Ghost Wolf. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
mine wasn’t so ugly.”
“Yours is gorgeous,” Daisy offered. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently. It’s good to be unique, not like everyone else.”
The girl sat up a little straighter. The friend beside her, sporting a hot-chocolate mustache, nodded in agreement.
“What’s the best food to get today?” Daisy asked the group. “I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
“Try my grandma’s chocolate peanut butter brownies. Over there.” One of them pointed toward a table draped in red, around which dozens loomed. “She’s selling them cheap.”
“Thanks.” Daisy waved them off and wandered toward the food tables, her boots crunching across the snowpack.
Unique, eh? She smirked at her encouraging words. But not so unique that a woman’s body couldn’t make up its mind whether or not to be werewolf or faery. That wasn’t unique; that was just pitiful. She had to get it figured out. But she had no clue how to do so.
When she reached the table, she had to wait in line, and when only halfway to the front, a tall, blond man approached her and offered her a treat. “These are awesome. I figured you’d like to try one.”
“Are you following me?” she asked as she accepted a brownie as heavy as a small kitten. She got out of line. “You were just on the ice.”
“And then I was not. I always answer the call of my stomach. Even if it sets me back a cool ten bucks for two brownies.”
“What? These cost five dollars apiece?” The girl had said they were cheap. Shady sales tactics at that.
Daisy bit into the thick, moist chunk of chocolate and peanut butter and sighed one of those after-orgasm kind of sighs.
“Right?” Beck agreed. “Well worth the expense. I may never eat my mother’s brownies again. Ah, that’s not true. I’ll chow a brownie any day. Even the five-dollar kind. Now I need something hot to wash this down with.”
“Over there.” She pointed to a refreshment stand. He grabbed her by the free hand and led her toward where she had pointed. “Did I say I wanted something to drink? Dude, we are not on a date.”
“I know, but I figured the brownie should earn me some chat time with you. I’ll get us some cider, and there’s a tree over there that’s calling our names.”
“Do you even know my name?”
He paused from digging out his wallet from a back pocket. “Uh...I guess not.”
“Bring cider,” Daisy said.
With a wink that surprised her probably more than it did him, she wandered over to the tree.
* * *
With the brownie gently clutched between his jaws, Beck headed toward the tree where the gorgeous pink-haired wolf sat. Reading while others partook of the festivities? She was a curiosity to him, and he liked that he couldn’t figure her out.
He bit off a bite as he sat, catching the brownie in his palm. She snagged the foam cup of cider before he’d even settled against the trunk.
“I should have gotten two,” he said.
“That’s okay, I only want a sip.” She handed him the cup.
Beck peered into the cup. It was half-empty. “A sip?”
She shrugged and finished off her brownie. He wanted to tweak those cat ears on top of her hat, but instead he wolfed another bite.
“So who do I have the pleasure of sitting with under the maple tree this chilled and frosty January afternoon?”
“Daisy Blu,” she said, and offered a hand to shake.
Beck gripped the cup lip with his teeth, and with brownie in one hand, shook with his free hand.
“Saint-Pierre,” she then said.
He dropped the cup and it almost spilled in his lap, but he made a fast-reflex save. “Uh, Malakai Saint-Pierre’s daughter? The pack principal who makes swords for a living?”
She nodded, licking her fingers clean of chocolate crumbs.
“I thought he only had the boys.”
Beck scanned the picnic area, filled with mortals and paranormal breeds of all sorts and sizes. Living in the next town ten miles north, he didn’t know a lot of people in Tangle Lake. He kept to himself far too much. But everyone knew about Malakai Saint-Pierre.
“Four boys,” Daisy said. “But I was here first. Who you looking for? Don’t worry, my dad’s not around. At least, I don’t think he is.”
Beck stood and nodded that she follow him around the trunk. “Let’s sit on the other side of the tree, okay?”
She settled next to him with a laugh. “Are you afraid of my father?”
“I wouldn’t say afraid, more like leery with an edge of self-preservation. Dude’s not the sweetest wolf in the pack.”
“Yeah, he’s not too keen on unaligned wolves. Which is what you are, am I right? You being Severo’s son?”
“Not for lack of your father trying to get me to join your pack.”
“Really? My dad has invited you to join us? Why haven’t you done so?”
“I have nothing against the Saint-Pierres. Or any of the local packs, for that matter. Joining a pack doesn’t feel right to me. My father was always adamant that a man didn’t need a pack to stand up for what was right within the werewolf community.”
“I’ve heard about your father. Severo was a good man. But I have to point out the serious flaw in your sneaky attempt to hide out.”
“What’s that?”
“Now we won’t be able to see my father coming.”
“Shit. Maybe we should—”
Daisy placed a hand on his knee just as Beck attempted to stand. The woman’s hand was warm, even in this weather, and her heat crept quickly through the jeans and to his skin. Nice. He settled against the snow-encrusted tree trunk.
“I’d scent him before he got too close,” she said. “I’ll give you advance warning if you need to run.” Then she smiled and tucked a swath of hair over her ear. “I shouldn’t be talking to you, either. But I like a little risk in my life now and then.”
“Don’t get enough from your books?”
“Not exactly.”
“Is that why you think it’s a good idea to run in the forest all alone? You really should take someone with you.”
“I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. You going to eat that last piece of brownie?”
Beck held up the piece, and Daisy made a remarkable snatch with her teeth. She giggled, pressed her fingers over her mouth, then snagged the cup of cider from him, as well.
Licking his fingers clean, he could but shake his head. This one, as much as he should stay the hell away from her, he wanted to learn more about. Because getting close to Malakai Saint-Pierre’s daughter could prove a lesson in Stupid Things Guys Do. But at the same time: kitty ears, pink hair and an irrepressible giggle. How to resist that?
She looked at him now with such curiosity that he matched her gaze with an intense stare. “What?” he implored.
“I was just thinking there are probably icebergs in the Arctic the same color as your eyes.”
“Wow. Look who just got their flirt on.”
“I wasn’t—uh...”
He waited for her to realize that she had indeed been flirting. Didn’t take her long. She busied herself with the ends