by Michele Hauf
Daisy’s hair was unbound and spilled over her shoulders in soft pink waves. A sparkle of rhinestones glinted at the crown of her head. A thin strand befitting the werewolf princess she claimed not to be. The usual bulky sweater hung past her hips, and black leggings led to toenails that flashed bright purple polish.
“Daisy?”
She punched him gently on the bicep. “Don’t say anything. I found this in a drawer. Do not use the P word.”
“Uh, okay.” Pretty? Pixy? Princess? All of the above. “I love it.”
“Love is easy, wolf.”
“Well, I can’t commit to like just yet. So what’s with the sparkles?”
“You don’t love it.”
“I do, I just—” Had expected his usual pink faery wolf, sans any glint of feminine sparkle.
“It’s not a tiara, it’s just—”
And he leaned down to kiss her, because if he let her continue she might come up with another ridiculous excuse for him not to like her. Love her, that is.
He spread a hand through her hair and crushed it in his fingers. It smelled sweet as candy. Combine that with the roasting chicken, and he was hungry.
She ended the kiss and blinked at him. “Why are you so cool?”
“I’m not cool. I just don’t live my life based on other people’s opinions of what that life should be.”
“Like joining a pack?”
“Exactly. And even though I know this is going to hurt, I have to say it. You look like a princess.”
He caught her punch in his palm with a smack, and quickly kissed her again. “I win that one.”
“I hate losing.”
“I suspect that about you. Okay.” He spread his arms, exposing his torso to danger. “Take your best shot.”
Daisy wound up, and he winced in expectation, but she dropped her fist. “No.” She took the wine bottle from him. “I’m not feeling it anymore.”
He stroked his thumb across her cheek, as if he could feel the warmth brightening there. “I’m sure the feeling will strike again.”
She smirked.
“The whole place smells amazing.” He wandered into the kitchen, where two places had been set at the counter and the blue daisies had wilted. “Okay, that’s just pitiful.” He grabbed the vase and turned around. “Where’s the garbage?”
She pointed over her shoulder. Beck plucked out the dead flowers and tossed them in a closet that hid a garbage can. “I’ll bring you new ones next time I see you. A natural color, even. Promise.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Now, sit. Let me test out my culinary skills on you. I don’t cook as often as I’d like to. My dad taught me, so I do have some talent.”
“Your dad? Doesn’t your mother cook?”
“Only bakes. She’s into sweets big-time. Dad does all the hunting, so he insists on cooking, as well. Sweet potatoes with a pomegranate glaze,” she said, spooning the side dish onto his plate. “I hope you’re hungry. I think I made enough for four.”
“I’ll eat the whole chicken if you need me to.”
“We are going to get along just fine,” she announced, swinging around the end of the counter to sit beside him.
The meal was amazing. Beck wasn’t sure if it was Daisy’s culinary skill or just that a home-cooked meal always won over his heart and stomach. He ate everything she put on his plate. And she kept filling his empty plate with more.
As Daisy chattered about how she liked living in town because everything was but a walk away, but really wanted a place out in the country like her father owned, Beck’s mind drifted. Standing in his father’s shop this morning had worked a number on him. He couldn’t erase the image of having to carry Severo home and show his mother.
And then he thought about the ghost wolf. Would the creature ever be able to completely stop human hunters from pursuing the natural wolves and his breed?
He wondered if Ivan had gotten around to his mother’s house. She was thin, and needed care. Should he move in with her? Make sure she ate and took care of the baby? He wondered which of her friends might be willing to move in for a month or so, just until she got back on her feet.
There was so much to consider. And now, this beautiful woman sat beside him, oblivious to the torment in his head. She was sweet, and kind, and pretty, and he wanted to kiss her and then push her up against the wall and tug down her leggings and thrust into her, losing himself within her. Finding a solace that could comfort him, if only for a moment in time. Without a care in the world...
“Beck?”
“Huh?”
“You seem distracted. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about my work so much.”
“It’s not that, Daisy.” He set down his fork and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I don’t think this can work.”
“This? You mean...?”
“Us.” Hell, he shouldn’t have said it. But better to say it now than to string her along. What an asshole. Taking advantage of her kindness and her cooking.
“There’s so much going on right now.” His thoughts blabbered out quickly. “You’re so good, Daisy. And I’m a fucked-up mess. And my mom...” He stood abruptly. “I don’t want to drag you through my drama.”
“Beck, I don’t want you to leave.”
“I think I should.”
“It’s my dad, isn’t it?”
“Your dad? No. Yes. I don’t know. I wanted this to work out. You’re such a pretty faery wolf. And your chicken is the best I’ve ever eaten. You sparkle. Your conversation is interesting. But right now things are so crazy in my life.”
Could he just grab her and kiss her until all the crazy thoughts slipped away?
“You’ve been through a lot,” she said, fumbling with the ends of her hair. “But I’d like to be here for you. Beck, I really want to spend time with you.”
