Ansel didn't like it, but he did what he had to do. He swept Michelle off her feet, cradled her against his chest and started running. They would move faster when he carried her in his arms anyway.

Their skirmish had cost them precious minutes and even though he hadn't picked up the Grey's scent, he couldn't be sure the wolf wasn't after them. Ansel knew better than to underestimate a wolf. Getting Michelle to the safety of Honeymoon Cabin was his number one priority.

"You beast! Put me down!" She writhed in his arms, her weight shifting on his forearms, causing delicious friction against his stomach while her fiery eyes flashed furiously in the light of his antlers and the delicate scent of her hair wafted up his nose. To his surprise, her calling him beast made him feel things, primal things ... and then there was the peachy skin of her cheek against his chest. Hmm ... Okay, so maybe he did like carrying her.

Having no more need of his light, he dimmed it and smiled into the darkness. For a moment, the doctor became very still in his arms and Ansel figured she had finally realized the futility of fighting a Fae shifter. Perhaps, she secretly enjoyed their closeness as much as he did. That thought made his smile even wider.

He was such a fool.

Out of nowhere, a bright light hit him with the force of a thousand suns. Searing pain stabbed his eyes and mercilessly needled his brain. Ansel found himself entranced like he had been in the truck's headlights.

"I said ... Put! Me! Down!" Michele pointed her ghastly device at him, binding him with its light. He should've never returned it to her.

"No," he growled, "not until you're safe."

"Until I'm safe? What the hell is wrong with you?" She punched him in the gut. Both of them hissed. Ansel's pain was short-lived but she was still shaking her hand when he dropped her to her feet.

"Why are you being such a brat?" He grabbed her wrist before she could run, but it was hardly the power move he had intended it to be. Michelle ended up close to his chest and reacted by violently shoving her face into his, blurring his vision with every contour of her face up his nose, the heady scent of her skin and heat of her breath confusing him further.

"Why are you dragging me into the wilderness like a Neanderthal?"

He had no idea what a 'nee-ann-duh-thawl' was, but the situation sparked a fire in him he couldn't quite explain and for a moment he enjoyed his breath hitching in sync with hers. Fuck, he would like to kiss that mouth. Her gaze dwindled from his eyes to his lips and turned dark. She was contemplating the same, he knew it. Involuntarily, he tightened his grip on her wrist.

"You're hurting me," she muttered, her eyes still on his mouth.

He readjusted his grip and caressed her wrist with his thumb, unable to take his eyes off her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He genuinely was. He didn't want to hurt or frighten her. "Michelle, please."

"Michelle please what? What do you want from me?"

What did he want from her? He couldn't think of a decent reply but the way her eyes stayed focused on his mouth was a good start. He wanted her to look at him like that forever. "Michelle ..."

A blush rising on her cheeks, she whispered, "what?" and it was the most sensual whisper that ever graced this forest. Her wrist turned slack in his hand, resistance seeping from her strained muscles.

"Michelle," he sighed again, leaning closer, close enough to sense the echo of her heartbeat in the space between them. He picked up on a shiver coursing through her and responded by gently rubbing the sides of her arms. "Are you cold?"

"No." She shook her head and re-adjusted, making herself a little taller in his arms. "Who are you?" she asked.

He smiled, enjoying her proximity. "I told you my name already."

She scrunched her up-turned nose in the cutest way. "Then what are you?"

He could see himself becoming addicted to her attention rapidly if he wasn't careful. He had never thought of himself as vain. Vain faeries were easy to distract and easy to fool, but with her, he almost wanted her to. "A Fae shifter," he said, in the most casual way he could manage, "you've seen both of my forms."

Again she shook her head, a little more fiercely this time, as if it would help to shake some useless ideas from her head. "That stuff isn't real."

"Oh, I'm very real, Michelle." He pulled her hands to his chest so she could feel him.

"No ... no you're not, and I will prove it, right here, right now." She stretched on her tiptoes and leaned in.

What was she doing?

Ansel held his breath as Michelle closed the distance between them.

Her lips on his were soft as flower petals. "You're not real." Her whisper vibrated against his lips and he opened them for her, inviting her to deepen the kiss. She increased pressure, ran her tongue along the inside of his upper lip and send fireworks barrelling to all nerve endings of his body.

She tasted like November rain.

"Michelle," he breathed as his whole being sagged into this time-stopping sensation while her hands moved over his chest, arms, thighs, assessing and arousing him. She was kissing him and it was the best thing ever.

"You're real," she whispered incredulously as she tore her mouth from his, and then more firmly, "You're real," followed by probing her lips with her fingertips, and finally a shrieking, "You are real!"

"I am," he whispered gently, still basking in the memory of her mouth on his, but as the distance between their faces grew, so did the pupils of her eyes, until she looked at him in what he could best describe as horror or shock.

"If you're so real," she huffed, "then why don't you put on some fucking clothes. You should really put on some clothes, Ansel." Next thing he knew, Michelle busted his balls with her knee and started running. He suppressed a groan while nearly collapsing.

Nearly. He was a Fae shifter and she a mere human after all, though she was obviously also a cunning, little vixen, but that wouldn't stop him from catching up with her in no time.

His only worry was that some other faerie would beat him to it and would make her dance for the Fae Prince, a dance she wouldn't survive. The light of her device set fire to her red coat and turned her into a beacon for all of Faery to see. Her survival skills were not on par with her kissing technique.

Remembering that unexpected pleasure, he ran his tongue over his lip, savouring the memory of Michelle, then dashed after her, deeper into the forest.