Ghost Wolf

by Michele Hauf

  “Daisy, reporters don’t risk their lives by standing before a wild animal.”

  “I think they do. At least, this reporter does. But I didn’t fear the ghost wolf. Not for long, anyway. In fact, I know it wouldn’t have harmed me. I felt that from it.”

  “Must have recognized your scent.”

  “What? How could it? Recognize it from when?”

  Beck shook his head and wandered over to the long table before the windows. Her notes, books and various sketches were scattered beside the laptop and a digital camera.

  He gripped his hair and paced. “I don’t think it’s wise. We don’t know anything about this ghost wolf. And even if you think it’s werewolf, it’s not like us, Daisy.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to figure that out. Let me show you.”

  She slipped around behind the table where half a dozen books on myth and even some volumes written by paranormal breeds listed a variety of the known and fantastical creatures that existed within this mortal realm.

  “I haven’t found anything exactly like what I saw. At first I thought it could be an incarnation of Fenrir, but I doubt that. This one comes close.” She tapped a page in an open book that featured Chibiabos. “It’s a Native American legend, and this area of the state is steeped in Indian traditions. There’s a reservation not far from here. Or this one.”

  She pulled another book before her and Beck leaned over, though it didn’t seem as if he were interested, but rather distracted. And not in a good way. She could sense his tension and smell not so much anger as concern.

  “Here.” She picked up the picture she’d printed out earlier. “This is the best shot I could get of it.”

  He took the photo and looked it over. It was a blurred image of something white. Could be the abominable snowman for the clarity. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she’d never be able to look at the picture and say, Yes, that’s a werewolf.

  “What do you intend to prove by getting a picture?” he asked. “I know you want the internship, and that requires a winning article, but why this story?”

  “It’s what I know.”

  Beck frowned.

  “Okay, I know I’m treading dangerous territory with our breed. We’re all about secrecy.”

  “And for good reason.”

  “Right, and I get that. But the ghost wolf is already out there. The humans are making it out to be some evil creature. But I think of the ghost wolf as more of a superhero.”

  “Right, your hero in a cape theory. It’s nonsense, Daisy.”

  “I didn’t say he wore a cape.” But that he’d dismissed it as nonsense hurt. Daisy lifted her chin. “And I want to make sure it’s not hunted as a monster, but rather honored as something that made the hunters take a pause to rethink their motives toward mindless killing. The ghost wolf is helping the wolves.”

  “A noble goal, but...” Beck sighed and turned to sit against the table, facing her. He clutched the table edge and leaned forward, entreating, “What if one of these nights a hunter’s bullet goes astray and you get hit? Daisy, this story is not worth the risk.”

  “So long as it’s not a silver bullet, I’m good.”

  “Silver—Daisy. Wait.” Beck stood, his hands pressed together, going to his face. “Silver.”

  “Right. That’s the only thing that can kill us.”

  “Yes, but...fuck.”

  “Beck? What’s wrong?”

  She could sense his increased heartbeats. As well, her heartbeat sped up. What had she said? His mood had shifted from concern to something like angst. He must be thinking about his father. She had heard he had been with him when he’d been murdered.

  “I don’t know why I haven’t been pursuing this all along.”

  “Pursuing what?” she asked.

  “The shotgun shell that killed my father had silver in it.”

  “That’s odd. Aren’t most shells filled with lead shot?”

  “Exactly. So the hunter had to have made it special. And to use silver...he had to have known what he was hunting. Who would do something like that?”

  “You think it wasn’t a human?” Daisy asked. “Vampire?”

  “Huh?” He found her gaze, as if coming up from the depths, his eyes focusing on hers. “No, it wasn’t a vampire. I jumped on him that night, held him down. He was human, and though I was in wolf shape at the time, I felt his fright.”

  “That’s to be expected if a wolf attacks you.”

  “I didn’t attack him. I just...kept him away from my father’s body.”

