Taming the Hunter

by Michele Hauf

  “I do know that. Did your mother teach you to cook?”

  “Yes. It was just the two of us when I was growing up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Well, not okay. I miss someone I never knew. But I did grow up as the man of the house, while also developing an inordinate ability to pick out the most decorative drapes, and I can iron linen like a pro.”

  “A well-rounded man. I like it. I’ve always been on my own.”

  “Really? But you must have parents?”

  “Yes, but they used to go off adventuring all the time. Sometimes they’d tote me along, but most of the time I stayed at home so I wouldn’t miss school. Mrs. McAlister, our neighbor across the alley when we lived in town, was sort of my surrogate granny. She taught me...so much.” So much that she could never tell Dane about. Mrs. McAlister had recognized the witch in Eryss and been her mentor in witchcraft, despite her parents never telling her for fear she’d be ostracized. “By the time I was fourteen, I was taking care of myself. Being a bookworm, purveyor of garden-tending and nature appreciator, I never really fit into my parents’ adventurous lifestyle. It was too rush-rush for me.”

  “I get that. You are the free-spirited bohemian who likes dancing skyclad beneath the moonlight.”

  “How did you know?”

  He laughed. “Really? You do that? Maybe you are a witch.”

  “I could be. What makes you think—oh, mercy. This pancake is amazing. So fluffy and moist. I think I’ll have to keep you around. You are a virtual prisoner here, unless you want to forge through the snow to get back to town. A couple more inches fell last night.”

  “You forget I am now a master snow shoveler.”

  “That’ll get you a narrow aisle up to the mailbox. You’ll need the snowblower to clear out the whole driveway.”

  “I considered buying some snow boots, but then rethought it since I’m only here for a week. Now I can see the error of my ways. Weather isn’t so much my forte, as is what the snow and ice can do to three-million-year-old granite and limestone. If you don’t want to shoo me out, I have no problem sticking around and checking out the aforementioned snowblower. Though I suspect you’ve work to get to?”

  “I have to stop in to the brewery today. In a few hours. We’re good for now. Although I may take you up on blowing the driveway.” She licked the blueberry syrup from the fork. It was just sweet enough, with a tang of lemon. The man was a chef.

  Dane ate a few pieces, then brushed his dark curls over an ear. A devastating move to Eryss’s wanting heart. Much like his laughter.

  “So tell me about that dream that woke you early this morning?” he asked. “Do you often have nightmares?”

  “Oh, uh...”

  She’d forgotten about the dream that had woken her from a dead sleep. It had been a doozy, but she couldn’t tell him the details. She didn’t even believe the details. But all dreams had meaning, and she really wanted to know what that one had meant.

  With an absent rub at the birthmark beneath her breast, she said, “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing? It woke you up like a lightning bolt. You cried out.”

  “I did? No, you must have been dreaming, too.”

  “I heard you. It was a horrified cry. Was the sex that bad?”

  “Ha! No way. It was probably the best sex I’ve had. And I have had some blissful sex.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. And I’ll have to accept it as truth when you say the dream was not related. That plant over the sink is mint, yes? I hope it isn’t catnip. I added a little to the syrup.”

  “You’re good. No cats in this house.”

  He was on to a new topic, which was fine with her. Because to tell him that in her dream she had felt a blade pierce her heart as some faceless man had shoved it into her chest? So not cool.

  She certainly hoped the soul seer could fit her in today. Because a dream like that was not something a witch should ignore.

  “I plan to rent a car today,” he said. “Perhaps you could drive me to the rental place on your way to work? I want to drive around, maybe go into the city. I might check out the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.”

  “They’re featuring an exhibition on ancient Greek weapons right now. Sounds right up your alley. But watch the traffic on the way home. You’ll want to head out of the city by three with the storm coming in.”

  “More snow? Does it ever stop snowing in this wretched state?”

