by Michele Hauf
“I don’t want you to worry about me, Daisy.” He kissed her again because he didn’t want to get into all that was wrong in his life. Seeking her heat, he pulled her onto his lap. “Let’s talk about you,” he suggested. “You said you’d tell me about your faery side. So can you shift to wolf or faery? Or is it a combination thing?”
“It’s an either/or thing. Wolf shift, or faery shift. I prefer being wolf. But lately things have been complicated.”
“Like how?”
Daisy shifted on the couch to sit with her knees drawn up to her chest. She wrapped her arms about her legs. He sensed her closing up, much like he had just done, so he slid closer and tilted his head onto her shoulder. She smelled warm and homey, like the chocolate cake she’d made for dessert. Sexy.
“Tell me?” he said and toyed with a curl of her hair.
She slid her hand up around his neck and pushed her fingers into his hair. This comfortable embrace felt like perfect Saturday afternoons and summer nights that he never wanted to end. And if she would confide in him, that would mean so much.
“It’s all screwed up,” she said. “My shifting. I should have control of it. Should be able to shift like my brother Blade does. He can shift to vampire with wings. It’s the most incredible thing to see.”
“A vampire with wings? Can he fly like that?”
Daisy nodded. “Add in the fangs, and he’s a threat every man should take seriously.”
“Not someone I want to mess with.”
“For sure. I’d take on my father before Blade any day. Trust me on that one.” She tightened her grip about her legs. “But me. Lately I try to shift to faery and I might get a wing out, but then—and this is so embarrassing—my wolf tail pops out. And I can’t seem to control it. I go for werewolf and it happens for a while, but then it’s like the faery doesn’t want the wolf out so it comes over me. And vice versa. If I’m flying around with wings, suddenly the wolf wants out. Have you ever dropped from in the air, shifting as you fell, to land in a sprawl on the ground as a wolf?”
“Ouch.”
“Yes. And embarrassing. That’s why I haven’t told anyone in my family. You can’t tell anyone this, Beck.”
The desperation in her voice made him ache for her.
“I won’t. But would it help if you could talk to someone in the know?”
“Who?”
“Your mother is faery.”
“But not wolf. And since she’s lived in the mortal realm for so long—since before my birth—she’s not up on all stuff Faery.”
“Isn’t there something like faery witch doctors?”
“Faery healers? Sure, but I don’t know of any in the area. Oh, Beck.”
He put an arm around her shoulders, granting her a closeness he sensed she needed. “Maybe it’s just growing pains?”
“I don’t know. That should have happened a long time ago at puberty. I’m a grown woman. I should have this all figured out by now. I can’t talk to my mom about it, or my dad.”
“What about Blade? If he’s the same as you...”
“I don’t know. Blade and I are close. I am with all my brothers. But it feels kind of squicky to me to ask any of them about this problem.”
“It’s not like you’re asking them about sex, right?”
She smiled. “No. And I don’t know why I should feel this way. As a girl who grew up in a household full of men, I’ve seen more naked penis than I probably should have for a lifetime. My family is into the natural state.”
“Interesting. Do you think there’s any way I can help you?”
“You didn’t want me to worry about you, and I certainly don’t want you to worry about me. I have to figure this out on my own. But thanks for asking. It means a lot. I’m glad I told you this. Did you feel relieved when I saw you shift from the ghost wolf?”
“I did. So if I asked you to show me your wings, would that be a no-go?”
“That would involve me taking off my shirt.”
“Ah.” He slid his palm down her arm, the thick sweater loose and warm. Turning his head, he kissed her at the base of her ear and she squirmed closer. “And what is it I’ve heard about faeries and their wings?”
Daisy nuzzled in and kissed him. “They help us to fly, silly.”
“Right, but I thought there was something about wings and sex?”
She took his hand and placed it over her chest. His fingers conformed over her small breast, and Daisy sucked in a breath. If he could just hold her like this forever...
