Excerpt of Fever by Joan Swan

At the base of the stairs, Alyssa swiveled toward the sound and steadied herself with a hand on the banister.

A wolf trotted out of the forest and crept along the edge of the moonlight shimmering through the treetops. Silvery gray with a white undercoat and shiny yellow eyes.

A high–pitched sound eked from Alyssa's throat.

The animal's shoulders hunched, head dropped, muzzle peeled back, barring a mouthful of pointed white teeth. It let out a throaty growl and inched toward her.

Her fingers tightened on the banister. Panic sliced her thoughts into fragments. She wouldn't make it to the door before those teeth made it to her leg. Another shadowed animal appeared in the distance, tilted its head back and belted out an ear–piercing howl.

The outside light flipped on, blinding Alyssa. She threw her arm over her eyes. The bay cut off mid–stream.

"Get out of here, you stupid sonsofbitches." Teague's voice bellowed over her head and through the silence, ricocheting off the trees and fading into the forest. "She's no meal for God's sake, look at her."

She squinted to focus past the light as his heavy footfalls pounded down the stairs, joining the wolves' retreating barks and whimpers.

Frozen in place, Alyssa watched the carnivores disappear.

"You goddamned idiot." Teague angry voice bit at her ear. "What in the hell is wrong with you? Get in the house. You're going to freeze to death out here."

"T–too l–l–late." She tilted her head back and zeroed in on his eyes, filled with irritated indignation, as if she was nothing but a nuisance. Why had she turned around again? "Y–y–you're what's w–wrong with m–me, you j–j–jackass."

He rolled his eyes. "Come on. It's seven fricking degrees out here." As he seemed to have done a dozen times in the last two days, he lifted her into his arms without effort. "Yell at me in the house."

Alyssa couldn't find the motor skills to speak. She'd never known how physically painful the cold could be until she ached with it. Or the way true terror ripped from the inside out until she'd been so completely vulnerable to those wolves. Her jaw felt frozen into place, so many parts of her on the throbbing edge of numbness. Her mind wasn't working well enough to drum up treatment strategies, but she knew getting her body back to regular temperature would involve hot water and a lot of pain.

Teague bumped her ribs as he started up the stairs. A pathetic moan bubbled out of her throat, drowned by the thud of the front door hitting the wall as it opened, then slammed at her back. The warmth of the house immediately wrapped around her, and Alyssa groaned at the beauty of it. What had ever possessed her to leave?

Teague set her down on the sofa in front of the fire. "Don't move."

He disappeared down the hall and Alyssa sat watching the fire in the hearth, wishing she could jump into it. As her body temperature rose, she shivered uncontrollably.

Teague returned with a space heater in one hand and a stack of towels in the other. After plugging in the heater and pointing it directly at Alyssa, he dropped to his knees in front of her. He pulled off her shoes and socks then tugged the jacket off her shoulders and threw it aside. Curled his fingers into the sleeves of her shirt at her wrist and pulled one arm out, then the other.

Alyssa gurgled a protest. Her arms were as stiff as tree limbs, her teeth clenched as if the hinges of her jaw were rusted shut. With one pull, her shirt came off over her head and joined the jacket on the floor.

He picked up a towel, threw it over her head and started scrubbing. Icy droplets from her hair needled her back like little knives. "S–s–s–so c–cold."

She barely got the murmur from her mouth. Nothing was working right—not her limbs, her voice, and most definitely not her mind.

"I know. Give me a minute." Teague slid the towel off her head, made one swipe of her back and tossed it away. "Lay down."

She cast a sidelong look at the sofa, wanting more than anything to obey. "I c–c–can't move."

Teague lifted her legs and eased her back. Alyssa rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, soaking in the feel of the lush, warm corduroy fabric. Then his hands were on her again, pulling at her sweats. Before she could push his hands away, her pants were off.

"Everything has to go," he said. "You're soaked."

With a simple flick of his fingers, the knot she'd tied in her pathetic excuse of a bra opened. Alyssa pulled in a surprised breath as he yanked it off. Then his hands were at her hips. A second later, her panties were gone. She found herself caught between shock and embarrassment before something soft layered over her, cocooning her in warmth. A breath of relief slipped through clenched teeth. Teague stood in front of her, bare–chested, his hands unbuttoning his jeans.

