The night had been a long one. Stephanie rose at the crack of dawn and placed her cameras in strategic places around the area. She scrambled eggs in a sturdy cast iron skillet over a fire, feeling as if she hadn't rested at all. She glanced at the bandage around her wrist.

The bite needed further attention. She berated herself for not making it a priority. Oddly enough, she felt no discomfort beneath the bandage, which she supposed was the reason she'd been lax in giving the injury proper care. She planned to examine the bite as soon as she finished breakfast.

After stirring the eggs again, she rose and stretched. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply of the crisp, pine-scented air. When she opened them, movement directly ahead caused her to stiffen. An animal had darted from behind one tree to another. One too large to be a squirrel or a rabbit. Stephanie eased back down and grabbed a sturdy stick she'd used to poke the fire.

A twig snapped. A larger shape came into view. She dropped the stick, but on second thought, moved it within easy reach. Rick Donavon strolled into her campsite, her jacket draped over one arm, a thermos tucked under the other.

"I brought coffee," he said, lifting the thermos. "A peace offering."

His dark good looks nearly took her breath away. She had to remind herself to breathe? and not to stare. "I could have used that jacket earlier," she grumbled, stirring the eggs.

He walked over and sat beside her. "I see your mood hasn't improved since we parted company. Still mad about that little kiss?"

Her face heated. It had not been a little kiss. Tongues and groping had been involved. "I've already forgotten about that," she lied.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him frown. His expression almost made her smile. His next words kept her from giving in.

"Then you're just naturally cranky in the mornings?"

She looked at him. "I am not."

"Unsociable?"

"Not as a rule." She leaned down, dug two tin cups from one of her packs, and shoved them at him. "Make yourself useful and pour."

Rather than take the containers, he took her wrist. "What happened here?"

The warmth of his touch penetrated the flimsy bandage. She was unnaturally aware of him. The deep sound of his voice. The gentleness of his touch. The clean soap-and-water smell of him. "Guess I got too close to the wolf I was tracking yesterday."

His gaze snapped to her face. "Did it bite you?"

She laughed over the sudden concern mirrored on his face. "Probably barely broke the skin. It doesn't hurt."

"Let me see it," he demanded.

Stephanie snatched her wrist away. "You're not a doctor. Not an M.D., anyway."

"Humor me."

Since she had planned on tending the bite, she unwound the bandage. Light bloodstains marked the inner gauze, but when she looked at her wrist, she had trouble believing her eyes. There was no wound. No teeth marks. Nothing.

"That's strange," she whispered. "I could have sworn he bit me."

"You're certain?"

She glanced up and found the vet's face too close for comfort. His eyes were intense, searching. Stephanie shrugged. "Obviously not. I must have been mistaken."

"Did you examine your wrist after it happened?"

His questions wore on her nerves. She still felt confused by her lack of an injury. It didn't make sense. She had felt the animal's teeth sink into her flesh.

"There was no time, and it was dark inside my tent. I just poured disinfectant over my wrist and wrapped a bandage around it."

"Did the disinfectant sting? Like the skin had been broken?"

Sighing, she answered, "The skin wasn't broken or I'd have teeth marks, or at least scratches. Even a scratch or two couldn't have healed this quickly. It isn't possible. Could I have a cup of coffee now?"

For a moment, he looked as if he wouldn't drop the matter. He finally turned his attention to pouring the coffee, but she noticed that his hands shook.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, noting that his eyes looked clear. Still, she was concerned about the shaking.

He shoved a coffee cup toward her. "I bounce back quickly."

Lifting the cup, Stephanie breathed in the scent before she took a sip. "What was wrong with you yesterday?"

Rick shrugged. "Twenty-four-hour bug, or maybe too many beers with the guys the night before."

"You should learn to dodge those silver bullets," she said, giving her eggs another stir.

His head turned toward her. "What?"

"Isn't there a brand of beer called a silver bullet?"

He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. "Oh, yeah,those silver bullets."