  Daisy sucked in her lip. They were moving into intimate territory, and she felt the need for caution. It hurt Beck to retell this information, but that he trusted her to reveal a few details was immense.

  “I have to go check on something,” he said. “This is big.” He started toward the door. “I’m sorry. I had come here to spend some time with you. But this is important.”

  “I understand. I have your digits now.” She rushed to beat him to the door and pressed her shoulders to it as he arrived before the threshold. “I want to help you, Beck.”

  “I don’t need any help. And I don’t want you getting shot in your quest for a picture of a creature that could very likely kill you. Will you promise me to stay out of the forests? Please, Daisy?”

  That wasn’t something she could promise. And she was smart; she knew when she was in danger, and she hadn’t felt it yet. Not even when the ghost wolf had walked right up to her.

  She touched Beck’s cheek and traced his stubble-darkened jaw. His thoughts were miles away, back at his father’s side as he’d died in the forest. She didn’t know how to deal with grief. It hadn’t touched her life. And it had only been a few months since he’d lost his father. He seemed normal and stoic on the outside, but could he be a bundle of agony on the inside?

  “Have you spoken to anyone about this? Losing your father?”

  “Why? I’m not a weepy girl, Daisy. Something bad happened. I’m dealing. If anyone needs help, it’s my mother. She’s— Hell. I’ve got to go. I’m sorry about this.”

  “Don’t apologize. I just... Can we make another date? Tomorrow night? I’ll cook if you come over.”

  “I’d like that. You like wine?”

  “Sounds good. Bring red. I’ll make meat and potatoes.”

  He bracketed her head with his palms and bent his forehead to hers again. “You could win my heart, you know that, Daisy Blu?”

  “I’ll give it a try.”

  “You don’t need to try, just...be you.”

  He kissed her again, this time holding still at her mouth. She thought she felt his heartbeat in that touch. And in the seconds that her heart stood still, Daisy knew she would try for that win, whether or not he wanted her to.

  Chapter 7

  Beck found his mother in the kitchen cleaning the copper-tiled backsplash behind the stove. Why she cooked was beyond him, but he was glad to see her not sulking in the big easy chair where she and Dad had always snuggled. She looked good, actually had color in her cheeks, and greeted him with a genuine hug and a kiss.

  “How you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m well.” She patted her growing belly. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

  “Do you want me to come along with you?”

  “No, you don’t have to. But you’re a sweetie to offer. Did you go to the iceworks the other night?”

  “I did.”

  “By yourself?” she asked in a tone that implied she had already deduced the answer.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I haven’t been a complete hermit since your father’s death. I talk to Blu on the phone once in a while. She said her son Malakai was all in a huff because he saw his daughter with my son. I only have one son—at the moment—so...”

  “I’ve told you Malakai asked me to join his pack, and that I refused.”

  “You can join, Beck. You don’t have to be like Severo.”

  “I don’t feel a s
trong need to do so. Can we just drop it, Mom? What matters is that I think I like Daisy.”

  “Daisy?”

  “Malakai’s daughter. I was with her at the iceworks. But I don’t want to piss off her father, so the whole thing is kind of sticky.”

  “Well, you already have pissed off Malakai. So what’s to lose, eh?”

  Beck caught the sparkle in his mother’s green eyes. “Are you suggesting I see her without her father’s approval?”

  “I’m suggesting you do what makes you happy.” Bella rubbed her belly. She was about four or five months along. “Life is so precious. You should enjoy it while you can.” Sucking in a breath, his mother looked away so quickly, Beck knew it was to hide tears. “I was just on my way back to do laundry,” she said softly. “I’m going to fold the load before the clothes get wrinkled.”

  “That’s cool, Mom. I stopped by to get a few things from Dad’s shop, if you don’t mind?”

  “Take anything you like.” Her voice wobbled as she headed down the hallway.

  Beck wished it could be easier for his mother. He considered giving Ivan Drake a call. The vampire had been the one to finish his mom’s transformation after she’d been attacked and bitten by Evie, his father’s nemesis. Drake had taught Bella the ways of his kind, and they’d been friends ever since. Severo had admired the vampire for his kindness to his wife.

