[BOOK ONE] When hunter-gatherer Adele Shepherd comes across an injured werewolf in the woods, it's up to her to take him in and save his life: in a remote town dedicated to killing the creatures, she's the only one left who wants to help no matter t...
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IT WASN'T UNTIL three in the morning that the hunt had concluded, the Honour Guard trawling back to Buck Pines empty-handed. If there was another werewolf out there, they hadn't found it and they had steered clear of Adele's cabin all night. She hadn't caught a wink of sleep until she had been sure that they were gone, her eyes drooping even after knocking back a coffee at eleven.
When she had crawled between the sheets at twenty past three, Caleb had jumped onto the end of her bed and nudged her arm, licking her skin after a long and quiet night. Hardly a word had been spoken after Adele had given up trying to get a response out of him, but he didn't want to seem to go to sleep on a bad note. When he had nuzzled her hand, she had grunted and patted his back, and she hadn't shoved him off when he had curled up by her feet.
He hadn't let himself drift off until she was already dreaming.
On Sunday, the day after the hunt, he was glued to her side. He followed when she fished in the river and even caught a couple of his own: when a trout had come swimming downstream, he had leapt into the water before Adele had a chance to recast her line, and he had thrashed in the river until he had emerged with the fish between his jaws. Adele had spluttered her surprise at seeing him so active when a few days ago, he'd been on the brink of death.
He really was on the mend. His wounds had healed, a soft layer of fur growing over the smooth skin where there should have been a jagged scar. All that remained was the slightest limp.
When Adele woke up on Monday morning, she half-expected Caleb to be a little less of a wolf. The better that he got, the more she had to prepare herself to come face to face with a strange man in her house. She wanted to. After three days with him loafing about the house and eating her scraps, she wanted to meet him. She wanted to talk to him, to put an end to the burning questions on her mind.
There was only so much she could get out of his whimpers and barks, his shaking tail and his perky ears: she wanted his voice.
But she woke up to a wolf on her bed, his heavy head cutting off the circulation to her fizzing feet. With a groan, she pushed him off her and he reluctantly dropped to the floor, where he sat while she changed into something a little warmer than her pyjamas. When she changed her underwear, he only looked away after she nudged his face with her knee. There wasn't really anywhere he could go when the door was shut and there was only just enough floorspace for the two of them to stand side by side.
