His predator’s senses caught her on the dance floor, even amid the smoke, perfume and greasy bar food. He saw she was gyrating against a number of ensorcelled men (and a woman or two!) and his possessiveness kicked into overdrive.

Growling a little, he elbowed his way through the crowd to reach her. Succeeding, he grabbed her hand and drew her towards the hallway ahead of them.

Wasting no time, he pressed her bodily into the wall in something like desperation, grinding his hips into hers. She gasped, feeling the friction from the denim he wore. She threw her head back and laughed and shivered when he scratched along her shoulders and upper back as if to pull down straps on her dress that simply didn’t exist. Already low, there was a distinct danger of it falling. Neither was completely sure whether he raked his nails over dress or skin, and neither cared. He grazed his teeth along the tendon between her shoulder and neck, drawing a full-body shudder. After he’d decided her upper body had known enough torture, he brought his lips back to her own, hungry and wanting.

"Let me see your eyes…" he growled when they broke for air.

The request was as urgent as breath to him.

She chuckled, low and sensual in her chest, and her eyes for just a moment flashed bright-hot gold. She ran one index finger down the front of his tee-shirt, torturing him further.

He shook his head, drew away, took her face in his hands so she could not avoid him or look away.

"No. Let me see your eyes…" came the imperative once more, more firmly this time.

She smiled, tenderly and a little coyly, ducking her head. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were innocent. Deep. *Hazel.* The rest of her body followed the change, and soon all was as it should be. He gripped her shoulders, pulled her close, kissed her again. Marie.