“And that’s dangerous for you. At least, right now it is. I have to go. I’m sorry. The meal was so good. I don’t want to be the kind of guy who walks out on a girl, but...”
He tugged on his coat and marched out the door. “So sorry,” he muttered. “I’m the wrong wolf for you,” he added, knowing she could hear him, but not sure how to face her.
Chapter 8
Denton Marx looked over the various ingredients he’d gathered over the past few months for the allbeast spell. Each was contained in a small glass jar capped with a screwable tin lid. Marvelous technology, that lid. He needed something like that in his own time.
Alas, to think of his own time—and the woman whom he had lived with in that time—never ceased to raise his ire. Too much time had passed. Sencha must believe he had stopped trying to rescue her from that horrible nonplace where she had become trapped.
She had once told him about the Edge. Witches feared it only if they traveled through dimensions and time. And as a wandersoul, Sencha traveled through time quite often. She was possessed of a soul that wandered the worlds and times, ever searching, until it found that one other soul it felt comfortable enough to remain with, and cease the wandering.
His soul.
Yet even after finding him, she had continued to travel through time because it pleased her. And she had taught him how to do it. He had drank her blood in a ritual that allowed him to actually travel through time on his own, but only once or twice before the magic was depleted. He’d used it to obtain the weapon he must now use to get the final ingredient to the spell.
He would kill a werewolf, and then he and Sencha could be together again.
* * *
Daisy pulled on her snow pants and zipped up her coat. She slipped the orange hunter’s vest over that. It was dark out, but if a hunter’s flashlight beamed over her while walking amidst the thick foliage, she wanted to be seen.
Sighing as she locked the front door behind her, she wished tonight’s supper hadn’t gone over so horribly. Beck had practically pushed her out of the way to leave. Something must have set him off, because he’d sat and eaten and talked with her for alm
ost an hour before deciding it wasn’t going to work.
Had she talked too much? That wasn’t like her. She rarely gabbed anyone’s head off. It was easy to let loose and be comfortable with Beck. She’d probably let her hair down too far. She’d freaked him out by wearing the crystal headpiece. It had once been her mother’s. Finding it in a drawer had made her smile, and she’d felt the urge to pretty up for the guy. She should try to tap into her feminine side more often. It may be necessary to win the guy.
And she wanted to win him.
“So I don’t have feminine wiles,” she muttered. “Screw it.”
Stepping outside, she gasped at the below zero weather and sucked the permafreeze into her lungs. Rushing to her car, she set her camera on the passenger seat and fired up the engine. Thank the goddess for heated seats that warmed quickly. In no time she was snug as a bug. Pulling away, she wondered if she should drive by Beck’s shop on the way out of town.
She shook her head.
As much as she had wanted to grab him, pull him close and offer him the comfort she sensed he needed, she’d also felt the distance he’d asked for was the better bet. He was struggling with loss.
Maybe this distance was best for the both of them?
Daisy sighed. Seriously? She was hot for Beck, and she’d thought he was for her. She’d been hoping their kisses would advance to something more tonight. What did a girl have to do to get a little between-the-sheets action from a handsome man? Was a skirt a requirement?
“Can’t be. Just give him space,” she said, turning onto the country road where she usually parked.
Fifteen minutes later, she stalked through the forest, camera in hand. The scent of humans was strong. They were nearing her, but perhaps still a quarter of a mile away. And then the other scent rose, and Daisy flicked her head around to home in on it. The feral scent was familiar and strong.
“The ghost wolf. It has to be.”
Finding a wide oak tree trunk, Daisy positioned herself against the rough bark and waited. If another pair of hunters dashed past her tonight, she’d be ready.
The hunters did run by, fifty yards off. The luminous ghost wolf pursued them. Daisy’s camera snapped repeatedly, and the zoom was set high. As well, she’d adjusted the f-stop and ISO according to an article she’d read online for better night photography. She really should use a tripod, but she’d be thrilled if these shots showed more than a white blur.
As long as she tried, she may come up with at least one or two good pictures out of the dozens she was taking.
Headlights popped on, beaming through the woods, but not lighting where Daisy stood. She scampered from tree trunk to tree trunk, positioning herself for a better shot. The hunters pulled away in a cloud of snow spit up by tire chains. Rock music blared through the closed truck windows.
The ghost wolf had struck again. Its howls echoed in the air, pricking up the hairs on Daisy’s skin.
Where was it?
Daisy noticed the feral scent had risen. It was moving closer to her. She maintained her position against the tree trunk, unwilling to risk spooking the wolf. When she heard its huffing breaths, she sensed it was less than thirty feet away. Over near the massive copse of white birch whose trunks had been marked at her head level by moose antlers.
She dared a peek around the tree where she stood. The big white werewolf had slowed to a walk but wasn’t coming toward her. Was it possible it wasn’t aware of her presence? Bending its muscular body forward, it dropped onto all fours. It looked as if it would begin to shift.
The ghost wolf was a shapeshifter?
Well, of course, if it was a werewolf. Daisy just hadn’t put two and two together. So the wolf could be a man. Who was it?
