“Really?” She twisted sideways in the saddle so she could see his face and found him looking back. “Do you believe that?”
“Two weeks ago, I would have said no.” His lovely lips curved up in a smile; his eyes crinkled. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
For a second she almost drowned in a warm, fuzzy sensation. Then she stiffened her spine and stared straight ahead. Hah. This was just some devious plot to try and convince her she didn’t want to die. She sniffed. What sane woman would want to be a werewolf’s mate anyway? She gave him a sideways peek. There was that fuzzy feeling again.
But strangely, as her happiness had grown, so had her determination not to go back, to never again live as a slave, as though the awakening part of her refused to bow down to anyone.
Besides, if she hadn’t run away, she would never have had this time with Carl.
At that moment, the guide halted, turned his horse and waved up ahead to where a vast herd of antelope, zebra, and giraffes spread out over the flat plain.
A low growl rumbled beside her, and her horse pranced restlessly.
“Sorry,” Carl said. “Wolf wants to hunt.”
“Bad wolf.”
He grinned. “Tell me you don’t. Tell me you wouldn’t like to shift right now. Imagine the thrill of the chase. The joy of the kill.”
Hunger woke inside her, her mouth flooded with saliva as she imagined her teeth tearing into warm flesh. She swallowed and pushed the feeling down, nodded to the guide waiting for them a few feet away. “Not a good idea.”
“Then maybe later.”
Carl woke her with a kiss, and she rolled over onto her back. Outside it was dark, and she sensed dawn was still far away.
“Come on,” he said. “Time to experience the real Africa.”
Without waiting for her to answer, he stripped off his shorts and stood naked, so gorgeous she almost dragged him back to bed. Even as the thought crossed her mind, magic trembled on the air, and a minute later the wolf stood staring at her. He whined low in his throat.
Excitement fizzed in her blood, and she jumped out of bed. They were going hunting. A cat wouldn’t do—there were some big predators out there. She willed the shift, and soon she stood on all fours, taller than Carl’s wolf. The world held a crimson glow as though her hellhound brought a hint of the Abyss to this world. Beyond good and evil, in this form she felt so right. Unconflicted.
She stalked out the door after Carl’s wolf. Everything was quiet, and she stood for a moment sniffing the night air. She caught the scent of sleeping humans, and beneath that a faint hint of sulfur carried on the breeze. Again, she pushed it from her mind; she’d worry about it later.
Side by side, they padded out of the compound, following a well-worn track through the bush. After about a mile, Carl stopped, raised his head, let out a yip, and was away.
The warm scent of distant prey filled her nostrils. Shera leaped after him, and soon they were racing across the African plain, the wind in her fur, wild and free as she had dreamed.
Chapter Eight
Everyone had to die sometime.
The thought flashed through her mind, but she ignored it.
She wouldn’t ruin this last night worrying about something that was inevitable.
Except it wasn’t inevitable. She had a choice.
Yet despite the fun she’d had these last weeks, or maybe because of it, she knew she wouldn’t go back.
Carl was going to be angry. And, she suspected, a little bit upset. That now familiar warm fuzzy feeling washed over her—she’d never thought that there would be anyone who cared enough to be upset at her dying.
She was almost tempted to go back, give them another week or two. But she knew that would taint what had been an almost perfect three weeks. She’d never had anyone of her own, anyone to love. And she did love him. Deeply. Madly. But she was never going to tell him that. She didn’t want to make it any harder for him when she…went.
Carl claimed he didn’t understand her, but deep down she knew he did, knew that he would never submit to a life of slavery. He’d said he would talk to Asmodai, that they would work something out, that she wouldn’t have to work for the demon anymore, just return to the Abyss often enough that the sigil wouldn’t do its stuff.
But even if Asmodai agreed, and let her come and go as she pleased, she would still belong to him. She’d never be free.
And she couldn’t live with that anymore.
Her whole being—her heart, her soul—raged against it.
She shook her head.
It’s our last night. Don’t think about it.
They had almost worked their way through her bucket list.