The Alpha Won't Be Denied by Georgette St. Clair

around,” she said, as Carver shook his head and rolled his eyes at her.  “The people who were staying in that cabin and never coming out…is their last name Battle?”
                  “Oh, no. It’s Jorgennsen,” Delores said. “They’re from upstate New York.”
                  They could have used a fake name , she thought. “Is the guy a big, beefy-looking wolf?”
                  “Nope.  Meek and mild-looking.  He seems very nice. He and his wife are so in love, it just melts your heart.”
                  “Thank you,” Virginia said as the waitress set a basket of fresh, hot rolls in front of them. Carver was laughing at her.
                  “What?” she demanded. “You don’t know my family like I do. They may not be in that cabin, but they’re here somewhere.”             

Virginia and Carver ended up heading back their cabin after they’d finished eating, at Darlie’s insistence. She promised she’d call Virginia if there were any emergencies, but she refused to take up any more time on their honeymoon, she said.
    Virginia felt a strong sense of anticipation as Carver parked the car, a pulsing of desire that throbbed throughout her body and made it hard to concentrate. She wanted Carver. She wanted him badly. She’d promised him that they could be together as man and wife while they stayed there, and it was certainly important to keep a promise, wasn’t it? Very important.
    In fact, it was so important that she should probably rip his clothes off as soon as they walked through the door. So that he could see that she was a woman who kept her promises.
    Good God, she’d become so lust-crazed that she was babbling even in her private thoughts.
    “No, that last bit was out loud,” Carver said, grinning hugely. “But I’d love to hear what you were saying in your head right before that.”
    “Argh!” Her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment. “It was all that healing – it scrambled my brain!”
    “Of course it did.”
    Smug bastard. She shouldn’t have said he was sexier than anyone earlier. Now there’d be no living with him.
    “The door is ajar,” Carver said as they walked towards the cabin.  He stopped. “I smell it. Do you smell it?”
    “Yes. That thing. Whatever it was. I smell it really strongly this time.” Alarm blossomed inside her. Damn Clifford and his ghost stories. “It’s been inside our cabin.”

              Chapter  Twelve
     
    Fur shot through Carver’s skin, and a low growl rumbled up from his throat.  It angered him on a primal level. Danger. Danger to his woman.
                  “Stay here,” he said brusquely. He flung the door open and walked in to the living room.
    The scent hung heavy in the air, sharp and offensive to his nostrils.  It was entirely unnatural.  His natural instinct was to recoil, to move away from it, and he never recoiled from anything.
    He stood and listened for a moment. He heard nothing; whatever had been there was almost certainly gone now.
    Couch cushions had been tossed onto the floor and a vase from a side table had been knocked over. Other than that, nothing else was disturbed.
    He walked into the bedroom, where he saw the comforter and pillows scattered on the floor and the nightstand lying on its side.
    Nothing was disturbed in the kitchen or the bathroom – but on returning to the living room, he realized there was another smell there. It was the smell of a male wolf, and it was somehow familiar to him. He snarled instinctively; a male trespassing on his territory?
    “You can come in,” he called to Virginia.
    She walked in and slowly scanned the room, then walked around the cabin with him.
    “I smell the creature, or creatures, but I also smell someone else,” he said. “A male wolf was here too.”
    She nodded and sniffed, then confusion clouded her features.  “I swear to God, I smell Edward,” she