TOUCH OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

She was on the brink, balanced on the edge. And so was he.

He lifted her in his arms and found her lips.

Ten

Braden’s kiss was nothing like Quentin’s. It was nothing like Cassidy had imagined a kiss would be, a mere touching of mouth to mouth. This one left her breathless and amazed and exhilarated. It raged through her blood the way he’d said the Change would do, sent heat surging into parts other body she’d only begun to discover.

She’d been afraid when she undressed, though she knew he couldn’t see her—afraid she could never match his perfection, or Milena’s. Her first glimpse of his nakedness had inspired awe and a host of other feelings she couldn’t name. He was a poem made flesh. Her body had seemed ordinary compared to his, a poor and fragile thing, only half-alive.

Now his potency poured into her like a cry of triumph, and she was beautiful. As beautiful as Milena.

Braden kissed her, and she smoldered; she caught fire; she burned to ashes and was born again. He initiated her into a mystery she couldn’t wait to possess.

Her hands sought and found the broad, muscular planes of his back, drawing him nearer even as she clung to him for support. His lips urged hers apart, and she willingly obeyed. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she welcomed the invasion and yearned to take him into every part of herself.

This was magic. This was what he’d been trying to explain. This was the song of life, the one she’d been waiting so long to hear, the only song that mattered.

Until now she’d been asleep. She’d been walking in a kind of dream world, not understanding what she was looking for. The Change from human to wolf was only one small piece of the puzzle. Braden kissed her, and she knew she was transformed beyond her wildest fantasies.

Still it wasn’t enough. Something was missing. Her body ached, and Braden was the only one who could make the aching stop. His strong hands slid down her back like cool water on parched earth. His palms settled on her hips, molding her to his body as if he, too, wanted more than he could speak in words.

She urged him to find the answers for both of them. He would know what to do. He was sure and experienced in the ways of the world: A lord. A leader. A Tyger. She took his hand and guided it to her breast, crying aloud as his finger touched her taut nipple. Wetness gathered between her legs. In the unfathomable center of her being, a new Cassidy struggled to emerge, awaiting the key that would unlock her cage.

Braden was the key. He had told her to eliminate every barrier between herself and the world, but the layers of his clothing still separated them. When he held her hand, she had a glimpse of Braden’s soul. When he kissed her, she stood on the brink of rebirth. When their bodies touched, skin to skin, and nothing kept them apart…

Her fingers worked the top button of his shirt.

“Braden,” she murmured against his lips. “Show me. Please—”

His response was all the more shocking for its silence. He thrust her at arm’s length, his mouth so rigid that it seemed impossible that those lips could have been caressing her with such tenderness.

“Get dressed,” he said. His voice shook, and when he walked away he stumbled over a root and righted himself like a man too long without water in the desert.

Cassidy’s legs chose that moment to give out. She dropped in a boneless heap to the moist earth. Her body was a quivering knot of conflicting sensations, every one of them beyond her control. It was as if she had been ready to dive into an endless, mystical ocean of enlightenment, and someone had yanked her back at the last minute. She still yearned for the ocean, but there was no returning to that perfect instant of readiness.

And Braden was gone. His behavior confused her most of all. He had wanted to kiss her. Wanted her.

She tested that word, that idea in her mind. He had been angry when Quentin kissed her. And when Quentin kissed her, she had imagined Braden in his place.

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