Encased below the earth, he felt her anger rise, her strength fighting against panic. She refused to believe the obvious. In a fit of rage, she struck back. But fear shattered her courage.

As Devin touched ground he changed into human form.

With his mind he spoke to her. His gentle words only seemed to increase her discomfort. From beneath her shallow grave, she hissed a challenge ready to fight him. In her confusion, she thought him the devil.

And, perhaps he was.

Devin had no doubts that the woman would not go easily when once she met her maker. But it would not be tonight or for a very long time.

An animated smile touched his lips. Never had he met a human—a female at that—so headstrong, brave, one who even taunted death.

Most individuals would have crumbled long before now, but not his petit guerrier, not his little warrior. The connection between them was there, alive; he felt it as if her essence blended with his to become one.

Gently he waved a hand over the fresh mound of dirt. The ground trembled. Then as if a cap of dynamite detonated earth spewed the surroundings and revealed the crudely made coffin. Carefully the box levitated coming to rest at his feet beside the open grave.

Anger simmered below his skin heating his blood in a slow burn. She who had been marked for death was his lifemate. The other half of his soul.

The knowledge that someone sought to harm her released molten fury through his veins. His heated glared was enough to burst the coffin lid into shards of splintering wood. Then his glance shifted to the pine-box and his rage evaporated on the night breeze. 

Devin barely caught the breath her beauty stole. Even in her disheveled state she was amazing. Lying motionless, he sensed she had slipped from consciousness, a fitful sleep evident by the frown that hardened her luscious full lips and creased her forehead. A stream of drying blood formed at her temple tracing a path down high-defined cheekbones.

The rich red serum beckoned him. The prickle of anticipation appeared first. Then bittersweet pain as his incisors burst into his mouth, the taste of his own blood on his tongue.

His cock tightened unexpectedly. Not with a mild physical attraction, but a savage, demanding, relentless ache. He thought of her soft skin, how it would feel beneath his palm, beneath his heated body.

Not yet. He silently calmed the beast within as now was not the time, nor place. Gently, his tongue caressed the protruding canines encouraging them to retract.

Breathing in her loveliness, he noted the firm chin he knew would be the effigy of stubbornness. A crown of tousled blonde curls feathered along-side a slender neck. Beneath the transparent skin, a pulsing blue vein sung to him. Again, he fought down hunger and desire.

Before he could enjoy her soft curves, her mouth opened on a gasp. Audibly she pulled a deep cleansing breath, quickly followed by the explosive opening of her frantic eyes.

Wild eyes, red-rimmed and bluer than the deepest sapphires, took one hard look at him before she scrambled from the pine-box fists swinging.

“You son of a bitch!” Like a demon she flung herself against him.

For a small woman, not more than five-two, she was strong, clearly trained in defense. She knew where to land a punch, he realized too late as he took a hefty undercut to the mid-section.

“Calm yourself, ma petit guerrir.” Devin embraced her, pinning her close. One hand secured her head to protect him from her mouth as she attempted to bite him. He would have those teeth sinking into to him, but not like this. His other arm pressed her body tighter to his.

The momentum of her kicks and punches weakened. But she continued to struggle, animalistic noises escaping pinched lips.

His heightened sense of smell inhaled the anger and fear seeping from her every pore. Her pain was sharp, so acute, he could not ignore it. The woman had been to hell and back. She teetered on the edge of madness in need of a release to purge insanity. For her it was a physical need.

“Let it go, petit guerrier.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair and inhaled. The softness of her breasts against his chest made him ache to touch them, taste them.

“Bastard,” she wheezed attempting to bring a knee to his groin. Thankfully, he evaded the collision pulling her closer to disarm her.

“Ah, my sweet angel.” Devin continued to murmur soft endearments, while withstanding her assault until finally she groaned. Stamina spent, absent of all fight, she fell limp in his arms.

Gently he cradled her against his chest. She felt so small, fragile. Yet, he knew she had an ironclad will and constitution. When her sensibilities were restored, she’d be beyond irate and, he feared, out for vengeance.