Something he'd said yesterday still bothered her. The words he'd spoken and the suffering she'd seen in his eyes. Stephanie moved the eggs from the fire and turned to him. "When you were ill, you asked me to kill you."

The cup he held stopped halfway to his mouth. His face flushed slightly. "You know how hangovers are. Sometimes you just want to be put out of your misery."

She couldn't so easily dismiss his plea, whether he was out of his head with fever or not. "I've never seen anyone react that way to alcohol. Food poisoning has been known to bring on fever and chills, but?"

"That was probably the culprit," he interrupted. "I tend to eat my meat too raw."

Stephanie shuddered. "You shouldn't eat meat at all. I'm a vegetarian."

For some reason, he found her declaration funny. When he laughed, she noticed how straight and white his teeth were.

"You find that amusing?" she asked.

Still smiling, he said, "A vegetarian veterinarian. Try saying that three times fast."

She laughed, too, breaking a little of the tension. The smell of cooked eggs made her stomach rumble. She felt starved but didn't want to eat in front of him. That left only one alternative. "Would you care for breakfast?"

His smile faded. "I don't think that would be a good idea. You know what they say? Feed a stray and it'll just keep hanging around."

Stephanie thought it would be best if he didn't hang around. She had trouble keeping her eyes off him. Although he claimed to feel better, she thought he looked tired. Which reminded her of why she felt exhausted.

"I had a late night visitor," she said.

A dark brow rose.

"A wolf," she continued. "It was very strange. I woke up and he was inside my tent, staring at me."

The cup in his hand shook again. He set it down. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming? Wolves don't usually?"

"I know," she interrupted. "They usually avoid people. But I wasn't dreaming, and I could have sworn it was the same wolf the hunters had wounded. But when I followed him outside, I noticed he wasn't limping, showed no sign of injury at all, so it couldn't have been the same animal."

"You should leave," he said. "It could be dangerous here for you."

She dug in her pack and removed a tin plate. "For me, or for the hunters if I decide to turn them in to the authorities?"

Rising, he stretched his long legs. "Don't get between the farmers and the wolves. Mostly, they're just good old boys looking out for their own interests."

While scooping eggs onto her plate, she muttered, "What are they going to do? Shoot me?"

"Not on purpose, but these men are farmers, not expert marksmen. You don't want to get caught in the middle."

Stephanie glanced up at him, suspicion causing her gaze to narrow. "That's what this visit is about, isn't it? You came to scare me off?"

"I came to talk some sense into you," he corrected. "What's going on here isn't any of your business."

She set her plate aside and rose, meeting him on his level. "Wolves are being illegally hunted and that's none of my business? I'm making it my business, and I'm also calling the Fish and Wildlife Service on your crooked sheriff and his hillbilly friends. What do you think of that?"

"I think you're poking your nose into something dangerous," he shot back. "The farmers are good men, and the sheriff is a good man, too. He's protecting the community. Today the wolves are only killing sheep. Tomorrow it may be a child who's wandered too far into the woods, or a woman camping alone."

She snorted disdainfully. "I'm not that easily frightened. And for your information, there's no proof that a healthy wild wolf has attacked a human in North America for the past decade."

Rick felt tempted to shake her silly. She had no idea they were not discussing "normal" wolves. At least one of them wasn't normal. He couldn't believe he'd come here last night. Crept into her tent and stared at her. Thank God that was all he'd done. He must have picked up her scent from her jacket draped over the rocker in his room.

He'd hoped his strong attraction to her the day before might be a result of the drugs in his system. Not so. He fought himself not to kiss her again. She was beautiful, and tempting, and forbidden.

"You're stubborn," he added out loud.

"I'm dedicated," she corrected. "And I won't be bullied around or frightened away. The last man I let tell me what to do was my father, and that only lasted until I was old enough to talk back."

He could imagine her as a child. Small angelic face surrounded by blond curls; twisting men around her finger even then. "I don't want to be your father," he assured her, not bothering to add that he wouldn't mind being her lover. He'd made that clear enough yesterday. "I thought you might listen to reason."

