TurningWildBlankEditionHTML Read Online Free Page B

His eyes shone
in a striking shade of ice blue, reminding her of the husky pup, above
extremely high cheekbones and an angular face that would have been model-level
handsome had he weighed about twenty pounds more. As it was, his cheeks sank in
too much, the wells beneath his eyes too deep and too dark, like bruises. No,
there was no way she’d have forgotten this man.
    As though he could tell
she was struggling to recall, the stranger pivoted to face Holly, to give her a
better look. “To be fair,” he said in far too polite a tone for someone who’d
been lurking in her house like he was waiting for her, “we don’t actually know
one another’s names. And it has been many months. Almost a year.” Now it was
also clear he had a faint accent, something Eastern European, maybe Russian.
Wherever he was from, he was long and far removed, with his peculiar
enunciation stretched so thin as to nearly disappear now and then.
    Holly shook her head, a
gesture that grew more vehement as the intruder took several steps toward her.
Her own body heavy with shock and fear, she couldn’t shuffle back fast enough
to keep him from catching her by one arm and then grasping her hand. His skin
was cold, maybe from being out in the night, or maybe just cold.
    With that firm hold on
her, the man drew Holly into the room and sat her down on the ottoman at the
foot of the sectional she’d bought so there’d be enough seats for everyone if
she ever had a party. She never needed it, because she never threw any. It was
a strange time to be thinking about that, the way people were sometimes
thinking about not having to register their car the next year while it was
spinning out in a high-speed collision or the way people laughed after they’d
hurt themselves unexpectedly—badly—and were bleeding all over a favorite piece
of clothing they had taken such care never to stain.
    The point being that
Holly knew this was going to be bad. This was going to be life-changing the way
the attack had been. Then she couldn’t help it; she lifted her face, eyes wide,
and stared.
    Pale blue eyes, like
husky eyes, wolf eyes stared back.
And he nodded in answer to the question she didn’t ask. Holly hadn’t forgotten
the man, because he hadn’t been a man when she’d met him. When he’d bitten her.
Unbidden, Holly’s free hand went to her left shoulder, knowing just where the
bite marks were under her hoodie.
    “That must have been
very confusing for you.” The stranger—the shifter—sounded completely sincere as
he came down on one knee in front of Holly. “And so you didn’t tell anyone what
really happened. They would have thought you were crazy.”
    Holly’s racing mind
seized on a detail. “But I did tell. I told the Agency. I work for them now.
They watch me, the townhouse, always. They know you’re here right now. They’ll
be on their way.” But the shifter was shaking his head no, slowly, somberly,
like he was letting down a desperately hopeful child. “You think I’m lying.”
    “No, young lady.” He
was still shaking his head. “I think you don’t know the Agency or how it really
works very well.”
    When Holly realized a
tear was about to break from her lashes, she sniffed in her breath and puffed
out her chest. She straightened her back and refused to blink. “Why are you
here? To hurt me? To kill me? Why didn’t you do that in the parking lot a year
ago, if that’s what this is about?”
    “Hm.” He frowned at the
questions, every expression so openly expressive .
“They really didn’t explain much of anything to you, did they? What’s your
name?”
    “What?”
    “What’s your—?”
    “Holly.” Even she was
surprised at how hard she snapped out the word, in the face of the werewolf who
was going to kill her. Or going to try.
    “Holly,” he repeated.
“My name is Ivan.” His voice was so pleasant, so courteous, that Holly half
expected him to bow and tell her it was a pleasure to make her