  “You don’t like all the snow? It’s a good reason to cuddle and share body heat.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Duly noted. I’ll return early and cook for you tonight, if you’re up for that? Having me around yet another night?”

  “You really have to wonder? Dane, if you like, you can stay here for the rest of the week.”

  “Really? Hmm. I hate to impose—” She kissed him with lips that were sticky with blueberry. “Mmm.” He lashed his tongue out to trace her lips. “Do that again.”

  She got up and leaned against his thigh, moving in for a better kiss that he tasted as eagerly as he’d eaten the pancakes. He coaxed her onto his lap and his hand slid down between her thighs, the blanket slipping from her shoulders to her elbows.

  “I’ll pack my things and bring them over later, along with something for supper,” he said against her mouth. “You good with that?”

  She murmured a positive sound but didn’t make the effort to speak as she crushed her mouth against his and danced her tongue with his. And when his fingers found the moistness between her legs, she spread them a little wider and invited him in.

  * * *

  Eryss dropped her purse, coat and mittens at the end of the bar.

  Mireio popped up from the stainless steel mash tun wielding a plastic shovel full of steaming spent grains. She dumped the earthy-smelling oats, barley and rye into the twenty-gallon Rubbermaid tub sitting on the floor and blew a stray strand of bright red hair from her lashes.

  “I was in at seven this morning,” she declared. “No rest for the witchy.”

  “I guess that means you didn’t hook up last night?” Eryss slid onto a bar stool and pulled the brewery’s iPad before her. She opened up Excel to check the numbers for last weekend and ensure the inventory was up to date.

  “Seriously? I haven’t been out since the festival and that night was a bust. Yet you’re in rather late. What’s up with that? Usually you’re the one to scoop out the grains and clean the tanks for me.”

  “Sorry. I was occupied this morning,” she said, not hiding the lilt of happiness that brightened her voice.

  “What?” Mireio hastened down from the two-step ladder she’d been standing on and swung around the side of the bar to sit on the stool beside Eryss. She leaned her elbow onto the bar and rested her chin in her hand. “Spill. Did the scientist come over again? Did you finally have sex with him?”

  “Finally? It’s only been two days, Mireio.”

  “I know, I know. So tell!”

  “He did come over. I made pasta last night with pine nuts—”

  “I don’t care about the food. Although you do score aphrodisiac points for the pine nuts.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You know what I want to know, woman!”

  Sitting up straighter and drawing in a breath, Eryss announced, “We did.”

  “Yes!” Mireio pumped a fist. “I knew there was a reason for that peachy flush to your cheeks, and your hair is extra glossy this morning. Tell me all about it! This is the man who believes science proves everything and nothing magical or supernatural can ever occur?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry for you.”

  Eryss laughed. “You shouldn’t be. He was a breath of fresh air, trust me on that one.”

  “Did you tell him you’re a witch?”

  “I did not, but we did have a heated discussion over the efficacy of crystals as instruments of energy. I never come right out and say ‘Hey, I’m a witch, what’s your prob
lem?’ And can you imagine trying to convince a man like Dane of that? He debunks the paranormal for a living.”

  “Yeah, that’s a tricky call. So was he, you know...good?”

  Eryss nodded. They’d shared sex details before. It was a girlfriend’s right to either spill or not spill, and she loved spilling to Mireio. “Devastatingly so.”

  Mireio let out a hoot and pumped the air with both fists. “That means he rocked your bones. And the moon was new last night. Let’s see, that means creativity and fertility—oh.”

  “Don’t oh me, Mireio. I’ve cast a birth control charm on myself. Do it every quarter. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Sure, but you know. It was a new moon.”

  A new moon meant one of the most powerful times for fertility and creation. And creation could mean, very possibly, a new life. But she’d had sex plenty of times during the new moon and had never...well, she couldn’t be positive she’d ever had sex specifically on the night of the new moon.

  No. Eryss was confident in her birth control charm. And she would not give it another moment’s thought. “I’m good,” she reiterated. “Trust me.”

