The Hunted
A tempting stranger with a dangerous secret… When a handsome stranger washes up in a storm by Beth’s beachside home, she is cautious; her immediate attraction to him frightens her. She knows nothing about him…except that he’s hiding something. Shapeshifter Dylan was happy with his own kind but beautiful Beth drew him to live among humans…and risk discovery for the chance at love.Neither can deny that the passion growing between them is real. But as Beth wrestles with her feelings – and uncovers her own mysterious origins – danger lurks. Dylan is being hunted and now Beth is a target too…
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Beth snaked her arms around his neck and gave in to the impulse she had been fighting all dayâto touch her lips to his.
The moment she did that, he let out a moan deep in his throat, his fingers fumbling, and a touch wasnât enough. Her mouth claimed his, tongue dipping inside to discover that he did, as expected, taste of warm salt and sea-spray, and something else that she couldnât identify, but immediately wanted more of. This was her dream, all of her dreams recently, only even better.
About the Author
ANNA LEONARD is the nom dâparanormal for fantasy/horror writer Laura Anne Gilman, who grew up wondering why none of the characters in her favorite Gothic novels ever seemed to know a damn thing about ghosts, vampires, or how to run in high heels. She is delighted that the newest generation of heroines has a much better grasp on things. âAnnaâ lives in New York City, where either nothing or everything is paranormal.
Both can be reached via: www.sff.net/people/lauraanne. gilman or http://cosanostradamus.blogspot.com.
Dear Reader,
My family spent many summer vacations along the Massachusetts coast, and the sound and smell of the ocean is one of my strongest memories even now. When the idea of a selkie hero came to me, the decision to set the story on the Cape was a no-brainer. Of course, that also meant that both my hero and heroine are of the staunch Yankee breedâoccasionally (often) too stubborn for their own good, but fierce when the ones they love are threatened.
Any passing resemblance to family members may not be entirely coincidental â¦
Laura Anne Gilman
For Amy and Larry
Prologue
Miles away, in another world, a young male in his prime leaned back, and thought about a woman.
He didnât know her name. Or what she looked like. Or the sound of her voice or her favorite foods. He didnât know anything about her, not even that she, specifically, existed. But he woke one morning to the sound of rain on the water, and couldnât stop thinking about her.
The obsession was hard on him, shadowing his every move, every hour of the day, filling his thoughts, and he didnât know what to do about it.
He rolled over on his side and stared out over the ever-moving surface of the sea. No, that wasnât the truth. He knew exactly what to do about it. He just didnât want to.
Life was good, right now. The outcropping of rock was warm underneath him, his sleek, powerful muscles slack and relaxed after a day of hard swimming, and the ocean spray tingled on his bare skin, milky-pale despite the hours spent exposed to the elements. He could stay here all day, sleep out under the cool wind and bright stars. Or he could swim back home to the little village where his family lived, the comfortable cottage where there would be fresh-caught fish on the table, and a squabble of nieces and nephews to wrestle with, and the pleasure of a new season of warmth and life to celebrate on this first full week of spring.
Life was good. On any other day, any other time of his life, he would be content with the gifts he had been given, to be alive and healthy and surrounded by everything he could possibly want.
But now something tingled in his blood, making him restless and moody. Not just this day: all week, ever since the equinox. Life might be good, but he wasnât sleeping, wasnât satisfied with the way anything tasted, wasnât taking pleasure in anything that he normally enjoyed. Even his temper, normally even and calm, was frayed and ragged.
His blood-kin abandoned him first, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes at his growls and twitches, telling him without words that they wouldnât put up with his behavior. His seal-kin lasted longer, their patient eyes and soft plush fur giving comfort until his increasing discomfort drove them away as well, searching out other places to bask in the spring sunshine and leaving him alone on the rock.
He knew what was wrong. Or rather, what was right. Even if he hadnât observed it in others, instinct would drive him. The temper, the frustration, the desire to pick a fight with his nearest and dearest ⦠He needed to mate.
No, that wasnât accurate. Heâd been through lust before, and this was ⦠more. He needed to find the female who would stay with him, not for a night or even a season, but forever.
Somewhere out there, this woman existed. The simple fact of her being was firing his blood, making him dream of her skin, her hair, the feel of her wrapped around him, of him fitting inside her so perfectly, body and soul â¦
All he had to do was find her, woo her, win her.
It was a simple enough thing, in theory. Not every seal-kin partnered for lifeâhis own mother had several mates, one of them his father, and was on good terms with them allâbut it happened often enough. Always the same way: an impossible pull, tugging the male to bend to its will until the female was found and won, wooed and well mated. But the others males always seemed able to find whatâwhoâthey needed among the blood-kin, the eight Families that made up this colony. If a mate was not there, they sometimes traveled north or south, to meet up with other colonies. Places that were known, were filled with familiar names and shared histories.
