Michele Hauf - The Witch And The Werewolf

“My name’s Lars.” He leaned in to be heard over the music. “I don’t normally walk up to pretty girls and introduce myself.” He looked aside briefly, then cast his eyes toward hers for only a few seconds. Nervous? “But there’s something about you. Do I know you?”

“I’ve never seen you before. Unless you come to the brewery often. I work here,” she said, unable to keep her hips from swaying to the beat. “You like to dance?”

The man shook his head. “I’m not a dancer. Was hoping you wouldn’t mind a little conversation.”

He seemed nice enough. And he hadn’t tried any pickup lines on her yet, so that earned him points. But, as she’d told Eryss, she’d been in her zone. And some nights a girl just wanted to be with herself. Maybe she should reinforce her white light. She always warded with a white light against psychic invasion—or energy vampires—before going out. It tended to wear down as the night went on.

“Sorry.” He shrugged and smirked, interrupting her thoughts. “I think I’m out of line here. You don’t seem interested—”

“No, wait!”

Ah hell, she wasn’t a mean girl, and the guy was cute. What could a little conversation hurt?

“That table is empty. I need a break anyway. New shoes, don’t you know.” She didn’t need the break, but again, the man was a tall order of nummy, so she’d be a fool to send him off like a stuck-up witch.

He wandered over to the table and Mireio assessed him as he did. His jeans were snug and showed off incredibly muscled thighs and legs that stretched much longer than hers. Good thing she was wearing the heels. But she still came up a head or two shorter than him. He wore a soft blue-and-green flannel shirt opened to reveal a plain white T-shirt beneath. And that shirt stretched over abs and chest muscles that screamed this man works out. A lot. Add in the beard, mustache and well-groomed hair and he sported the whole lumbersexual vibe.

She could dig it.

She stepped onto the lower rung on the stool to boost herself up to the high table. Hey, she was five-two on a good day. Here at the back of the taproom they were set off from the dancers but it was still loud.

“Lilacs,” he said.

“What?”

“You smell like lilacs.” His dimpled smile was accompanied by a shy dip of his head.

She didn’t wear perfume, save for essential oils once in a while, so if he smelled lilacs, then... “Oh. I was in the garden this afternoon. That must be what you smell on me. The lilacs are blooming. I love spring. Everything is so lush.”

He nodded. “A familiar scent. I like it.”

“You’re a big one,” she said absently. Then she realized what an idiot she’d sounded like. “Uh, I mean... Oh, witch’s warts. I need another beer.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“No, I got it.” With a wave, she caught Eryss’s attention behind the bar and made the pouring signal for another beer. “I work here. Not right now. But I own the place along with my friends. They know the fill-me-up signal.”

“You ladies make excellent beer.”

“Thank you. I brewed that oatmeal stout you’re drinking.”

“It’s nice and creamy.”

“I’m the head brewer,” she said over the rising noise as the band kicked into a rousing ’80s tune that everyone started to pound their fists to and bounce up and down.

“You say it’s newer? Yes, I like it.” He tilted back the drink and offered her a cheers with his half-empty glass.

She was never going to have a conversation with him surrounded by this noise. And she did want to get to know him better. Because why not? He was sexy and nonthreatening. And she wasn’t against having a conversation with a handsome man.

“So, Lars, eh?”

“Yes. Officially Larson Gunderson.”

“That’s a fine Scandinavian name, if I’ve ever heard one. I’m Mireio Malory.”

“Muriel.”

“No, Mir-ee-O.”

“Oh. It’s loud in here with the band singing. My hearing is usually...much better.” He winced then, as if thinking of something he’d forgotten. He shook the sudden lost moment away and offered her a smile that flashed his pearly whites from beneath his trimmed mustache.

“Muriel will do.” She thrust up her hand for him to shake.

His hand clasped hers gently, wrapping with ease about it and up to her wrist. And then he held her more firmly, and the heat of their connection gave her a shiver. One of those really good, how-could-a-girl-get-so-lucky kind of shivers that she felt from head to nipples to toes—and everywhere in between.

And yet... She sensed something in his handshake. Something not quite human. It was the same feeling she got whenever the Saint-Pierre brothers stopped into the brewery. Those four ranged from werewolves, to a vampire and also a faery.

With a gasp, Mireio pulled her hand from his. He didn’t notice her surprise, thank goodness. She was a water witch and spent a lot of time in nature working with streams, ponds, lakes and otherwise. She also communicated with the animals, and could always sense when one was near.

And Larson Gunderson gave off a distinctive animal vibe. Could he be? Oh, mercy, he wasn’t. Please, do not let him be the one who...

Mireio swallowed. If the lilac scent was familiar to him—witch’s warts. He was the one.

Eryss suddenly popped up beside the table and handed her another pint of blueberry cream ale. She winked and sailed off before Mireio could grab her as an anchor. Something to hold her down so she didn’t float too near the curious man who—This couldn’t be an accidental meeting. But did that mean he’d followed her here?

She tilted back a swallow, then set the pint down on a coaster that featured their logo, a sexy witch casting a spell over a foamy brew. “So, Lars, uh...what can you tell me about yourself? I mean, I don’t want this to sound like fifty questions.”

“Fifty? You have that many questions for me in such a short time? I’m impressed.” He pushed his glass aside and leaned his elbows on the table. She wanted to touch him once more. Just to be sure that what she’d felt was real. “I live out past Oak Grove. I come to town once a week for groceries and a pint. Just remembered this place was here so thought I’d stop in. I’m definitely coming back.”

“And what is it you do, exactly?” Because if he didn’t have a real job, she’d get suspicious. And fast.

“I...well, you could sort of call it security. On a private compound.”

“Ah-huh.”

That was vague. And she was getting more nervous about the guy by the second. But really, if he was the one, would he know things about her? Things she didn’t want him to know.

“I’m also remodeling the cabin I live in. I like making things with my hands.” He splayed them both on the table to reveal long, calloused fingers.

Oh, those were some fine hands that could certainly cover a lot of area on her if she was in the market for such handling. Which she was not. Was she? Mercy. Maybe giving up on men to focus on a spell she was too freaked about to give more than a few moments consideration to daily was too extreme?

Could be. But even more so? Talking to a man who may have very likely seen her naked a few nights ago was even more extreme. She couldn’t deal with this. Not right now.

“Do you want more stout?” she asked and nodded toward his nearly empty pint.

“Probably.” He tilted back the rest of the drink.

“Head to the bar.” She reached over and touched the back of his hand. There was that sensation again. Hiding a cringe, she nodded toward the bar. “Eryss will give you a refill. On the house.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here!”

No, she would not be here.