Karen Whiddon - Shades of the Wolf

“Don’t. Do. That.” Rubbing at her knee, she glared at him, though he didn’t even notice as he was busy reading the on-screen text.

“There are more missing women,” he breathed. “Four, including Dena. And they’re all from different towns in Ulster County.”

Immediately, she began reading too. “Your sister’s the only one from Leaning Tree.” Hitting the print icon, she eyed him. “But it doesn’t appear the police are even considering them to be linked in any way.”

“That’s where you come in.” He stretched, causing the material of his shirt to expand over his muscular arms. Suddenly, she realized he’d changed and no longer wore the camo. Instead he had on civilian clothes, a tight black T-shirt and faded, well-worn jeans, though he still wore his combat boots.

For a ghost, he looked virile as hell. Tantalizing. Captivating.

No. This had to stop. Time to shut this ridiculous and unwanted attraction down. She no longer thought about sex, or at least she tried not to. Her mate was gone and she didn’t want anyone else. Ever.

Chapter 2

Now that Anabel had settled the matter, she felt better. Straightening her shoulders, she knew she was strong enough to resist Tyler Rogers’s ghostly allure.

“Let’s go talk to the police,” he said, flickering in and out, his form alternating between solid and ethereal. She figured this was probably due to the enthusiasm vibrating in his husky voice.

Maybe she’d do better if she treated him like a brother. At least that way, his nearness would no longer be so overwhelming.

“You know, for a ghost, you sure look concrete sometimes,” she commented, clicking her computer to sleep before getting up from her chair.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing that devastating smile that sent a bolt of heat straight to her stomach—and elsewhere.

Brother, she reminded herself. “Come on.” Snatching up her car keys, she headed for the garage. “And whatever you do, don’t speak to me while I’m talking to the police. Everyone around here already thinks I’m crazy. If I start answering you back, it’ll just make it worse.”

She didn’t look to see if he followed as she opened the garage door and got in her car. The little red Fiat had been a gift from David the first year they were married. She loved everything about it, from the tan leather-trimmed seats to the upgraded radio.

“This?” Tyler said, the disbelief in his voice making her smile. “You expect me to ride in this? There’s not enough room.”

“You’ll manage,” she replied. “If not, then I guess you can wait here.” As she slid behind the wheel, he materialized in the passenger seat, legs folded almost up to his chest. She nearly laughed out loud.

Instead she masked her amusement with irritation. “Quit doing that too,” she ordered. “When you’re with me, you don’t need to act so ghostly.”

“Ghostly?” His rich laugh struck a chord low in her belly. “I am a ghost. That’s what we do. But for your sake, I promise to try and pretend I’m human.”

She shuddered at the word. “You never were just human, I can tell. Before you died, you were Pack. Like me.”

Regarding her curiously as she backed out of her driveway, he finally nodded. “How did you know? I’m told the dead no longer have the aura.”

Anabel couldn’t keep from snorting out loud. “Maybe not to each other. But you do to me. I can see it just as clearly as the aura from any living shifter.”

And then she turned up the radio to discourage further discussion.

The winding, tree-lined roads were beautiful in summer and in autumn. Right now, with the leaves beginning to turn, she felt as if she lived in a postcard. She knew other people who’d lived here all of their lives as she had became so used to the natural beauty that they rarely even noticed it. Not Anabel. She appreciated and marveled at her surroundings every day.

As she drove to downtown Leaning Tree, she tried to think how to best approach this. Turning the radio down slightly, she glanced at him. “Any ideas on what I should say? I mean, I can’t just walk into the police station and demand information on the search for the missing girls. That would make them really suspicious.”

“I see what you mean,” he replied, frowning. “You’d become an immediate suspect, especially since you believe everyone considers you off your rocker anyway.”

His words stung. “Hey,” she protested. “It’s fine for me to say stuff like that. Not so much for you.”

Again the deep-throated laugh. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head in mock chagrin. “I should have understood.”

Shocked, she realized he was teasing her. No one had joked with her in any way since David died. Probably because everyone at first felt bad for her and then later, after her breakdown, most folks acted afraid of her.

This used to hurt and baffle her, before she’d given in and decided to embrace her own semiscary weirdness. She’d started dressing in black after David was killed anyway. With a little embellishment using Stevie Nicks for inspiration, she’d taken black to a whole new level. And the funny thing was, she loved wearing one of her flowing outfits and seeing the way everyone eyed her. She thought she looked pretty. Who cared if everyone else disagreed?

Another sideways look at her ghostly companion, steeling herself against his masculine beauty, confirmed her suspicion.

“For someone who’s worried about his sister, you’re a bit of a jokester, aren’t you?”

Just like that, his half smile vanished, replaced by a steely expression. Instantly, she regretted her comment.

“Are you always so serious?” he asked, faint mockery in his voice.

She decided to answer honestly. “Yes. Especially when dealing with something like this. I don’t find serial killers or women being held prisoner amusing.”

“Neither do I,” he shot back. “But I have found making a joke or two can help relieve some of the pressure.”

Since she didn’t have a response for that, she kept quiet.

“I do have a question.” Clearing his throat, he eyed her. “Exactly how powerful are you?”

So intent had she been on focusing on thinking of him like a brother, the question didn’t immediately register. She blinked, frowning, as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“How much power do you have?”

“That’s what I thought you said. I don’t understand what you mean. If you’re talking about firepower, yes, I do own a gun. I’ve even taken classes to learn how to handle it. For my own protection, of course.”

Now he frowned. “I’m not talking about a weapon, though that may come in handy, and I think you know it. I’m asking about your powers. You know, your magic. How strong is it?”

“Magic?” Then she remembered she was talking to a ghost. “Tyler, the only magic I possess is the ability to see and hear spirits. Most times it’s more like a curse than magic.”

His gaze slid over her, the assessing look in his eyes saying he wasn’t sure if she was serious. And then he grimaced and shook his head. “I understand. Good one. You’ve proved your point. I shouldn’t have accused you of being too serious.”

“But—”

He waved away her protests. “You almost had me fooled for a moment. You must be a very powerful witch indeed, if you’re trying to hide it.”

More oddness. A powerful witch, huh? Maybe he thought she dressed like this because she had magic. Or something. Who knew? Every second she spent with him kept getting weirder and weirder. “I’m just a regular person who happens to see ghosts.” And had already had one mental breakdown. She fervently hoped this wasn’t another. “I thought you ghostly beings knew everything.”