Only Human

left.
    She thought of pointing out that her car was the other direction, decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Don't grab my arm again."
    "What?" His head swiveled. "Oh. Your gun. You want your right hand free. Sorry—I didn't think of that."
    "What's the thing with your eyes?"
    His voice was clipped. "I needed to Change."
    "Ah ... are you okay now?"
    He didn't answer. That worried her.
    They'd reached the corner. The light was red and a car was coming, so she stopped. So did he. The drizzle was heavier now. Lily's clothes were damp, her face and hands wet, but the rain was warm and made her feel clean and private, alone with him on the street.
    As soon as the car passed they stepped together into a shiny-wet street—without a word, both of them moving at the same instant.
    Weird. Lily asked, "Is it because the moon is nearly full?"
    "He was threatening you."
    "Biff is a bully and an asshole, but I had things under control. Until you played macho man and your eyes went spooky."
    "It excited him to force himself on you. You couldn't smell his reaction the way I could, but you must have known he enjoyed making you uncomfortable. A man who gets off on intimidating a woman in public is likely to do worse in private."
    Lily wanted to understand. She wanted that with an urgency that strummed along her nerves like adrenaline, turning her skin sensitive, as if she could feel each tiny, separate drop of mist that fell on her. But there were so many pieces to him. Pieces that didn't fit any pattern she knew.
    Inhuman pieces. "So," she said, trying to sound casual, "this need to Change—that's part of those protective instincts of yours? When you feel that a woman is in danger, you—"
    He stopped dead, grabbed her shoulders, and said fiercely, "It was you he threatened, Lily. Not some woman. You." he crushed his mouth down on hers.

Chapter 9
    LILY'S MIND WENT blank. Unwilled, her hand lifted to his cheek and found it smooth, damp, and warm. Her head tipped back. Her mouth opened to his.
    His taste was like nothing she'd ever imagined—subtle, layered, clean as the wind. And necessary. She burrowed into him, the feel of his body a shock of pleasure against hers. Baffled by pleasure, buffeted by quick slaps of need, she lost her grip on herself. The sound she made held both protest and discovery.
    He tore his mouth away. "Sweet Mother.", He wrapped his arms around her, tight, and leaned his head atop hers. "Give me a minute. I need a minute."
    So did she. Her heart galloped madly in her chest. If she let him go—if she couldn't touch him, feel his skin, smell his breath—something inside her would rip open. "What have you done?" she gasped. "What did you just do to me?"
    His body was hard with need, but his hand on her hair was infinitely gentle. She lifted her head. He was smiling with such sweetness her breath caught.
    He started to speak—then his body, already taut, quivered.
    His smile evaporated. "They're coming. Half a block behind us."
    She'd heard nothing and, in the rain-muffled night, saw no one. But instantly she knew what he meant. Biff and his buddies had followed them. "Your car?"
    "The end of the block."
    They ran, splashing in shallow puddles. But he jerked to a stop fifteen feet short of an alley and pushed her against the wet brick of the nearest wall, putting himself in front.
    Two men emerged from the alley.
    "No!" She shoved her way out from behind him, reaching for her weapon. "Let me handle this," she said quickly, her voice low. "We don't need a massacre here."
    There was no more time to argue, to reason. Fear coated  her mouth as she sighted on the chest of the nearest man, a  blond guy with a droopy mustache. He held a knife in his right  hand, point up like he knew how to use it.
    "Police!" she shouted. "Stop right there!"
    He did. The man beside him—tall, skinny, with dirty black hair to his shoulders—didn't stop until she swung the gun barrel toward him.
    "Dammit, Biff, you didn't say she had a gun!"
    "She's a cop, asshole!"
    That was Biff's voice, from her right. He and two more men emerged at a run from the veils of rain. Biff had a metal baseball bat. One of the others held the ragged top of a beer bottle. Lily swung her gun that way. They stopped—and the two on the left surged forward.
    Rule made a sound low in his throat. "Stay back."
    His voice sounded funny—soft and growly. Lily wanted to look, to see what was happening with him. She didn't dare take her eyes off the men.