  Bowing his head at the lingering scent of sadness in his mother’s wake, Beck sighed. Yeah, he’d give Ivan a call today. Maybe Ivan could lift his mother’s spirits. At the very least, the vampire could make sure she was getting enough blood so the baby could develop. A doctor’s appointment? He hoped she was going to the doctor who had delivered him. A werewolf M.D. who treated all breeds except humans.

  Wandering down the marble-floored hallway that hugged the foyer, he arrived at the steel door that opened to Severo’s shop. Inside was an arsenal that the old werewolf had kept for sentimental reasons. Severo hadn’t used a weapon in ages, but was ever ready for those werewolves or vampires who thought they could tussle with him.

  Beck’s father had suffered in his lifetime. Severo had watched hunters murder his parents when he was a child, and had been caught in a hunter’s trap himself. He’d limped because of that injury. Those hunters had been vampires. Vampires who had hunted werewolves for the sadistic thrill of it, not for their pelts or the bounty offered by the state.

  Similar to the idiot human hunters who currently tracked the Minnesota wolves. The DNR claimed they were harvesting the breed, keeping their numbers down.

  Harvesting. Beck hated that word.

  Thing is, nature had a way of doing that just fine on her own. The harvesting was murder, plain and simple. And if any hunter dared to be honest, he was going after the wolves for sport, a new hunting experience and a unique trophy for his case.

  And Beck would do what he could to stop it.

  As he entered the shop and flicked on the light, a chill swept over his shoulders. Last time he’d been in here, he’d held his dead father in his arms. Beck had laid Severo’s human body on the steel worktable and had plucked out the bits of shot that had pierced his heart. The silver had run through his veins. Impossible to clean away. All while listening to his mother’s wails not far off down the hallway.

  Beck’s heart was racing with every step he took toward the steel table. The images of that night grew clearer and bold in his thoughts. His father had gasped once or twice as he’d driven him home. Still alive, struggling for breath. He’d been dead when Beck had gently lifted him into his arms to carry into his mother’s house.

  Falling to his knees before the table, Beck gripped the edge and pressed his forehead to it. He squeezed his eyelids shut and gritted his jaws. Why had it happened? He and his father had always played it safe, keeping to the private land Severo owned, and where they knew hunters were not allowed.

  Someone had stepped out of bounds and onto private property. And that someone had used silver to make the kill shot. He hadn’t given it a second thought that night. But then, Beck had only been trying to hold it together while he’d made his father’s body presentable for his mother to look over.

  When one of his breed was killed in wolf or werewolf form, it shifted back to its were, or human form, just before the heart pulsed one last time. To watch that shift had torn Beck’s heart out as surely as the hunter’s shell had pierced his father’s heart.

  A hunter who must know more than Beck had initially imagined.

  Finding clarity through determination, Beck scanned the tabletop. It was clean. He’d wiped it down after wrapping his father’s body in sheets in preparation for the funeral the following night. Dozens of wolves had arrived to witness the burning of Severo’s body at the pond’s edge at the back of their property, including many from various local packs. Beck hadn’t known all of them. But he appreciated that his father had so many friends. Or rather, had earned the respect of so many, despite his lone wolf status.

  He couldn’t recall seeing Malakai Saint-Pierre there. But then, he hadn’t looked for him, either.

  Now he brushed his arm across the cold steel worktable. Then he bent and searched the floor and spied three tiny beads—shotgun pellets—that must have rolled to the floor. He picked up the pellets. They looked rusted—no, that was dried blood.

  A teardrop splashed his hand, but he sniffed back more. He had to be analytical about this and keep emotion stuffed deep. Laying the pieces on the table, he reached up to click on the overhead lamp. Inspecting both, he saw that they were silver, but most shotgun pellets were that color. The third bead was larger and looked clear, almost like glass. Yet there was something inside it, as if encased in a delicate womb.

