Michele Hauf - Ghost Wolf

He couldn’t do it. Severo had lived free and alone, but he had been the best wolf Beck had ever known. His father hadn’t needed the approval of a pack. He’d lived life on his own terms and had thrived, earned respect from his fellow breed and married the woman he loved and had a son—

With another child on the way.

Beck squeezed his fingers about the steering wheel. His father should have been here for the birth of his second child. The hunter needed to pay.

The stir of his werewolf twisted inside. It straightened his spine, prodding his skin to form goose bumps. Beck growled. Now was no time to shift, so he redirected his thoughts.

He shut off the engine and stretched out his legs. Focusing on the pull at his hamstrings diverted the werewolf’s urge to run free. He normally experienced a twinge of the werewolf when upset or angry. But lately? It was growing stronger. More insistent.

Concentrate on Daisy . Glancing over the brick building’s facade and arrowing his gaze up toward the third floor, Beck muttered, “What am I getting myself into?”

Did he need to mess around with Malakai Saint-Pierre’s daughter? He’d never let a pretty face distract him so easily. And then again, he’d always let a pretty face distract him. Anytime he went out into the world, whether walking through the grocery store or standing in line (even with a date) at the movie theater, he appreciated a pretty woman. If a guy didn’t notice the beauty walking around him, then there was something wrong with him.

But he hadn’t dated seriously in months. Not since his father’s death. The salad chick last week had been a fruitless attempt at jumping back into the social game.

He’d gone through the grief process rather quickly. Or so he felt. Lately, he was more concerned about his mother. Didn’t have time to worry about himself. He was fine. He missed Dad dearly. But he had to move on. For his mother’s sake.

So getting back into the groove with this date tonight felt right. Like he was moving forward.

As long as Daisy didn’t learn about the other thing he’d been involved with lately, then everything would be golden. Hell, he’d have a tough enough time acting accordingly if any of the brothers were wandering around the fireworks, so he didn’t have to worry about the other thing coming up.

Jumping out of the truck, he landed on the compacted snow. He wore his Arctic Cat overalls and a warm matching coat, plus gloves, pack boots and a knit ski cap. It was already bitter cold tonight. And he intended to test the whole touch not the princess theory. He looked forward to holding Daisy close to keep her warm.

Grabbing the flowers he’d worried over for a full five minutes at the grocery store, he headed inside and up the stairs to the top floor, just as she’d directed him to do. It was an old warehouse that was slowly being retrofitted for apartments, and so far Daisy and a few other residents were the only ones in the building.

“Nice,” he muttered as he topped the stairs and took in the open framework that exposed the original ironwork and ducts. Not what he’d expect a woman to choose.

Daisy was the opposite of the usual sexy, soft, slinky woman he preferred. She punched, too. Entirely unexpected, but she had warned him he’d get a black eye for calling her princess. And the pink hair? He liked it. It looked like cotton candy.

Unzipping his jacket because it was hot up here, Beck knocked on the door, then whipped the flowers around behind his back. He waited a few seconds, listening. All wolves could hear well, and if she had been in the shower, he’d hear the running water and start to imagine that water slicking over her skin—

“Those for me?”

He spun around to find a pink-haired pixy wolf standing behind him, a smudge of black across her cheek. She wiped her hands down an old gray T-shirt, imbuing it with more grease.

“Uh, yes?”

He held out the fluorescent blue daisies. The color was god-awful, but they had made him think of her. “For Daisy Blu, blue daisies.”

“That’s so...” She wrinkled her lips into a moue as she accepted the horrible bouquet. Sporting wilted leaves, with one of the flower heads chopped off, it had been the best of the bunch. A guy couldn’t find any better in the middle of January in a Midwestern Minnesota town.

“Thank you,” she breathed, in a more impressed tone than he had expected or deserved. “It’s sweet that you got them because of my name.”

“You don’t have to act all happy about it. They’re an ugly bunch, but—”

“No, I love them. Come inside.” She opened her door and he followed her in, but stayed on the rubber mat inside the doorway. “I’ll put them in water, then get ready,” she called as she disappeared around a corner.

The vast loft ceiling was two, maybe even three, stories high. He loved the wide-open space. Immediately before him lay the living area with couch, TV and armchairs. To his right must be the kitchen that he couldn’t see from his position. Off to the left and behind the living area, he saw something big covered with a sheet. Tools and a workbench stood nearby.

“I’m sorry.” Daisy appeared before him, twisting her hair about a finger. “I completely lost track of time. I was over at my neighbor’s. Her old stove is trying to kick the bucket, and she won’t invest in a new one. I had to pull out the heating coil and give it a good talking-to.”

“That works with appliances? A good talking-to?”

She shrugged. Such a pretty pink little pixy wolf. He could kiss her right now. Run his fingers through her hair, pull her close and taste her mouth until he forgot his name. But she probably read about that kind of stuff in her books all the time.

How to win over this particular woman, who was like no woman he had ever dated before? The flowers had been stupid. Should have gone for one of those paperback romances he’d noticed in the checkout line.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll go wash my face and change quick. You can sit on the couch.”

He lifted a foot. “Uh, I should stay here. My boots are wet.”

“Suit yourself. In that case, I’ll make it five.”

She scampered off to the back of the loft. A king-size bed sat against the wall, and near that an iron bar suspended from the high ceiling served as a clothes rack. She pulled a few items from it then disappeared into the bathroom, which appeared to be the only room that was actually walled and private.

Beck squatted down and took in the place. The window at the end of the bedroom was curved to a peak at the top, sort of cathedral-like. Cool. And probably romantic as hell to lay snuggled in bed together watching the moonlight.

He smiled and rubbed a hand over his grin, but realized he didn’t need to hide his reaction to the sexy thought.

Beyond the window, the rest of the place was clean and industrial. It was the ultimate bachelor’s pad. Big, spacious, minimal decoration. Nothing froufrou. And there was a welder’s torch on the bench over by what he assumed was the covered artwork.

He’d like to see how she was using the bicycle chains. Hell, he’d like to see anything she wanted to show him, so long as that meant they got to spend some time together.

“What about the brother?” he called when she stepped out of the bathroom five minutes later, pulling her hair back and twisting it into a ponytail.

“Brother? Oh, right. Kelyn is going to look for me there. He’s got a date tonight, too. So we’re on our own.” She scampered up before him, dressed in snug gray jeans and an oversize black sweater that looked softer than a kitten. “You okay with that?”

“With having you all to myself? I think I can deal.”

“Great.” She pulled on some snow pants, a coat and a black knit hat with the cat ears on the top and long strings that hung down over her coat and ended in big black pom-poms. “What’s wrong? You’re staring.”