"But you're not being rational," she pointed out. "If I leave, who will save these wolves?"

She was right. He wasn't being rational. Leaving was no longer an option for her. Not until he was certain he hadn't bitten her. To his knowledge, Rick had never attacked a human. Research he'd read insisted a person couldn't become a werewolf by being bitten by one, but he knew that was a lie. To assure himself that he hadn't passed his curse to Stephanie Shane, Rick had to keep her nearby until the next full moon cycle.

"If you call the authorities about the hunters, you won't get your research or your documentary. The place will be crawling with people. Wolves don't particularly like people, remember? They'll go into hiding."

Her teeth worried her bottom lip. "That's true. But what am I supposed to do, just let them continue to kill wolves?"

It was hard for him to concentrate when she stood close to him. Harder still to keep from sampling her lips again. Rick returned to the stump she'd been sitting on. He sat and lifted his coffee. "I could talk to Hugh. Ask him to forgo any more hunting until you're finished here."

Stephanie joined him, retrieving her unfinished breakfast. "And I suppose in exchange, I have to agree not to report his actions?"

He smiled. "You're smart, too."

"Too smart to agree to that. I won't spend time and emotion on these wolves only to hear reports at a later date that they've all been killed."

"But your work could launch a campaign to have them relocated rather than destroyed," he said. "I can placate the sheriff and the farmers if you agree to film the wolves killing livestock. They would have their proof that something needs to be done."

"And what if my cameras prove the wolves are not responsible, but some other predator?"

He shrugged. "It won't, but then you'll have proof that the wolves should be left alone."

"Why are you so sure the wolves are responsible?" she asked, then shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth.

"I've seen the remains. These are pack killings. More than one animal. The thing is, the sheep being killed are most likely animals that are diseased or weak, and might not survive anyway. That's how survival of the fittest works."

"Sounds to me as if the wolves are only doing their job," she commented. "Can you prove that the sheep being killed are sick?"

Rick shook his head. "Not enough left of the remains to perform an autopsy."

Stephanie set her plate aside. "So much for my appetite. And I have work to do." She rose, affording him a view of her long legs wrapped in tight denim. "I'm hoping to find one of the dens today. I thought I could set up a camera close by to catch them coming and going."

Her long legs were so distracting, he almost didn't hear her words. When they sank in, he tensed. "That wouldn't be a smart move. The females are probably ready to whelp or already have. Get too close to the dens, and the wolves will become aggressive."

"But getting close is my job." She scraped the remains of her plate back into the skillet, gathered her dishes, and moved off toward a stream beside her campsite. Rick went after her.

"I'm serious," he insisted. Now that the moon's cycle had ended, he didn't have to worry about stumbling from a den naked come daylight and being caught on film in the process. But he knew for a fact that there were pups in the dens, and the animals would be protective.

"I'll be careful," she assured him, bending next to the stream to wash her dishes.

Rick bent beside her. "like you were the other night? You've already been bitten once?"

"No, that was a mistake," she interrupted. "I only thought the animal bit me. And I plan to be more careful from here on out. Don't you have something to do besides bother me?"

He leaned in, smelling her hair. He loved her scent. "Am I bothering you?"

When she turned her head, they were eye to eye. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. "Yes," she answered.

She bothered him, too. And in a big way. He had visited her campsite with the intention of scaring her off, but now, she had to stay. Now he had to keep a close eye on her and, at the same time, keep his raging hormones at bay. Not an easy task for a werewolf.

Backing off when she sat so close, her eyes still locked with his, took a great amount of willpower. She glanced away, gathered her dishes, and stood up.

"Good-bye, Dr. Donavon."

He rose, watching the sway of her hips as she walked away. The sunshine bounced off her hair. She stopped, and he waited for her to turn and say something else to him. When she continued to stand perfectly still, he moved up behind her. Blocking the path to her campsite stood a large gray wolf. The animal curled back its lips and growled.