Jessa Slade - Mated by Moonlight

However, refusing his offered ride would be pointless. And weak. And she didn’t want that.

She turned. “Ready?”

He took one more pull off his coffee, bottom’s up, and then tucked the mug behind the newel of the porch stairs. “Thanks for that. You make it just right.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s nothing. I just have a very expensive coffeemaker.”

He sighed. “Can’t you just say ‘You’re welcome’?”

“Not when you’re really saying I’m a good little woman in the kitchen.”

“I’ve seen your kitchen now, remember? I think you’ve only used one of those stove burners, ever.”

“How many burners do you need to warm up soup?”

He shook his head. “No wonder you come to the bar so often, just so I can make you burgers.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I had a very nice Kobe filet in New York.”

To her surprise, a flash of hurt darkened his eyes before he turned to go down the steps. If they hadn’t been so close together on the small porch, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“No exotic beef here,” he said. “But if you want a sniff of dead imp before it’s gone, we better get moving.”

Despite his long, angry strides, she lingered.

She hadn’t meant his burgers weren’t good. He knew his way around raw meat, knew how to throw on a quick sear and then be patient, letting the juices simmer. She’d meant that she didn’t go to his bar just because he fed her. She went for...other reasons. She respected his leadership and knew he’d tell her all the valley gossip. Plus, he was always quick with a smile that made her feel better after being too long away from her mountains. And he did look mighty fine, whether he was in an apron or one of his bar T-shirts or his leathers like right now.

Actually, he looked mighty, mighty fine right now. And mighty dangerous.

He started the Harley with a roar that echoed inside her. He gave her an impassive look before pulling on his helmet and holding a second out to her. The darkened visor cut off any further fulminating stares.

She stalked toward him, zipping her coat. The strap on the helmet fit just right under her chin, as if it had been sized for her.

He twisted around to help her mount, but she avoided his hand and slid up into place behind him, settling her hands primly at his waist.

His flanks jerked under her fingers as he caught his breath in surprise. As if he thought she’d never been on a bike before. Well, she hadn’t, but she’d thought about it. Maybe dreamed about it, once or twice.

The phae Queen could’ve discovered all sorts of crazy powers on the strength of those dreams.

He spun the bike in a tight circle, leaning hard and forcing her to line her body up with his. But as they headed down valley through the crisp morning air, she found herself grateful for the close proximity. His broad shoulders blocked the wind, and even through his leathers and her heavy coat, his body heat burned her. She’d forgotten her gloves, though, so she sneaked her hands inside his waistband, finding blazing-hot bare skin.

His scarred abs contracted to escape her ice-cold fingers, but the Harley never wavered. Even when his growl was lost in the bike’s rumble, she still felt it in her bones. She grinned at the back of his head, knowing he would sense her amusement just as clearly.

They pulled into the alley behind Orson’s bungalow, and Beck halted. He held her elbow, steadying her as she dismounted. At his touch, the vibrations seemed to keep humming in her body. She slanted a glance at him as he shut down the bike and called Orson from the cell phone that looked ridiculously tiny in his big hand.

It had been...odd having him in her house. She always told herself she liked her privacy too much to have many guests. Plus, she could never have any Alphas claiming her space. But when she saw Beck sitting in one of the two chairs facing her mountain view, she realized she did have two chairs. She’d never really asked herself why.

He finished his call and looked over at her. “He said the quartet should be finishing up soon. They’ll meet us at the bar.”

She nodded and pushed through the back gate.

Her hunter’s eye took in the signs of struggle—the scuffed grass, the upended grill. The iron tongs sticking up out of a puddle of greenish gunk.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“It wasn’t much better when it still had three legs and one eyeball.” Beck circled the imp remains.

She sniffed more cautiously, parsing the scents of charcoal, rot and grizzly-kind musk. Underneath was the hint of wolf-kind. And beneath that, an elusive fragrance, strangely sweet. She crouched next to the pile of stinking jelly streaked with black char where the iron speared it.

The perfume was coming from the imp. “It smells like cotton candy.”

“Orson says all the phae have a wonder to them, even the grotesque ones.” When Beck prodded the tongs, the jelly sizzled, sending up a puff of oily smoke and another whiff of scorched sugar.

She’d recognize the scent from now on. She stood. “We need more iron.”

At the general store, to their consternation, they found few usable items.

“Steel’s a better choice,” the owner, Bill, told them. “Won’t rust.”

Since Bill was a none-the-wiser human, they couldn’t very well tell him they needed to slay creatures that lived only in his children’s bedtime stories.

Merrilee smiled at him. “I was thinking about taking a stab—” she slanted a glance at Beck “—at blacksmithing.”

Bill rubbed his chin. “Well, maybe you could melt something down.”

They walked out with a set of fireplace tools, a decorative door stop in the shape of a hedgehog, and Bill’s advice to visit Babette’s Antique Emporium up the street.

“That old gal is made of iron herself,” he said.

Merrilee hefted the ash hoe and poker, which felt nicely like weapons, and left Beck to carry the hedgehog as they headed up the sidewalk.

She stabbed experimentally with the poker. “Didn’t Babette propose to you once?”

He glowered at her. “She’s proposed to everyone in town at least once, but only when she’s drunk.”

“So you weren’t interested?”

“I gave her a pot of coffee. Not as good as your coffee, of course.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t settled down yet.” She swung the hoe with more force. “Almost two years since you got back and took over for your uncle, and you don’t even have a Beta, much less a mate. What are you waiting for?”

“I have my pack and my job, same as you. What more do I need?”

“Yeah.” The iron pulled heavily at her arm; she’d have to watch out for that.

The old house with a touch of Victoriana that was Babette’s Antique Emporium displayed mostly plastic and glass knickknacks in the front windows. Merrilee’s mood plummeted lower as they walked into the kitchy little front yard with its dozen concrete birdbaths and tribe of lawn gnomes. “If the phae be chased off with bad taste, I think we’re on to something here.”

Beck gave her a reproving glance. “You’ve never even been inside, I bet. Babette has a lot of nice homey décor and wearable art.” He ignored her snort. “More to the point, she keeps farm salvage in the barn out back.”

They stayed on the walk that circled the house, passing a tree hung with upward of a hundred wind chimes. They were eerily silent until Merrilee nudged one, just to make it ring.

“Now you’ve done it,” Beck muttered.

The house’s side door swung open, and Babette popped out with a smile as wide as the ceramic sun faces decorating the fence. “Bexley!”

Merrilee choked and stumbled over a nonexistent crack in the sidewalk.