“To touch a faery’s wings,” she whispered, “is a sexual invitation. It would feel as if you were running your fingers over my skin. But the more intimate areas of my skin, if you know what I mean.”
Beck nudged his forehead against hers. He breathed against her lips. “Then when you feel the time is right to show me your wings, I will be honored. And probably horny.”
He captured her laugh with a kiss, and they fell backward onto the couch. Daisy stretched out her legs and he fit his hips against hers, lying on top of her but not putting his full weight on her. He lingered in the kiss. She pushed her hands up under his sweater, finding the rigid abs, and walked her fingers over the landscape.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Counting your six-pack.”
“All there?”
“I think there could be eight.”
Pushing up on one hand, he used his other hand to tug off the sweater and toss it to the table beside the couch. “How’s that?”
“Oh, yeah.” Daisy pressed her palms to his abdomen and traced the muscles from side to side, then followed the ridges that veed down toward his jeans. He sucked in a breath at the erotic sensation. “I like these ridges,” she said. “They are so sexy. Leads my eye toward—”
“Mischief?” he finished.
She tucked a finger behind the waistband of his jeans. “Maybe.”
He pushed up her sweater, and Daisy lifted her hips so it would slide up more easily. When the soft red yarn reached just below her breasts, he settled onto her again and followed his curious hands with kisses. Pressing a kiss to her ribs, he placed another higher, and again, a little higher.
Daisy closed her eyes and clutched at his hair. Her body felt taut and warm. She tilted back her shoulders, lifting her breasts higher. Seeking, silently pleading.
“No bra. You make it hard to go slow, Daisy.”
“You’re doing just fine.” He painted his tongue along the underside of her breasts, and she sucked in a breath. “I like that.”
Sliding his hands up under her sweater exposed her nipples to the air. The aureoles tightened. Beck sucked in one hard tip, lazily curling his tongue about it. She tasted like summer, winter and autumn all rolled into one. His knees bracketed her thighs, squeezing her snuggly. The eight-pack she’d counted rubbed her belly and mons, and his erection angled against her body.
She tucked her fingers into his jeans waistband, the tip of her finger skimming his cock head. Beck jerked up. “Whoa!”
“I’m sorry. Are my fingers cold?”
“No, I’m just... You’re in a hurry.”
“You think so? I just assumed... Well, you’re a handsome guy. I’m sure you’ve had many girlfriends and lovers...”
“Yeah, but Daisy, that’s all they’ve been—lovers. Not worth spending time with and getting to know. I don’t put you in the same category as any of the women I’ve previously seen.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“It’s good. And because you’re different, I want this to go slower, but fast enough that I don’t injure myself trying to hold back.” He slid a hand down her arm and to her wrist. She pulled her fingers from his waistband. “It’s going to happen between us. Sooner rather than later. But let’s play it cool for tonight. The moon is full in three nights.”
“That means in two nights,” she started, but didn’t have to finish.
Beck knew exactly what she was thinking. The nights
preceding and following the full moon, the werewolf wanted out. Most werewolves restricted themselves to just the one night of the full moon. When they lived so close to humans, it was dangerous to let their beast out more often than that. And in order to keep back the beast on those two nights, their bodies needed to be sexually sated. So sex was a given.
Beck dipped his head near hers, their cheeks brushing. “So, uh, how about Saturday night?”
He was asking for sex before the full moon. He couldn’t bear a refusal, and he knew he was being forward. He adored Daisy. And he needed more of her kisses and her hands and tongue roaming over his skin.
And if he didn’t satisfy his wolf’s need for sex, the ghost would come out.
“You don’t have to get all ghosty on Saturday night?”
He shook his head. “I’ll save it for the full moon.” He hoped. He kissed her breast, then nuzzled his cheek against her skin and between her breasts. “I’m not trying to push things, Daisy.”
“I know that. I think I’m the one who is more eager.”
