Bianca’s hands grabbed my face, trapping me in place as her lips clamped over mine. My whole body froze in shock as her tongue slid against my teeth.

It figures that I haven’t even lost my virginity, and my first amorous experience in Crookshollow is having my mouth defiled by a drunk bisexual tattoo artist.

I scanned the crowded ballroom, frantically searching for some object I might use to pry Bianca off me. But all I saw was a sea of glittering faces: Bianca’s crazy artist friends didn’t seem to realise my peril; instead, they threw the metal horns in the air and cheered her on.

Bianca swirled her tongue around my mouth like a washing machine. Her breath stank of absinthe and bubblegum-flavoured lipstick. Finally, I managed to jolt my shocked body into action. I tried to wriggle away, but for such a tiny girl she had an iron grip on my face. Instead, I grabbed her shoulders and shoved her backwards, but all that did was make her lips tighten their seal around mine.

I can’t breathe. This is how I’m going to die – drowning in a wall of absinthe-scented saliva.

“Bianca?”

A voice – sharp and deep and dripping with hurt – cut through the hooting and pounding music of the party. Bianca’s eyes grew wide. She tore herself from me, staggering back.

Thank you, kind stranger. I whirled around to face my saviour, and met the eyes of Robbie, Bianca’s groom. Technically, he was her fake-groom, although from the way he was staring at her, I don’t think he remembers that theirs was only a marriage of convenience.

Shit. This is quickly turning into the most chaotic wedding I’ve ever managed.

I’d only met Robbie Maclean a few times over the last couple of weeks, when Bianca roped him in for the wedding prep. She’d told me the whole story about their fake-marriage – her grandmother had left her a Victorian mansion, but only if she was married to a man. Robbie volunteered so Bianca could keep the house and turn it into an artist’s retreat – although she didn’t seem to realise that Robbie was madly in love with her.

She also didn’t tell me Robbie was a werewolf, but I’d figured that out for myself.

It was the same story every time I met someone of his kind, which thankfully had only been a few times in my life since The Incident. His heady smell scratched against the back of my nose, and the stump of my right leg started to ache, as if it remembered what the last werewolf I’d met face-to-teeth had done. The smell was usually my clue that it was time to run away, but Robbie was also a client, and given the circumstances, that would give the wrong impression.

I never thought I’d be glad to see a werewolf, but in the three years I’d been a wedding planner, I’d never expected to be accosted by a horny bisexual bride either, so I’d take what I could get.

“Please don’t eat me.” I raised my hands. “I didn’t have any part in this.”

Robbie gaped at Bianca and I, hurt marring his handsome features. His whole face crumpled, and I sensed something stirring inside him. The heady smell grew stronger.

No.

I froze, realising what was about to happen but powerless to stop it. My leg itched with a burst of phantom pain.

Not here. I can’t deal with this.

The whole world slowed. I willed my limbs to move, to turn and run, to save myself. But I remained frozen in place. The memories tore at my mind; teeth flashing, dark, evil eyes blazing, and searing, wrenching pain in my leg. I stood suspended between my past trauma and the very present danger.

Before my eyes, Robbie’s face contorted, his nose extending into a long muzzle. Grey fur pushed through his skin, sprouting from his forehead and cheeks and covering his whole face. He toppled forward, his clothes tearing away from his body as his bones cracked and rearranged themselves, his muscles reattaching and forming new limbs. A stench rose around him as he embraced his inner beast.

Behind me, someone screamed. The air rushed from my lungs.

Robbie’s hands – now paws – hit the polished floor of the ballroom, and he stared up at Bianca with those same hurt eyes. Only he wasn’t Robbie anymore. Instead of the handsome, quiet man I’d come to admire, there now stood a terrifying wolf, his lips pulled back to reveal rows of jagged teeth.

My head spun as the smell rose all around me. Red welts burned in my eyes. This is it. This is where the werewolves finish the job.

