She stepped off the bottom step and almost tripped over an uneven patch of floor. She aimed the beam of light at where the window should be. What on earth? A bookcase blocked out her expected light source. Miles was the only one who could have done that, but why would he?
The cold penetrated deeper, spurring Hope toward the furnace. Her foot caught on something soft but unyielding. She stumbled and ended up sitting on the something. Her hand recognized the contours of a mattress. A mattress that should have been stuffed in a corner, not lying out in the open.
Once again, she sent the light spiraling over the basement, nothing else seemed out of place. She brought the beam back to shine on the mattress and a body.
Her heart beat triple time before she recognized the body resting on its side, a scant two feet from her hand. Miles! Why was he sleeping in the basement and not upstairs? Her hand reached out toward his arm. Should she wake him or let him sleep? Common sense won--he had to be freezing. He didn't even have a sheet. This time her palm brushed his sleeve before she gently shook his shoulder.
A hand caught her wrist in a cruel grip.
She bit back a cry of pain.
A second later she was flat on her back--Miles' face above hers. But not the face she loved. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. His beautiful lips were drawn back in a snarl. A snarl that revealed one-inch incisors. The hand that held her down sported claws.