The butterflies in my stomach bat their wings harder. How is it possible for a guy to be so gorgeous? His cheekbones could cut glass. And his eyes. I didn’t know eyes could actually sparkle. I’d always thought that was just a pretty way to call them nice.

“I suppose if I’m going to stalk you, I should introduce myself,” he says, holding out a hand as if he expects me to shake it. “Oscar Warren.”

“Cheryl Dartmore,” I find myself saying, as he takes the hand I don’t offer and raises it to brush his lips over my knuckles.

The oddly intimate touch makes me shiver, but it’s the steady gaze he fixes me with that makes my knees tremble. I try to shrug off the feeling, or at least find it creepy, but my body’s responses to him all scream yes.

Oh Goddess. Is this the hold wolves have over witches?

If it is, I’m screwed. There’s no way I’m getting out of here. I’ll belong to Oscar, or some other hotter than hell shifter before the week is out. I don’t think I’d even complain about it.