Robbie tossed his head back and howled, the sound sending a wave of terror through my limbs. The fear took over. Teeth filled my vision. Sharp pain rocketed through my leg. No, not pain, the memory of pain. The memories of nerves and muscles that no longer existed.

“Robbie, no!” Bianca’s face broke, her façade collapsing as she realised how much she’d hurt him. I remained frozen, expecting Robbie to leap forward and sink his teeth into Bianca’s alabaster skin, or to take another chunk out of me. Instead, he gave a low, sad growl, then turned tail and raced toward the entrance hall. Terrified guests leapt out of the way as Robbie stalked past. Bianca raced after him, pushing through the panicking crowd, her jet-blue train flapping behind her.

All around me, people scrambled for cover, crying and screeching as they fought to get out of the werewolf’s way. The band dropped their instruments and fled the ballroom. I noticed Elinor Baxter – Bianca’s tattoo apprentice and maid of honour and my next potential client – running after her friend, her red gothic gown streaming behind her.

The ballroom emptied quicker than a public swimming pool after someone mentioned they saw a poo floating by the kiddie end. Within moments, I was the only one left, frozen in place like some broken Greek statue. I still couldn’t move. In my head, those teeth loomed over me, drawing closer, the sharp edges scraping against my skin, ready to sink into my flesh and tear away another part of me—

“Why are you here?” A deep voice interrupted me. A thick Scottish accent rolled over the words, drawing me back to the empty room.

At least, it had been empty only a moment ago. Now, a tall man stood in front of me, his head tilted to the side as he ran a hand over his short, dark hair. The heady wolf scent poured from him in waves. Werewolf. Danger.

I wanted to run, but he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Cold grey eyes bore into mine, holding me entranced. Heat spread over my skin as I took in the rest of him. A square, strong jaw ran parallel to a pair of broad, muscular shoulders. He wore a Scottish kilt and sporran, the tartan of a red-and-green design – different from the groom’s, so they weren’t related. He looked like the sort of highlander who regularly tossed fair maidens over his shoulders and stole them away to his castle where he’d teach them to swing claymores and then repeatedly ravish their bodies.

No way could a guy that hot be real. I must be dreaming him. That would explain why a sizzle of weird energy danced over my skin. The fear has finally driven me crazy.

I blinked, certain he’d have disappeared. But no, the Scottish hottie was still there, staring at me with those steel eyes, like he was concerned about me or something.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“I—I—I’m the wedding planner,” I managed to choke out. That weird energy hummed under my skin, even dancing along my right leg, over the edge of my stump.

“That’s not what I mean. Everyone in this room just saw a man change into a wolf.” The Scot jabbed a finger back toward the hallway, where the guests were crowded – all shouting and screeching at the top of their lungs like a flock of frightened seagulls. “They’re out there in a panic. All except you.”

I managed to lift my shoulders into a tiny shrug. “Maybe I’m just not easily frightened.”

The gorgeous Scot shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. Dammit, that was the kind of smile that sunk ships. “You’re frightened all right, but nae for the same reason.”

I bit my lip, a habit I’d picked up in high school that I couldn’t seem to shake. Why is a guy like this even talking to me? Why can’t I get my legs to work?

He continued. “You didnae leap out of the way and grab for your camera phone. You’re nae running after the bride like her other friends. You froze. I came out here to unfreeze you.”

The Scot reached out for me, and that hand coming toward me snapped me out of my frozen state. Werewolf. Danger. I glared at him, and yanked my body away. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Can I get you a drink? You look like you could use one.”

“I don’t drink.”

“I just wannae help you—”

“Don’t.” I stepped back again, the panic rising up in my stomach as I leaned weight on my right limb.

The Scot held up his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m not gonnae touch you, I promise. I dinnae want to scare you. I just want to find out why you didnae run away. And also, because that kiss between you and Bianca is gonnae haunt my dreams.”

