“I believe you have Thomas’s number?” He reached around her, his arm brushing her shoulders, his scent enveloping her. Any of his kind would recognize his brand, would know she belong to him just from his scent on her. The… — Christine Feehan Copy Share Image
“not. Maybe it is the noise I’m making, maybe it is just a shift in the wind that carries the scent of me—too human—across the bush. But suddenly there is a rustling sound” — Jodi Picoult Copy Share Image
