Jessa Slade - Mated by Moonlight

Beck ignored her and hugged the smaller human woman who was hanging on to her mid-fifties with all the strength in her custom acrylic nails. Merrilee told herself to pull in her own; just because she couldn’t paint her nails without the work being wasted when she shifted was no reason to be a raging wolf bitch.

Although if Babette didn’t remove her hand from his ass—

The woman stepped back and straightened her fringed Indian print scarf. “You two finally shacking up?”

Merrilee choked again.

Beck shook his head. “Babs, you’ve always been hell on secrets.”

Merrilee glared at him while the woman shrugged. “I figured it wasn’t a secret anymore if you’re standing so close together.”

Merrilee took a long step back which sent her knocking into the wind chimes. They clattered over her shoulders.

Babette raised her plucked brows. “Never mind then. What can I do you for?”

“We’re looking for iron. Maybe old horseshoes or nails. Not steel or any other alloy though.”

“Cold-forged iron.” Babette nodded. “Only thing to keep fairies away.”

The chimes fell silent Merrilee went so still.

Beck gave a little smile. “Even more hard to believe, Merrilee here is taking up blacksmithing.”

Babette shot her an incredulous look. “What good is that in New York City or whatever other fool place you’re flying off to?” She waved a hand. “Come on back to the barn. Let’s see what I have.”

The big barn was a treasure trove strung with cobwebs. “Most everything’s steel nowadays,” Babette said, poking through a rack of garden tools. “But the antiques are sometimes iron.”

Merrilee sidled closer. “How do we tell the difference?”

“Take a grinding wheel to them and they’ll spark different. Wrought iron sparks flow out straight, and the end spreads like a willow leaf. Or just press it up against a fairy and see if it burns.”

Beck laughed, but he sounded strained. “Babette—”

She shook one sharply nailed finger. “There are secrets, Bexley, and there are lies. You can tell me one, but not the other.” When he only crossed his arms over his big chest, she huffed out a breath. “Orson was sniffing around here earlier, and he is not as good as you at keeping his voice down.”

Merrilee sighed.

Babette gave her an even sharper look. “But I’d have known something was afoot. You can’t get to be my age and not have seen a few strange things.”

Beck tilted his head. “What have you seen lately?”

“Not just lately.” She waggled her fingers. “Orson turned into a bear once.”

“Whiskey’ll make you see things,” Beck said noncommittally.

“And Orson, apparently,” Merrilee muttered.

Babette gave her a reproving look. “He’s is a good man. And bear.”

Beck rubbed his forehead. “Then why is he the only one you haven’t proposed to?”

“He’s the only one who might say yes,” she said. “But that’s not what made me suspicious. I’ve seen that thing he’s looking for, that imp.”

Merrilee stiffened. “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“And hear the whiskey comments? No thanks. Anyway, I thought it was another one of you people, changing into something else.”

Beck laughed once. “Babette, is there anything you don’t know?”

She didn’t smile back. “Why a man who can change into a grizzly is scared.”

Beck’s smile flatlined. “We’re not sure either.”

After they’d taken Babette’s report of the imp sightings—plus another set of fireplace tools, a few antique farm implements and a good length of wrought iron fencing with each upright topped by an arrow point—Beck and Merrilee returned to the street. They’d left their purchases in the barn, planning to return with Beck’s truck.

Merrilee glanced back as they headed for the Harley. “Can we trust her?”

“No reason not to.”

She ticked off on her fingers. “Alcoholism. Selling out to the highest bidder; she robbed us at those prices. Her wanting to get her hands on your ass again... Wow, you’re blushing, Bexley.”

He strode to the bike and slammed on his helmet. “You coming or not?”

Amused, she settled herself against his spine. They never spooned after sex; she never hung around long enough to get that far.

It seemed strange—and maybe just a little sad—that only the looming threat of a phae invasion had pushed them so closely together.

Beck loved his Harley, but he’d never been so eager to get off it to get away from the press of Merrilee’s hot body when they arrived at the Sun-Down. How many layers of denim and leather—how much steel—would he need to put between them to forget her touch?

Maybe the phae Queen could suck that desire out of him.

The nasty thought made him frown, and Merrilee was echoing his fierce expression when she pulled off her helmet.

What did she have to be angry about? She had her rewarding work, far away from him, she had her pack, her fuck buddy with no strings attached, just as she liked it.

Orson’s quartet hadn’t shown up yet, so he unlocked the bar, though he kept the shades down. Normally he didn’t open until happy hour, making the bar a good place for a clandestine meeting.

Assuming everybody in town wasn’t already in on their secret like Babette.

Merrilee went behind the bar, tossing her coat beside his. “Mind if I get a drink? I think I need one after this morning.”

“Help yourself,” he said. “As always.”

She’d bent down to the cooler, but she straightened slowly at his dangerous tone. Her blue eyes glimmered in the light of the neon beer signs. “You can just say no.”

“Apparently I can’t.”

“I thought we were talking about a can of Dr. Pepper.”

He leaned his hip against the pool table and clicked on the overhead light. “For someone with wereling senses, you sure are blind.”

Abandoning the soda, she stalked toward him until she was right up against the toes of his boots. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He huffed, wishing the scent of her wasn’t so enticing. If he could just clear his nose and his skin of that sweet and wild fragrance, maybe he wouldn’t be so inclined to reach for her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Whenever she presented herself. But all he could do was tuck his hands under his arms. “Never mind. Let’s stay focused on—”

“No, now I’m curious.” She didn’t look curious; she looked furious. “If you want me to walk away, just say the word.”

“You never walk away. You run. You hardly batted an eye at Babette mentioning fairies, but when she said something about us being together—” He wiggled his V’d fingers like little running legs.

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

Whoo. Chasing after the imp hadn’t been anywhere near as reckless as what he was doing now. Why did he feel the need to grab the wereling by the tail?

Because he wanted more than tail.

She leaned into him, close enough that her breasts brushed his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down the V-neck of her sweater. It wasn’t his fault; the wolf inside him saw the pale swell of skin, thought moon , and came out to sing.

“I. Don’t. Run.”

He lifted one brow. “Really?”

He tilted his head and kissed her.

Open mouth. Tongue. Slick lips. A moan. His or hers?

He sealed the kiss so they had to swap breath or separate, and he knew she wouldn’t give ground. Not now. He canted back over the pool table, forcing her to anchor one hand behind his head or lose the kiss. Lose the fight.

He was an idiot to fight so hard when she didn’t want to be won. But her kiss... Ah, her kiss was like a howl in his heart, and he had to answer.