A flush burned my cheeks. I lowered my head, tearing my gaze away from him. My whole face stung from embarrassment. He’d seen Bianca kiss me. He must think … oh, crap …

“I didn’t—”

“Aye. I’ve been thinking about coming over to talk to you,” he continued. “But now I ken you’re nae interested in men. You saved me embarrassing myself, so I thank you for that. Although, I am insanely jealous of Bianca right now.”

The Scot’s words burned into my mind. He wanted to talk to me, to kiss me … That didn’t compute. He must be joking. Probably Bianca or Elinor put him up to it. No way would a guy like this notice me in a party filled with exotic and sexually adventurous artists. It’s just not possible.

It didn’t matter. Even if he had been interested, which he wasn’t, I’d never have been able to talk back, let alone manage anything else. I couldn’t maintain eye contact with someone that gorgeous—

What am I even thinking? He’s a werewolf. As in, big scary teeth, sharp claws, lack of basic human morality. Inhuman urges to maim and kill. I came to Crookshollow specifically to get away from everything werewolf, and yet I seemed to have walked right into the thick of it.

As hot as he was, if this Scot or any of his friends knew who I really was, they wouldn’t hesitate to tear my throat out.

The Scot waved his hand in front of me. “Hello in there? Are you all right? Do you need me to get you a pint—”

“I know you’re one of them,” I blurted out.

That caused a reaction. The Scot’s grey eyes flashed with something like curiosity. He recovered quickly, and that grin was back. “One of what?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. I’m a fool. Why did I say that? He may be hot, but if I make him angry, I know what those claws and teeth can do—

“A werewolf.” I whispered the word, desperate for him to deny it, to find some reason that I was wrong about him. Please let me be wrong about him.

The Scot’s gaze faltered. “Now, there’s a curious thing. How did you ken that?”

He took a step toward me, his hands raised. I whimpered, shuffling back. I knew I should be terrified, but those eyes kept me transfixed. Please, don’t hurt me.

“Stay away from me. I’m armed and dangerous.” I thought back to the silver stake I’d stolen from my mother before I left London, lying at the bottom of the suitcase back at my new flat. I wished like hell I’d decided to bring it tonight.

“You packing a Kalashnikov under that corset?” The Scot grinned. “I’d kind of like to see that.”

My face must have been glowing from the heat that flared in my cheeks. My mother’s voice pounded in my ears. Run away! If you meet a werewolf, you get away as fast as you can. But I couldn’t move. His eyes pinned me in place, and the strange energy surging through my veins made me want to inch closer, not further away.

I don’t understand. What’s going on with my body? Why do I feel so … desperate for him?

I wanted to ask the Scot, but he spoke first. “You’re new in town, aren’t you? Bianca and Elinor mentioned you came from London.”

“I am, but I’ll be leaving soon for some place less infested with your kind. I’m not losing another leg.”

“What are you talking about?”

I reached down to the hem of my dress, and lifted it up to my thigh. The Scot’s eyes narrowed as he took in the carbon fibre prosthetic that replaced my lower right leg, starting just beneath my knee.

My whole body trembled. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

The whole reason I’d fled London in the first place was to start over with a clean slate, in a tiny backwards village where no one knew about my leg or how it had happened. Never, ever in my whole life had I shown a person who wasn’t my mum or my family doctor or my first boyfriend the prosthetic. It didn’t matter, because they’d all seen it anyway – on my mother’s crazy website or in the tabloids. The story of my leg and how I’d lost it reached every person in my life, often before I even met them. Every person I spoke to regarded me with that pitiful look that told me they knew my secret, my hidden shame.

I wasn’t whole.

And here I was, after finally winning my freedom and anonymity, standing in the middle of a crazy wedding showing some Scottish werewolf the amputation that changed my life forever.

As the Scot stared at my prosthetic, realisation dawning on his face, hope seized my stomach, clenching the muscles tight. Hope for what, I did not know. Hope that he wouldn’t guess my true identity. Hope that he wouldn’t give me that same pathetic, pitying look that everyone in London used around me.

Neither thing happened. He didn’t bare his teeth and take another chunk out of me. His mouth didn’t droop. His eyes didn’t flick away. They remained locked on mine, and the look on his face almost resembled … respect.

