...If this man who towered over her on his long legs was her father’s friend, that fact didn’t give her any reason to trust him. Just the opposite, if anything. Too bad he smelled delicious enough to lick like an ice-cream cone and looked equally intriguing. Apparently in his thirties, he had curly, black hair trimmed to just below his ears. His thick eyebrows, dark and diabolically slanted, met over the bridge of his nose, though a little thinner there. She’d never met anyone else who shared that oddity with her.

When he spoke again, she struggled to listen more closely. His accent hinted at a New England origin. “I have bad news. Your father is dead.”

She growled, a sound that segued into a whine before she could swallow it. She hardly knew the man who’d left her mother right after Erin’s birth. Yet a lump of sadness congealed in her chest. Now she’d never have another chance to rage at him and demand why he’d left her with so little guidance in handling her wild nature. Dead? How?

“I’ve got a lot to tell you, and this isn’t the place. Meet me at your house as soon as you can get there.”

She bristled at the casual order. He knew where she lived?

As if he guessed her unspoken question, he said, “Don’t worry, I know where it is.”

Before he finished answering, she caught on. He was the wolf whose baying she’d heard while she prowled by night, whose scent had drifted to her on the wind. How long had he been stalking her?

His lean body loomed over her, poised as if to pounce. She couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering down the front of his torso to his partial erection. Torn between indignation and alarm, she turned and raced toward home.

* * *

Raoul waited until Erin had fled out of sight and hearing range before he trotted back to the parking lot. Her vehement rejection would have amused him if it weren’t for his body’s response. His mouth watered at the female musk that still lingered in his nose. She couldn’t hide her reaction from one of her own kind. Against her will, the gleam in her hazel eyes answered his craving.

He hungered to taste her skin in her human form and stroke her shoulder-length, auburn hair. He yearned to lope beside her in lupine shape and clamp his jaws on the nape of her neck while he thrust into her.

Both as woman and as wolf, she stirred his appetite. Her werewolf genes obviously dominated, so she would make a fit partner for him. Not that he had any hope of taking her as his mate. A quick, hot coupling would have to satisfy the urge she roused. Raoul was in no position to bond with anyone.

Laughing at his fantasies, he headed for his van, where he scrambled into shorts and a T-shirt, then slipped on a pair of sandals. Kevin Balfour would have loved to see his daughter and his foster brother hook up together, but that dream was almost as far-fetched as the prospect of the pack’s welcoming Raoul with open arms.

Things would be different if Kevin instead of Dirk held the alpha role. If Raoul wanted to daydream about a better life, though, he might as well wish for his own clan to have survived. If they had, he might be head of that pack now. Or maybe not, considering how long most werewolves lived if not killed by violence. His dad might still be alive and healthy.

That would be fine with me.

The memory of his father’s body morphing from wolf to man flashed into his head. His mother lay nearby, her skull shattered by a bullet. Not silver—that was a myth. Raoul’s stomach churned at the remembered odor of fresh blood. Kevin had grabbed him, tried to cover his eyes before he could witness the carnage, but too late. Images of the bleeding corpses of his parents and sister had seared themselves into his brain. He’d howled his despair like the wolf he couldn’t yet become...