The Witch and the Werewolf

by Michele Hauf

  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.

  Mireio grabbed her little black purse, shaped like a fish, swung it over a shoulder, and beelined it for the door behind the band, well out of view of the bar, and the mysteriously delicious Lars Gunderson’s eyesight.

  She’d had three drinks, so she wouldn’t drive home. If she were lucky, she might catch a bus this late.

  Chapter 2

  When he returned to the now empty table, Lars saw the sassy little skirt slip out the door. The woman with the bright red curls and sexy, deep cleavage had dashed out of the brewery.

  He gaped. Really? Had he made that terrible of a first impression? She’d kind of seemed into him. Had touched his hand. Had even fluttered her thick lashes at him as she’d smiled a sweet pixie smile. And he hadn’t gotten to ask her the burning question. The one he’d been wondering about since the scent of lilacs had led him here.

  Devastated that the woman had taken off, Lars sulked. He should chalk it up as another rejection. And yet a deep, visceral part of him would not allow him to mark this off as defeat. He had to know if she was the one.

  So, leaving his beer on the table, he pushed through the dancing people and slunk around the electric guitarist and pushed open the door. He could hear her high heels clicking on the concrete, though he couldn’t see her. But he smelled lilacs...that way.

  Turning left, he passed three storefronts, then swung another left and there she stood, near the bus stop, stepping nervously from foot to foot. He heard her mutter softly, “Oh, shit.”

  That utterance stabbed Lars right in the heart. Never had a woman rejected him so soundly as to run off. So he stopped about twenty feet away from her and put up his hands placatingly.

  Should he really do this? Was he that desperate for more cruel treatment? She seemed almost afraid of him. Threatened? He didn’t want her to feel that way. That wasn’t his style.

  But the heady scent of lilacs wouldn’t allow him to turn away.

  So what to do?

  The woman wore a short skirt that looked like one of those tartans the Highlanders wore, along with a blousy red top that emphasized her ample cleavage. Sky-high heels matched the blouse color. And white ankle socks with a delicate ruffle kept drawing his eye down there. She was short, a good head shorter than him, even in the heels, but the shoes did make her legs look long and slender.

  “You keep staring at my legs like that, I’m going to have to slap you,” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  She offered him a smile and a shift of her hips. “I don’t do things like slap men.”

  He took that as a sign it was okay to
approach. But only a few steps. “Couldn’t help but stare. You’ve amazing gams. I, uh...did you have a previous engagement you forgot to tell me about?”

  She rubbed a palm up one of her arms. A black fish swung near her waist. What was that? A purse?

  “Sorry. I suddenly got a weird vibe about you. No offense.”

  “Really? Because if you think I’m weird I do take offense from that.”

  “No, I don’t think you’re weird weird. Just—hey, weird is good, right?”

  “Still offended here.”

  Her wince was accompanied by a shrug. “I’m usually much better at explaining myself. I think you’re a...” She bit her lower lip. Her lips were so red and plump. Kissable. Yet juxtaposed with her appeal was also her strange fear of him. What had he said to her to make her flee?

  “I’m a what?” Lars prompted.

  “I’m not sure how to say it. You said the lilac scent was familiar to you.”

  It had been in his nose since three nights ago when he’d been out of his head and had woken in the morning knowing he’d shifted again without volition. It had been happening with a disturbing frequency lately. And each time he risked being seen by more than a few humans.

  Yet, he also sensed this woman wasn’t necessarily human.

  “I did, and do, smell lilacs,” he said. “There’s only wildflowers growing out where I live. I keep bees. They make me happy.” Ramble much? Just out with it, you idiot! “So anyway, the lilac scent stood out to me the moment I entered the brewery. Let me see if I can approach what I think we’re both trying to avoid. Okay?” He took a step toward her.

  She clung to the bus stop pole fiercely.

  “Tell me,” he asked, “if the rumors I’ve heard about the owners of the brewery are true?”

  Thankfully, no one else was out on the sidewalk, and the streetlights illuminated their conversation. Around the corner, the band could be heard singing a Billy Idol tune. Lars would love to give a rebel yell right about now. Anything to release his anxiety over talking to this goddess of a woman.

