Page 43 of Moon Craving

She nodded.

"So be it." He cut her, just a prick, but enough to let her drops of blood mingle with

his on the sheet.

When there was sufficient blood to indicate a bedding, he ran a hand across the

drops to make streaks as if there truly had been a sex act. Then he raised her palm to his

mouth, and allowing his wolf's saliva to mix with his own, he licked her cut. The bleeding

stopped immediately, but he did not release her hand. The flavor of her skin and the few

drops of blood on his tongue was unlike anything he had ever known. And yet like

something he would never have expected--the satisfaction his wolf felt after a successful

hunt.

The beast inside him howled in exaltation Talorc did not understand. It was that

sense of victory he felt that gave him the impetus to let go of her hand. She was human

and English. She stood between him and ever having a true mate. His wolf should be

whimpering, not howling.

Her expression one of guileless certainty, she took his palm and returned the favor.

Even though she did not have the wolf, his wound had been close to closing anyway and

the blood stopped. But the feel of her lips was addictive, and he had to bite back an

instinctive denial as she pulled her lips away.

They stood there in silence for several seconds, neither looking away, neither

appearing ready to speak. Heat suffused his body. It was like a fever, but he was not ill.

Her eyes reflected confusion and wonder. He did not know what had just happened, but it

was profound.

Unable to stop himself, he pulled her closer, until their scents commingled and

their bodies were aligned.

Then, he kissed her. Because he could. Because he couldn't not.

As soon as his lips touched hers, another wave of heat suffused his body and he

heard what sounded like the barest of sighs in his head. Was his wolf that affected that the

beast sounded so unlike himself?

The prospect was not a pleasant one on any count. It felt too much like weakness.

An anathema.