Excitement spiked in her chest, turned to heat and melted into her pelvis. "W–what are you d–d–d–doing?"

"Getting you warm as fast as possible." He toed out of his boots and dropped his jeans.

Alyssa was too exhausted, and honestly, too interested, to look away. He was so beautiful, like a work of art she could study for endless hours. The tattoos were shadows of her imagination now, his body perfectly pristine and tan as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

"W–w–warm w–w–water," she said. Preferably with him in it, too.

"The water heater is ancient." In an abrupt move, he lifted the blanket and lay on the sofa alongside her. "No warm water until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

He pressed his body full length against hers, worked his arms around her back, laid his top leg over hers and ratcheted his body close. Alyssa sucked in a breath at the feel of him, so supremely warm, all hard muscle and soft skin.

Oh, man. Okay. This worked, too. Maybe even better.

"Jesus Christ," he growled. "You're a fucking ice cube."

"S–s–stop—"

"Swearing," he finished for her, "I know, I know."

His hands were everywhere, sliding, rubbing. And every part of her that he touched warmed instantly, the feeling so primitive, so perfect. Alyssa pried her arms away from her chest and slid them around his back, pulling him until the flat plane of his chest pressed to hers. His warmth instantly seeped into her skin. This is just what she'd wanted a few hours ago. Now she was too damned frozen to take advantage.

"Oh, my, G–god," she murmured against his chest. "You feel so g–good."

She shifted closer, a leech searching for heat, and she found it when his hips aligned with hers. His erection pressed along her thigh, pumping heat through his cotton briefs and directly into Alyssa's skin. A mixture of excitement and nervousness tangled in her throat. His arms tightened around her on an irritated groan, and he tried to shift his hips away. But with the edge of the sofa at his back, he didn't get far.

"Stop wiggling for God's sake. You're going to push me off the couch." With a kick of the blankets, he tightened the fabric around their feet then rubbed the arch of his foot over her instep and toes. And somehow managed to put space between her hips and his. "Your hands and feet are the parts I'm worried about."

Those should be the least of his worries. He should be concerned with the craving deep in her chest, the one that made her mouth want to taste and her hands to touch. Between the moment he'd dragged her into the house and now, one vital fact she'd suspected had been confirmed: he had no plans to hurt her. She'd given him the perfect opportunity to get rid of her quickly, quietly, permanently, and without any involvement. All he'd had to do was leave her out there. Yet he'd saved her, not only from the wolves and from the elements, but ultimately, from herself.

She pried one hand from his grasp, slid it up his chest and around the back of his neck. With her face pressed between his thick pectoral muscles, Alyssa rubbed her cheek against the warmth and strength. Dragged in the scent of hotel soap lingering from his shower that morning and the his purely male and unique scent.

She hummed in pleasure. "How can you c–create so much h–heat?"

"We've been over this, remember?" His voice sounded thick and rough. "You know, my father, Hades, god of the fires of hell and all that?"

She would have at least snickered at that quip, only her face would crack. She wedged her other arm underneath him, trying to align every inch of her skin with his. He may not have had much room, but he managed to scoot away again.

Frustrated with both the lingering chill and his resistance, she pulled on his shoulder to roll him into her. "Hold m–me."

"I am," he snapped.

"Closer. I'm s–so cold."

"Honey." His voice dropped to a raspy growl. He slid a thigh between hers, wrapped his arm around her back and pressed their bodies together. "We can't get a whole lot closer."

She'd like to prove him wrong. Dammit. Only he was still resisting. And she just didn't get it. She may not be a Swedish goddess like Hannah, but she wasn't the Hunchback of Notre Dame, either.

She tightened her arms around him, soaking in his heat, revealing in the feel of him while the fire inside her kicked up a notch. He smelled good, he felt good, he looked good. He was the only good thing in the moment. She couldn't look ahead, couldn't look back, or everything fell apart. All she could do was live right now.