“I’m sorry,” he said. For the first time, the words didn’t sound like hollow curiosity – the result of a sick desire to get me to talk about The Incident without outwardly asking me.

Instead, a flash of pain crossed his face. His eyes darkened, the cold light inside them flickering out like a torch.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” I dropped the corner of my dress and straightened up. “I’d just like to keep the other foot, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The light in his grey eyes flickered back again, blazing like a fire. “I’ll nae hurt you. I dinnae ken who did that to you, or why. But if I ever caught them, I would make them pay.”

The venom in his voice threw me. “Why do you care? You don’t even know me.”

“I dinnae have to. That’s a disgusting thing for anyone to do, especially one of my kind.” Those steel eyes bore into mine. “Especially to such a beautiful woman.”

A beautiful woman. I wanted to fold my arms and laugh off that comment, the way Bianca did whenever a man fell over her with obvious flattery. But I wasn’t Bianca, and I could already feel the flush creeping up my neck and spreading across my cheeks and neck. No one had ever called me beautiful before. It wasn’t a word that could possibly belong to my broken body.

The heat in my veins flared against my skin. “I … you … don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“It … I … just don’t do it.”

“You’re a very odd woman.” The Scot studied my face in a way that made me feel utterly naked. “I cannae figure you out.”

“Look, you don’t need to figure me out or worry about me. I’m not going to reveal your secret. I know more than anyone how important it is that you wolves stay hidden, although Robbie’s little display might take a bit of explaining. I just want to forget this whole night ever happened. I promise I’ll leave town as soon as I can and you can get back to whatever it is you and your friend Robbie here are trying to do in Crookshollow. So you can just go back to the party now and—”

“Do you want to get out of here?” His eyes danced over my body, before focusing on mine once more. My stomach fluttered.

“You mean, leave the party? With you? Why?”

The Scot shrugged. “Parties are hard work when you dinnae really ken anybody. I thought … maybe you and I could go for a walk and ken each other.”

He’s smiling at me. He looks hungry for more than just flesh. Why is it lighting my whole body up like a Christmas tree?

I opened my mouth to say no. I was in charge of this party. I had to go into damage control mode, get the thing back on track somehow. I couldn’t be outside, alone, with a werewolf—

“Yeah, sure.”

Um, what? Hello mouth, it’s me, your brain. Asking what the hell do you think you’re doing?

I’d gone crazy. Those grey eyes had destroyed all rational thought. It was as if some magnetic force drew me to the Scot, my whole body begging to close the distance between us.

“Aye, you’ve made a poor wolf very happy.” He held out a hand, and I took it. As soon as our skin touched, a jolt of electricity shot through my arm, surging in my chest. His fingers tightened around mine, and the electrical charge circled through my body. My heart skipped in my chest. Even if I wanted to, there was no way I’d be able to pull my hand away now.

I didn’t want to, not one bit.

I let the Scot lead me out into the garden. A cool breeze brushed against my bare shoulders. The wolf removed the cropped jacket he wore, and laid it over my shoulders. Underneath, he wore a crisp white shirt and waistcoat that accentuated his broad shoulders. The edges of tattoos peeked from his cuffs and collar. The kilt slung low across his narrow hips. Around his neck, a small coin hung from a leather chain.

My fingers itched to run down his body, to unbutton his shirt and discover the hard muscle beneath. Where was this coming from? I never thought about men like this unless I was alone in my room with my Rabbit and a Benedict Cumberbatch DVD.

I have to stop thinking like this. Even if he wasn’t a wolf, which he is, he knows about my leg, which means he couldn’t possibly want me. Look at his face, how satisfied he looks. He doesn’t feel the weird churned energy the way I do.

Does he?

A set of steep wooden steps led down into the back garden, which backed right down to the edge of the forest. I moved down them sideways, which was easier on my prosthetic. At the bottom, the Scot adjusted his grip, knitting his fingers into mine. The warmth of his hand sent another shot of heat from my fingers straight to my chest.