“Trust me, I’m eager.” He ground his hips against hers. “I thought you noticed that?”
“I did. Can we play it by ear until then?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“I want to see you tomorrow night.”
She hadn’t refused him. Whew. “How about a little pond hockey?”
“Really? You think you can take me on?”
“It’ll be worth the try.”
“Then game on. I’ll come to your place after supper. I’ve got a standing dinner with my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother is the werewolf married to the vampire, right?”
“Yes, Blu and Creed. Is it all right if I get to your place around eight?”
“I’m not going to get any work done tomorrow because I’ll be thinking about you all day.”
His kiss was soft, lingering. A perfect end to a perfect evening.
Chapter 11
Moonlight shimmered on the ice-covered pond on which Beck skated back and forth with a shovel, pushing the light snow cover to the banks. Hockey sticks jutted from where he had jammed the handles into the snow.
Daisy settled onto a snowbank, wiggling her hips to form a seat in the moldable snow, and laced up her ice skates. Within minutes she landed on the ice, hockey sticks in hand.
“You got a puck?” she asked as Beck stabbed the shovel into a snowbank.
He pulled out a thick black rubber disk from his pocket and tossed it onto the ice. His grin curled deliciously. “I’ll take it easy on you.”
“If that’s the way you want to play it. I sure as hell am not a duster,” she said, using the term players called one who spent all his time on the bench. She tossed him a hockey stick; he caught it in a gloved hand. “I did grow up with four younger brothers. I would have worn my hockey skates, but they’re in Dad’s shop for a good sharpening. These will serve.”
Her figure skates glinting with flashes of the moonlight, she performed a graceful spin on the rough surface. Growing up in Minnesota made it natural for a girl to take to the ice in the winter, no matter her breed. Daisy could probably skate better than she could fly. She preferred that method to travel, that was for sure.
“Where are the goals?” she asked.
Beck pointed to a nook he’d carved out of the snow in the bank just behind him, and then to a thicket of dried weeds at pond center, around which the ice had grown. Without warning, he took off, stick to the puck, blades shaving the ice.
“Boys,” she muttered. “Gotta be careful, Daisy. Don’t show him up. Too much.”
Yet she could not allow him to win. Such benevolence would screw with the very fiber of her existence.
Going after the puck, Daisy easily stole it away with a sweep of her stick. She made a long shot and landed the goal.
“I let you have that one.” Beck skated around her casually, his body leaning into the curve. He wore but a sweater, jeans and gloves. His muscled thighs swept him across the ice like a pro. Claiming the puck from the snowy goal, he shot it toward her.
Daisy returned it to him. They skated, zigzagging toward the goal in the center of the pond. When they neared the thicket of weeds, Daisy swerved in front of Beck, claiming the puck, and deftly backhanded another goal.
“Stop letting me win,” she said over her shoulder as he retrieved the puck.
“Deal.”
This time the steal was a little harder, but Daisy was not beyond some body checking to get the prize. Slamming her body against Beck’s, she knocked him off balance, and his stick arm wavered. She made another shot, achieving the goal.
“Hat trick!” she announced.
Beck’s smirk had disappeared. Daisy thought he might have even growled. About time. She craved a challenge.
Skates cutting the ice, they dashed across the surface jockeying for the puck. Daisy kept her body tight and her center low to increase her speed and make herself a smaller target. Beck’s body nudged hers, but she sensed he still wasn’t giving it his all. If he knew how many bruises she’d collected battling her brothers in a Saint-Pierre family game, he wouldn’t be so gentle.
She liked that he respected her. But he was still going down.
“You’ve got the moves.” Beck managed to finagle the puck away from her. “I’d hate to see you with the hockey skates.”
She checked him again, but he swung his stick and slammed it onto the ice, cutting in on the puck. With a flick of his wrist, he made the goal in the weeds.
“Score!” He circled the goal with arms raised triumphantly.