Clinging to the bark with one hand, she readied the camera with her other.
The ghost wolf howled, thrusting back its massive head as its body contorted into the shift. It was never painful, unless the wolf resisted the shift—but it did appear to others an agonizing experience. Within seconds the body had changed, losing fur and claw and taking on skin and the features of its were, or man shape.
“Holy crap,” Daisy whispered.
She couldn’t force herself to take a picture of the naked man lying there on the snowy ground before the tree trunk. He heaved in a breath as if exhausted, then crawled to the tree and pulled out a backpack from the hollowed-out trunk. When he turned around to sit and dress, he suddenly lifted his head, sniffing. He’d scented her.
What to do? Reveal her presence and risk his anger? Or attempt to run, only to be surely caught if he pursued?
Either way, he wouldn’t be pleased.
Daisy stepped around the tree trunk, putting herself into his view.
The wolf swore.
“Beck,” Daisy said.
Chapter 9
She’d watched him change.
The remarkable, luminescent creature who instilled fear in the hearts of many hunters was really a man. Daisy dropped the camera in the snow. Slowly, she approached the naked man sitting before the birch trunk.
Beck put up a hand. “Daisy, wait. Let me get my pants on.”
She nodded and stayed her position.
“Turn around?” he asked.
“Oh. Right.” She turned and listened as he pulled up his jeans.
He was still breathing heavily. Huffing, as if exerted. Normally coming out of a shift from werewolf was exhilarating. At least, it was for her. It stretched her muscles nicely and worked out any kinks that may have developed over the days since the last shift. Much more fulfilling than if she brought out her faery wings.
“Okay.”
She turned at his voice and saw Beck stumble backward, catching his palms against the papery birch trunk and collapsing into a sitting position again. He tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.
“Beck? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just...it takes a lot out of me. Give me a few minutes to catch my breath. Come back to this form completely.”
She crept closer and knelt beside him. His eyes still closed, he breathed in deeply, his chest expanding and stretching the gorgeous muscles. His biceps were tight, the veins cording them in graceful curves and ropes. He perspired, even sitting in zero-degree weather. His face was beaded with sweat, and his hair stood up at all angles.
When he opened his eyes and met her curious gaze, he shook his head. “I didn’t want you to see this.”
Daisy’s held breath released in an exhilarated sigh. “But I did.”
He nodded, closing his eyes again. “That you did.”
“You’re the ghost wolf,” she added enthusiastically.
How cool was that? She’d discovered the secret behind the ghost wolf. He really was a werewolf, as she’d suspected, and—he was the man she wanted more than anything right now.
“How is this possible?” she asked. “Are you like me? A werewolf?”
He nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“I want to hear it.”
“So you can write an article and print it for the humans to read? I don’t think so. Daisy, I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”
“You didn’t do any dragging. I stepped into it. And grant me the right to make my own choices and speak to whom I wish, and date whom I want.”
“I’m not your dad, Daisy. I’m just a guy who wants to protect you from the dangers of...” he spread his arms and let them drop at his sides “...this.”
“How are you a danger to me? I saw the ghost wolf—you—the other night. You scented me. I think you recognized me.”
Because in werewolf state they hadn’t complete control over the human mind. Smell was the key sense. They were more animal in that shape, and they sometimes recognized friends, but sometimes did not. It was a good thing, because once back in human form, to remember having pursued and killed a rabbit, or even a deer, would not be cool.
“You would never hurt me,” she said. “But why haven’t you done something to the
hunters yet? You’ve only been scaring them.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Daisy. I want to scare the living crap out of them and hopefully, in the process, change their minds about ever killing wolves again. If I were to harm one, that would bring me down to their level.”
“Beck, you’re so right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you could be so cruel. I can’t believe it’s you. I’m so glad it’s you.”
She lunged into his arms and hugged him, nuzzling her face against his bare shoulder. He was hot and smelled of musk and salt and the fresh tinge of snow and ice. Delicious. And sensual. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. But you have to tell me how you are able to do this.”
“I will. Soon.”
“Right. I won’t push. And I won’t take notes. Promise.”
“Daisy, what are you doing to me? I walked away from your place today, thinking that was it. Much as I wanted you in my life, I knew it was better to keep you out. Safer for you. But now...”
“It’s hard to get rid of me.”
“You think?”
“Beck, now more than ever, I understand you’re in a tough spot with everything going on in your life. I’d love for us to have a relationship. But if you’re more comfortable with us just being friends, I can do that. I just don’t want you out of my life.”
“Your father will have an argument for that.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not here right now.”
“Are you sure? Because he seems to turn up when we least expect him.”
“Very sure.” She leaned up and kissed him.
Moving to straddle him, she deepened the kiss and he moaned against her mouth. The ridiculous heat of him compelled her closer, and she wished she weren’t all bundled in winter clothes so she could share his body heat. Then she corrected her lusty thoughts because she shouldn’t push. If this was what he was willing to give her right now, she had to accept that.