  Beck grabbed a bowie knife from the shelf above the counter and gently crushed the hilt of it onto the bead. Glass cracked, and beneath the hilt a tiny droplet of silver oozed out.

  He was careful not to touch it. Once silver entered a werewolf’s bloodstream, it was only a matter of minutes before it infected his entire system. Death could result in a nasty inner explosion, or a slow, painful smothering from within.

  Hell, to think about it wrenched his heart so painfully, Beck clutched his chest. His father had suffered in those long minutes as he’d driven him home. If only he could have done something for him.

  He would do something now. He had to find a hunter in the area who used silver in his shotgun shells. These odd glass-encased pellets had been specially made. They didn’t look like something that even an expert could manufacture. If he let his mind wander they looked...futuristic. Where to find such a thing?

  If he asked around at the local shops, he might get lucky and find the person who had ordered in glass-encased pellets.

  It was a start. To a revenge his father deserved.

  * * *

  Hours after her son had left, Bella answered the front door. At the sight of the tall, dark-haired man who stood there, she broke down in tears.

  “Bella, I should have come sooner.” Ivan Drake stepped across the threshold because he’d been welcomed into her home a long time ago, and wrapped her in his arms.

  Pressed against his comforting body heat and enclosed within his strong arms, Bella let her body go weak. She trusted this man, this vampire who was also a phoenix and witch. He had been the one Severo had trusted to complete her transformation after she had been viciously attacked by vampires. He had taught her how to be what she was. She loved him as a mentor and friend.

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her into the living room, avoiding the easy chair where she and Severo had often snuggled and watched movies together. Setting her on the couch and kneeling before her on the floor, he grasped her hands and pressed her fingers to his mouth. He held her in his eyes, their silence so easy.

  Beck must have called him. She was glad her son had done so.

  “I’m here to talk. Or not talk,” he offered. “Whatever you need from me. Dez sends her love.”

  Ivan’s wife was a
beautiful, centuries-old witch whom Bella also called friend.

  “Ivan,” Bella gasped. Though it had been months, the smothering clench on her heart never ceased to choke her up. “I miss him so much.”

  “I know. I’ve never lost someone close, so I won’t lie and say I can understand. That’s why I want to be here for you. Whenever you’re ready to talk, to let it all spill out, I’ll hold you and catch your tears.”

  “It’s not me I worry about,” she said through sniffles. “Beckett hasn’t had anyone to talk to.”

  “I’ll find someone for him to talk to. But I know you, Bella. You worry about everyone but yourself. You look too pale. When’s the last time you drank blood?”

  She dipped her head.

  “That’s what I thought.” He slid up to sit next to her, and clasping her hand in his, he turned up his wrist and bit into the soft underside. “Drink, Bella.”

  And she did until her heart began to feel the tiniest flutter of life. It would never beat so bold and bright as it once had when Severo was alive. But she knew she needed to take care of herself, and the baby.

  * * *

  Wine bottle in hand, Beck paused before knocking on Daisy’s door. He’d vacillated about coming here, and then his heart had pushed him out the door faster than his good sense could argue the worse points of that decision. Because...

  Because he was an idiot. Because he wanted some pretty werewolf to kiss him again? No. And yes. And no. It was more than a visceral attraction to a sexy woman that stirred his desires. It was what he’d told her. She was different. And something about Daisy Blu pulled him toward her when all he wanted to do was put up his fists and fend off the softer emotions that vied against the tangle of red and violent emotions that stirred in him lately.

  And if all those reasons did not exist, he wanted to keep her safe from her pursuits regarding the ghost wolf.

  Shaking out his arms as if after a round of punching the boxing bag out back of his house, he nodded and then knocked. “This is good,” he pep-talked. “I can do this.”

  When the door opened, Beck was hit by a cavalcade of sensual notes. The savory rosemary and sage of roasted chicken. The soft melody of some pop song dialed to low volume. The warmth of the air beckoning him forward. And the visual that so didn’t mesh with what he had expected.