“I don’t think I introduced myself,” he said, as we strolled down one of the cobbled garden paths. Strings of solar fairy lights bordered the flower beds, casting a warm glow over us as we walked away from the house. “My name is Irvine, from the Baird pack of Aberdeen.”

“Willow.” I managed to choke out. The name still sounded odd on my tongue, but after a month in Crookshollow I was getting used to it. “Willow Summers, formerly of London.”

“It is a pleasure, Willow.”

How long … how long since I’d held hands with another person … since I’d felt the excitement and anticipation of an unspoken promise, of the possibility of a kiss. I knew exactly how long – four years, seven months, twenty-one days, since Curtis broke up with me.

Not that I was counting.

Irvine led me across the garden, navigating through the maze of beds as if he knew exactly where he was going. He moved slightly ahead of me, keeping a slow pace that was easy for me to match. At the edge of the garden, he walked down a final set of steps with me, until we stood right on the edge of the forest.

Down here, the noise from the party faded into a steady hum. The rolling lawn and garden beds gave way to gnarled roots and pools of purple primroses. The waxing moon – only a few days away from full – shone down on us, casting Irvine’s strong features in a cool blue glow. I knew I should be terrified of standing with a werewolf so far from the safety of the crowd, but with Irvine’s fingers tingling against my skin, I felt about as far from terrified as it was possible to feel.

I was exhilarated.

Irvine turned to me. “You are a dream,” he said, those grey eyes wide with wonder and desire.

Before I could react, his lips found mine, hard and urgent. A shudder of delight coursed through my body as he parted my lips and his tongue claimed my mouth.

I tried to pull away, terrified of what he’d discover if we went further. But then I remembered … I’d already shown him my prosthetic. And he was still kissing me. He still wanted me.

God, it felt so good to be wanted.

Especially by this man, with his tight muscles and deep eyes and husky Scottish brogue.

Overcome by the draw of Irvine’s body, I rose to return the kiss. Our lips seared against each other, drawing the heat around us. His hands seemed to be everywhere – touching my cheeks, tangled in my hair, cupping my neck, caressing my hips …

I’m kissing a werewolf.

My mother’s voice burned in my ears, echoing the warning she gave me every time I asked about my father. You cannot trust a werewolf, Carol. That animal nature may seem attractive, but it will only lead to heartache when he loses control, like the animal he is.

Irvine’s hands slid over my body, and Mum’s voice faded away. All that existed was Irvine, his touch searing my skin, his tongue dancing with mine, his hard chest pressed against mine. His body heat radiated through his clothes. I longed to strip away the layers between us and collapse into him.

All around us, the air crackled with energy – a heat that burned against my skin and drew out every touch, every sensation to its absolute height.

I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the kiss, losing myself in the heady wolf scent … and in my mind, Curtis’ face appeared, his mouth set in a firm line, his eyes wide with shock and disgust.

That’s disgusting, Curtis’ voice burned against my skull. I can’t fuck you. I’m never going to get hard staring at a stump.

No. I tried to shove the image away, but it was too late. The words pounded in my ears, pushing out all the fire that Irvine had stirred up within me. I wrenched away, stumbling back as my prosthetic limb slid over the uneven ground. I grabbed onto a tree trunk to steady myself, and tried to shuffle my foot back to steady ground.

Irvine reached for me, but I dodged his hands and slipped back, collapsing against another tree as my prosthetic foot hit a gnarled root. My hands and knees burned as they scraped against the bark, and my leg screamed in pain as my stump sheared inside the socket.

“I can’t do this,” I gasped, turning away so Irvine wouldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes as I tried to stand up.

“Willow,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. He reached out for me again, his hand circling my waist.

No. Don’t touch me. Don’t make me believe that things could be different.

I tore myself from Irvine once more, leaned hard on my left foot, and managed to propel myself to my feet. I fled back across the garden as fast as my prosthetic would take me.