At least it seemed like a good strategy. But the way things were going for him lately...
He'd had enough bad luck to last him at least one human's lifetime.
In the middle of the night, the sound of gunfire in the distance woke Tessa. She jerked her head around and stared at the empty bed. No Hunter. Her heart raced and she practically flew off the mattress. Grabbing the lantern from the bathroom, she hurried down the hall. "Hunter?"
No answer.
She half-expected him to be asleep on the couch because she'd been tossing and turning so much, her usual mode of sleep since her brother had been incarcerated.
"Hunter?" She peered into the living room.
No sign of him. She headed back down the hall to the guest bedroom. He wasn't there either. Michael's bedroom would be way too cold.
Where was he?
Another shot rang out.
It was January and no one should be hunting big game along the coast, and not this early in the morning for game bird hunting either. Two more shots were fired. Then silence. She barely breathed.
Michael's field jacket was gone, so were his gloves and her ski hat.
"Hunter," she said under her breath.
The back door jerked open, and she squealed. Hunter frowned at her as he stalked inside with an armload of wood. "You should be sleeping."
"It's the middle of the night. Didn't you hear that maniac shooting out there? He shouldn't be hunting, but what if you'd gotten in his line of sight? What if he was a poacher?"
Hunter dumped the firewood on the dwindling stack, yanked off the gloves, and her hat. "Four more hours until it's daylight. Electricity is still off."
She relocked the back door. "Hope that idiot hunter doesn't shoot anymore. I hate it when they come into the area."
He looked in the direction the gunshots had been coming from and shrugged. "He probably ran out of bullets."
"Like they ever do."
"Miss me?"
She rolled her eyes as they returned to the bedroom. "The gunshots woke me."
He reached up and massaged the tension from her shoulders. Man, did his fingers work magic on her tension-filled muscles--she felt like dissolving into the carpet.
"Then after you woke, you missed me. Admit it. Having me warm your bed hasn't been so bad after all, has it?"
She hmpfed. "Now you're icy and will make the bed cold." She climbed under the covers while he slipped the field jacket off his shoulders, and then stripped out of the sweatshirt.
He reached for the sweatpants, then seeing her mouth drop and probably thinking better of it, he joined her in bed still wearing them. "You're right. I'm cold. I promise I won't do anything you don't want. I'm... gay, remember?" He gave her a devious smirk. "Just come over here and warm me. I gathered enough firewood to keep us toasty for most of the day, didn't I?"
Although a hint of pleading was evident in his tone of voice, his words were still more of a command.
She knew this was a very bad idea. But she always seemed to be helping others. Why not get something good out of the experience, even if it didn't last? He was the kind of guy that wouldn't stay in a long-term relationship, she would bet. One minute, he would be there for her, and the next, gone. Especially once he learned who he was and where he belonged. Probably had a good paying job, certainly a family, and a home somewhere. But heck, as long as she didn't get stuck on the guy, what did it matter if they warmed each other for the rest of the morning?
As macho as he was, she expected him to join her, but maybe he was too honorable, waiting to make sure it was okay with her. She sighed and moved close to him. His cold feet left an icy imprint on the back of her legs where her pajamas had drawn up, and she swore under her breath. "Damn, Hunter, your feet are ice cold, and now I'll never get warm."
He chuckled low and pulled her into his heated embrace. And she did warm up, way too much, but he seemed honor-bound. Maybe because he was concerned he still had a wife or fiancee or special woman in his life. Too bad. She sure could get used to a guy like this. Once she'd returned home after college, pickings had been slim. Rourke, the reporter, wanted to renew old acquaintances, but he was the last one she'd want to be stuck with on a desert island. The sheriff's son, one of Michael's best friends, was another, but those were the only two single men she knew still living in town after finishing high school who were close to her age. Everyone was eons older, younger, or married. But, Hunter, although she wasn't sure about his age, seemed perfect.
His warm breath teased the back of her head and his arms wrapped around her in a loving embrace. His erection stiffened against her back, and she sighed. Too bad he didn't know who he was. If he wasn't hooked up with anyone, they could have had a nice fling--not that she was into that sort of thing, but with someone as hot as him--why not? It was about time she let loose, had some fun, and did something for herself for a change.
Hunter kept Tessa still. He had never known a woman who tossed and turned so much in bed. At least, he didn't remember anyone like that. What night terrors was she dealing with? After she had beat on him, the only way he was returning to bed with her was to hold her tight, give her solace, and keep her from kicking and hitting him any further.
At least the hunter wouldn't be shooting any more for a while. Not until he purchased a new rifle and found another location to hunt in. If Hunter hadn't needed to remain in hiding for the time being, he would have turned the bastard in for attempted murder. He hoped Tessa wouldn't see the hole in her ski cap and question him about it.
How would he explain how he could run faster than a normal human being? He was just fortunate the second bullet had only grazed his upper arm. He'd even forgotten about it when he pulled the sweatshirt off, but thankfully, she didn't see the wound the way he was turned slightly away from her toward the dark. With any luck, she wouldn't see the bloody mess before it healed.
The man swore he thought Hunter was a black bear attacking him. As if Hunter looked anything like a bear. At least, the maniac's rifle wouldn't do him any good, even if it survived striking the rocks below and landing in the ocean. The only thing Hunter regretted was the fact he had littered.
He took a deep breath of Tessa's scent, knowing he shouldn't. When he shared one-night stands with lonely human females, that he recalled, he kept it strictly business, pleasuring them, and experiencing the joy it brought him. But he never attempted to memorize their scents, or make anything of the relationships, like two clouds passing each other in the night, barely touching, and then disappearing.
He was already too wrapped up in worrying about Tessa, her brother, and the gray lupus garou who had set his sights on her.
He brushed one of Tessa's curls tickling his cheek away and grunted when the bullet wound sent a shard of pain through his arm.
Tessa stirred. "Are you hurting a lot?" She reached over and touched his arm and felt the moisture. "My god, Hunter. What..." She stared at the blood tingeing her fingertips in the lantern's soft glow from the bathroom. "You've been shot."
"It's not anything," he said, frowning. Leave it to a human female to make a big deal out of nothing.
"You're bleeding." Her face contorted with worry. She pulled out of his grasp, climbed out of bed, and rushed to the bathroom. After opening and shutting several drawers, she returned with gauze and tape. "Is the bullet embedded?"
Ah hell, he hadn't wanted her to see the evidence, or worry her. "Just grazed the skin, really, Tessa. No big deal."