at him with those big eyes, probably getting ready to inflate those pipes and screech like a banshee.