  “Oh, sure! Are you seeing him again today?”

  “I gave him the key to my place and told him to give up on the hotel. He’s only here for a week. And if I can have that hunk of science in my bed for a few more days, I’m going to make it as easy as possible for him. He’s having trouble with our snow.”

  “He did a fine job of shoveling yesterday.”

  “He did, and he confessed he liked it. But I don’t think he’s seen snow. Ever.”

  “That’s weird, but good for him. I’d totally give up all the snow for the ocean.” Mireio leaned an elbow on the bar and caught her chin in hand again. “Too bad I could never give up my friends. This poor mermaid will suffer the indignities of the dry air and cold for friendship.”

  “Your sacrifice is much appreciated. You do have that fabulous bathtub, though.”

  Mireio cooed and fluttered her lashes. “A mermaid’s dream.”

  The woman wasn’t actually a mermaid, but her focus was water magic, and her bathtub was a monstrous, round, freestanding bowl in the center of her ornate bathroom. It was the size of a hot tub; she took baths more often than showers. Eryss often thought Mireio should have been born mermaid.

  “If I ever get around to opening another brewery it’ll probably be in California or Florida,” Eryss offered.

  Mireio raised her hand. “Dibs on management!”

  “You got it.”

  Mrs. McAlister had often told Eryss there would come a day when she’d need to uproot and replant herself to expand her knowledge and open her skills to the universe. So why not California, specifically Santa Cruz? Hmm...

  “So what other details are you willing to spill about your fabulous sexfest last night?”

  “Oh. Well.”

  “What? What!”

  Eryss rubbed her brow. “I...woke up in a dream this morning.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “No, I mean the dream woke me up. It was actually a nightmare.”

  “Not the one where you dream of a long-lost love?”

  “Not that one. That one really is a dream. But I don’t think I need that dream anymore. I think the anacampserote worked.”

  “You mean... Dane is the guy you always dream about? Does your soul recognize him?”

  “I think so. I mean, I’m not sure what that feeling should be like, but I feel something when I’m near him. Something very familiar. I’m instantly at ease with him. And I felt a tremendous summoning toward him at the winter festival. But the nightmare I had this morning was different. I think I woke Dane when I called out.”

  Mireio sighed.

  Eryss set the iPad down and turned to her witchy sister. “I dreamed that a man stabbed me through the heart with a knife. And I was wearing medieval clothes. And he had blood coming out of his chest, too.”

  “Yikes. Did he look like Dane?”

  “I never see faces in any of my dreams. It’s so frustrating. But I don’t think it had anything to do with Dane. It couldn’t have. We had a great night. But the dream troubles me.”

  “Dreams are portents.”

  “I know. That’s why I called Midge.”

  “You going to have the soul seer peer into your dreams?”

  “Yes, she said she can see me in an hour. I can’t let this go without looking into it.”

  “A wise woman never ignores her dreams. And you are the wisest chick I know. I’m so sorry.” Mireio squeezed Eryss’s arm. “But I’m not sorry for the hunk of manflesh you got last night. Just one tiny detail?” She squeezed her fingers together before her wide blue eyes. “Weird quirks or even, you know...size?”

  “Where’s Valor?” Eryss asked, smirking as Mireio’s shoulders deflated.

  “I think she’s with Sunday. They’re working on a motorcycle or something. She said she’d be in this afternoon to keg the stout.”

  “Sounds good.” Sunday was a cat-shifting familiar. Her husband, a werewolf, headed a local pack. “I’m going to run to the appointment. Talk later.”

  “Did you ward yourself when you were with Dane last night?”

  Eryss paused before pushing open the brewery door. What a simple question. The answer was obvious—and yet she hadn’t warded herself. Normally, a witch put up a gentle ward against psychic invasion whenever she was out with a man. It was just the smart thing to do. She hadn’t felt the compulsive need or worry to do so when talking with Dane, however.