Yeah, boys always liked to make sure everyone knew when they’d done something like make a goal. Or beat their sister at chess. Or managed to win a four-legged race through the forest. Yes, wolves could stand on their back legs and punch the air with a triumphant forepaw.
Daisy shook her head and chuckled. “I’m ahead by two.”
“Yeah?” Beck skated beside her, guiding the puck with his stick. “Let’s make it interesting.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Next one to score a goal gets a kiss from the other.”
Sounded like a win-win situation to her. But when challenged, she took it seriously.
Dashing in for the steal, Daisy commandeered the puck momentarily. Beck shoved her hard, jockeying for the puck. He sliced it away from her. She kept on him, skates spitting up ice in her wake and arms pumping to gain on him. She checked him with a body slam, and he returned the shove. Hard. But it didn’t set her off balance.
Thrilled he was finally giving her his all, Daisy chased him with her stick gliding near his. He slapped the puck back and forth, and she slid in for the steal, and with a shift of her hip, bumped his thigh. Racing toward the goal, she felt him on her, his stick in her peripheral view.
Smiling at the brisk kiss of winter against her face, and the thrill of the moment, Daisy flicked the stick. Beck slid in and blocked the puck from what should have been a winning glide across the ice toward the goal.
He shifted position, facing her, their sticks to either side of the puck. Heartbeat racing, Daisy growled defiantly yet playfully.
“Is that so?” he said on a light tone. “I don’t think so, Saint-Pierre. This goal’s mine.”
He slipped the curve of his stick against the puck, and Daisy shoved him hard. His stick left the ice. Daisy commandeered the puck and made a long shot for the goal in the snowbank. The puck slammed into the snow, wedging in deeply.
“Yes!” Time for the winner’s dance. Daisy wiggled her hips and skated backward, shifting her shoulders in a victory shimmy. “Oh, yeah, I am so good. I win. I win.”
“Competitive much?”
“Always have been. Always will be.”
“I think I like you better when you’re flirting awkwardly with me.”
“Sore loser.”
Beck skated up to her, a darkness falling across his eyes. He looked like one of those imposing goalies that any
player should fear and back down from. Standing straight from her silly dance, Daisy’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, what to say to him. He didn’t look too happy.
Just when an apology tickled her tongue, Beck slammed into her body, gripped the back of her kitty-eared cap and pressed his winter-iced lips against hers.
His breath hushed coolly against hers. Daisy’s hockey stick clattered onto the ice. She moved up onto her ice skates’ toe picks to stand a little taller and keep the exhilarating kiss.
Her arms falling slack she went with the being held feeling. Crushed against him by his powerful embrace, she wanted to take what he gave. And his kiss was delicious. Urgent and hot. His tongue traced her teeth, her lips, her tongue. It was a slow, sensual glide that stirred every portion of her being to a jittery spill of desire. Her nipples hardened beneath the thick knit sweater, and her fingers curled within the mittens she wore.
If every game ended in such a reward, she’d sign on with the NHL tomorrow.
“You win,” he said against her mouth.
“I most certainly do. Screw the game. I want more.”
She tugged him back down for another kiss. Picking her up, Beck glided toward the snowbank where he’d carved out the goal and, tilting forward, he deposited Daisy onto the shoveled heap. He went down with her, jamming his knees into the snowpack on either side of her legs. Biting off his gloves one by one, he dropped them onto the snow.
His warm hands bracketed her cool cheeks as he lifted her up for another kiss. This one wasn’t going to let her win. She felt as if he were controlling her, and it felt...awesome.
“Wanna play another round?” he asked.
“Of pond hockey?” She tapped his mouth. His lips were burnished red from the chill and their kisses. “That’s up to you. Would you rather slap sticks or swap spit?”
“Both sound appealing.”
“Really?”
He waited for her to pout, and so she did. And then he tugged her upright and pulled her across the ice, collecting the sticks as he did. “Game over! I’m all for warming up inside with a pink puck bunny.”
