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Dante peeled his eyes open as his body shook with the force of his release. In the mirror over the sink, he caught his feral reflection—the true picture of who, and what, he was.

His pupils were slivers of black in the center of glowing amber, his cheekbones stark, animalistic. His fangs were fully extended, long white points that flashed with every panting breath he hauled into his lungs.

“That was…incredible,” Tess murmured, hooking her arms under his shoulders to raise herself closer against him.

She kissed his damp skin, her lips trailing over his collarbone and up to the curve of his neck. Dante held her to him, his body still wedged inside hers. He waited, unmoving, willing the hungered part of him to heel. He flicked a glance back to his face in the mirror, knowing it would be a few minutes before his transformation subsided and he could look at Tess without terrifying her.

He didn’t want her afraid of him. God, if she saw him now—if she knew what he had done to her that first night he’d seen her, when she had offered him kindness and he’d repaid her by taking her throat in his teeth—she would hate him. And rightly so.

Part of him wanted to sit her down and tell her all that she had forgotten about him. To lay it all out in the open. Start fresh, if they could.

Yeah, he imagined that little talk would go down about as smoothly as a glass of tacks. And it certainly wasn’t a conversation he intended to strike up while she was still impaled on the resurgent length of him.

As he deliberated over the deepening complication he was making with Tess, a growl rumbled in from the open doorway. It was a small noise but unmistakably hostile.

Tess shifted, pivoting her head. “Harvard! What’s the matter with you?” She laughed a little, sounding shy now that the intensity of the moment was broken. “Um, I think we may have just traumatized your dog.”

She ducked out from the cage of Dante’s arms and grabbed a terry bathrobe off a hook near the door. She slipped it on, then bent down to retrieve the terrier. Scooping up the animal, she got an immediate and vigorous chin-washing. Dante watched them from under a hank of his dark hair, relieved to feel his features coming back to normal.

“That dog has certainly made a quick recovery under your care.” A dramatic turnaround, Dante was guessing, and one that seemed too quick for normal medicine.

“He’s a scrapper,” Tess said. “I think he’s going to be just fine.”

Although Dante had been concerned that she would detect his feral appearance, he realized he didn’t need to worry. She seemed intent on avoiding looking at him directly now, as if she herself had something to hide.

“Yes, it’s amazing how the animal has improved. I’d call it a miracle, if I believed in such things.” Dante watched her closely, curious and not a little bit suspicious. “What exactly did you do to him, Tess?”

It was a simple question, one she probably could have satisfied with any number of explanations, yet she all but froze in the bathroom doorway. Dante sensed a sudden, swelling panic begin to rise in her.

“Tess,” he said. “Is it such a difficult thing to answer?”

“No,” she replied hastily, but the word seemed to strangle in her throat. She shot him a fleeting, terrified look. “I need to…I should, um…”

With the dog held tight in one arm, Tess brought her free hand to her mouth, then pivoted and made a fast retreat out of the bathroom without another word.

By the time she got to the living room and put the dog down on the sofa, Tess was pacing, feeling trapped and lacking air. God help her, but she actually wanted to tell him just what she’d done to save the little dog’s life. She wanted to confide in Dante about her unique, damning ability—about everything—and it terrified her.

“Tess?” Dante came out right after her, a towel slung and knotted around his hips. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She gave a shake of her head, forced a smile that felt too tight for her mouth. “There’s nothing wrong, really. Do you want anything? If you’re hungry, I made chicken for dinner. I could