  That was the first time she’d been careless with a man. Truly, she felt some kind of comfort when she was in his presence, and that must have been why she’d forgotten.

  “Sure,” she muttered, and left before Mireio could sense the lie.

  Chapter 6

  Dane tried on the leather gloves and curled his fingers. They were lined with fleece and were not at all bulky, as he would expect from gloves designed to protect your fingers in below-zero weather, as the tag advertised. The store clerk said they were must-haves for the Minnesota winter, “don’t ya know.”

  Dane did take particular glee in listening to the Scandinavian accent. Eryss had a touch of it.

  So he was buying winter wear because he was stuck in Minnesota, but also because he liked the girl. And if she asked him to shovel or blow the snow from her driveway again, he’d do it. Because it was fun, and because he wanted to help her. Maybe impress her, as well. It was a biological trait to want to show the opposite sex that he was capable of protecting, supporting and nurturing.

  He chuckled at his rambling thoughts. Hell, he just liked having sex with her. And eating with her. And talking to her. Okay—so he liked her. A lot. And he felt compelled to be near her.

  And that strange feeling of compulsion gave him a shudder that was not a result of the cold. He’d never forget what he’d said to his mother when he was eight years old and she had found him going through one of his father’s old chests. Dane had sneaked into the basement and pulled the old wooden chest out from under a blanket that he suspected his mother thought would keep it a secret. But secrets fester in a little boy’s head, and before long, he thought about that chest all the time. He had to look inside it.

  Inside had been shirts, and books on things like geology and rock climbing. A few of the images in the rock climbing book had interested Dane. He’d tried to rappel off the deck a week later, only to realize he was not a knot-tying expert. He’d fallen into the sandbox, onto his back, but had hurt only his pride.

  Beneath a red shirt, at the very bottom of the chest, had lain a sword. Actually, when Dane thought about it as an adult educated in weaponry, he realized it had been a dagger. But to an eight-year-old? It had been a mighty sword!

  Knowing he’d get in trouble for touching a sharp blade—his mom always admonished him for going into the silverware drawer—he had leaned over the chest and stared at it. And a weird feeling had overcome him. He couldn’t not t
ouch the sword. In fact, at the time, Dane had felt as if the thing had whispered to him, “Pick me up.”

  He hadn’t heard his mother’s clickety high heels come down the wooden steps, but he had heard her scream. “Dane! Put that down!”

  And, sword in hand, he’d said, as if in a trance, “The witch must die.”

  His mother had freaked. Pulled the blade from him and tossed it in the chest. She’d swatted his butt and sent him to bed without supper. It was three days before Dane could find his way back downstairs while his mother had been out in the garden. The sword was gone.

  Ever since, Dane had always felt disturbed whenever a feeling of compulsion came upon him. It instantly took him back to that afternoon in the basement when his mother had swatted his behind and told him he was a bad boy.

  And yet, he’d never forgotten that sword.

  Could it really be the very same dagger? Obviously his mother had not tossed it out. She must have realized it had value and sold it. How else had it ended up in an antiques store in Minnesota?

  Well, he was here to find out. And to see if that weird compulsion still existed. But killing witches? He wasn’t sure where his child self had conjured those words to say. Probably from a movie he’d seen one late night while his mother had dozed on the sofa after a long day at the office.

  Standing outside the store, he pulled off the leather glove and took his phone out of his pocket. Damn, it was cold! He stepped back inside the shop, but just as he scrolled to his contacts, he realized he didn’t have Eryss’s phone number.

  Of course, she would be at the brewery. And he now had his own rental vehicle, so he could drive over there. He hadn’t asked if she wanted to go along with him to the museum this afternoon. Even though he’d heard her say she needed to work, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he did not at least extend the invitation. And much as he enjoyed navigating new cities on his own, having Eryss alongside him would be what the surf kids called milfy. Extraordinary.