Shadow wolf.

chapter: 2

A monster stalked her dreams, a snarling beast on two legs with red eyes and fur dark as midnight. "Trust me, Megan," it grated out as blood dripped from its sharp fangs. "I won't hurt you." But she was terrified because she knew it would drag her back to the island prison and laugh as it raked its claws across her cold skin so she would die slowly in agony.

Megan awoke with a small cry. Just a dream. It's just the same dream you've had for years. Snap out of it.

Someone wanted her dead. The threat lingered in the air like wood smoke. A dark-haired, handsome stranger with eyes that flashed amber; a walking, talking epicenter of lethal grace.

Gabriel Robichaux.

Cringing, she took a deep breath, expecting to be tied to a cold steel table, a metal tray of sharp instruments nearby.

But the surface beneath her was soft. Megan lifted her legs. No restraints. She was lying on a bed facing a bank of windows overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. Fingers of crisp white clouds streaked the sharp blue sky.

No purple tunic and matching pants, either.

Delicious smells of frying bacon came from downstairs. It enticed and cajoled. Food, she needed food, her head ached from hunger, the hollow pit in her stomach demanded energy.

She looked around. The cheerful powder-blue-and-lilac bedroom had a white bamboo dresser, glass-topped table and two chairs with floral prints. Megan touched her head, trying to get her thoughts squared.

"You never ate your breakfast, so I fried eggs. I advise you not to skip another meal or you'll fade into nothing, and not just because you're a Shadow Wolf," came a deep, laconic voice from the doorway.

Tensing, she sat up, fists ready to strike. Now she remembered. Gabriel had hypnotized her into sleeping. Panic squeezed her insides.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

He leaned against the doorjamb, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of faded jeans. Rolled up at the sleeves, a blue chambray work shirt displayed his strong, tanned forearms. His feet were bare. A black cowboy hat tilted over his brow. "On the table, getting cold." In his deep Louisiana drawl, "table" was pronounced "tay-bull."

She threw back the thick duvet, swung her legs over the bed's side. Her feet touched soft carpeting. For a moment, she wriggled her toes, basking in the luxury. Megan struggled to fight the dizziness. "My cousins. What did you do with them, you bastard?"

"They're fine."

"If you hurt them, I'll..." The threat was empty, and they both knew it.

"Is this part of your torture technique? Keep us separated, make me think the worst? Why not just kill us and get it over with?"

A frown dented his forehead. "I don't torture Shadows," he said mildly.

"Cousin Megan!" Two miniature tornadoes flew into the room and bounded on the bed. They crashed against her.

Hiding a wince at her sore arms, she held them tight. "Are you okay?" She smoothed back their hair, studied their expressions.

"Gabriel made us bacon and eggs and sausage," Jenny said, glancing shyly at him.

"And toast with orange marmalade." Jilly burped. "'Cuse me."

Gabriel made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle, but looked indifferent. Masking her anxiety, Megan smiled at the girls. They wore identical pairs of bright pink shorts and pink scoop-necked shirts. On their feet were new cuffed socks and sneakers.