  “What?” She teased a bright curl about her forefinger and her stance relaxed. That wasn’t a motion that Lars could look at for long without wanting to do it himself. Tangle his fingers in her hair, that is. “That we spike the beer with a little something extra?”

  “Is that a rumor? Huh. No, I’m talking about the one where you bewitch the beers. Because you’re witches.”

  “Oh, that one.” Her shoulders dropped. The fish purse slid down her arm to dangle near an ankle. A heavy sigh preceded her nod. “Well, we try to keep things as normal as possible for the human patrons. But...” Her pretty blue eyes dallied with his. “You have a problem with me being a witch?”

  “Nope. I was raised by a wolf who was married to a witch.”

  “Which means...” She teased her tongue along her upper lip as she eyed him carefully. “I’m guessing you’re not human either, are you?”

  Lars dared a few steps closer to her. He cast a glance around toward the parking lot across the street—no one in the vicinity—then said quietly. “I’m a wolf.”

  “Shit.” An accusing finger pointed at him and Lars couldn’t be sure if it might possess a magical zap. “It’s you.”

  He actually flinched. “I...don’t even know what to say to that.”

  “You were the wolf the other night, weren’t you? The werewolf in my backyard.”

  “Uh...yes?”

  Talk about being caught out. Guilty as charged.

  “Oh, I can’t do this.” She started across the street but avoided the parking lot.

  If she’d been waiting for the bus, did she not have a car? Was she veering off course to get away from him? He’d gone about this all wrong. He’d scared her when he had only wanted to meet her and get to know the compelling woman who had not left his thoughts for days.

  “Muriel, wait!”

  “It’s Mireio! And don’t follow me, please. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I can’t remember much.”

  “What?” She suddenly stopped in the middle of the street that stretched down a quiet area between the parking lot and a closed restaurant. “So you admit it was you the other night?”

  “I think so?” He approached with his hands splayed up and out. “When I’m in werewolf shape I know things and see them as the wolf, but my wolf mind shares space with my man mind. Things get a little confusing.”

  “Not confusing enough for you to be unable to find me tonight.”

  “It was the lilacs. I smelled them that night. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about them since. Or of the soft woman I saw standing in the doorway.”

  “Oh, my goddess. You do remember that! I was naked!”

  He offered a weak shrug. “Yes?”

  “You said things were confusing. Do you remember me naked or not?”

  He wobbled his hand before him. “Kind of? I don’t have a good image of you, just sort of a memory imprint of seeing something really nice.”

  “I don’t even know what to say.” Gripping the purse strap with both fists, the fish wobbled before her as she took an exaggerated step backward. “You are freaking me out.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m not like that. I’m not a guy who can—Do you know how hard it is for me to walk up to a woman and talk to her?”

  “Couldn’t have been that hard. You followed me out here!”

  “I wanted to start over and hoped that maybe you’d talk to me.” He stopped moving closer, knowing he’d blown it. He should not torment this beautiful woman anymore. Where the hell were his manners? “Forgive me. I’ve no talent approaching women. I mean, I do it all the time. Not like a stalker or anything—ah hell. I just... I’m embarrassingly awkward when it comes to this kind of stuff. I wanted to see the pretty woman who smelled like flowers once more. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  He forced himself to turn and walk off. Idiot, Lars! Way to spoil the chick’s night. And to spoil his chances of getting to know her better. Yes, he’d seen her naked. And he remembered that image much better than he would ever admit to her. Soft, generous curves, and so much golden light glinting on her skin, which still had beads of water on it. Hell. His werewolf had been attracted to her. He was attracted to her.

  “Wait!”

  Now across the street, he stopped and turned back to her. The tiny witch toed the opposite curb with one of those sexy shoes, and offered a shrugging smile. “It was a remarkable beginning, that was for sure. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lars. I couldn’t be sure if you were leering at me that night—”

  “Oh, never, no. I mean, I don’t know. Honestly? I might have leered a bit. You’re worthy of a long, lingering look.”

  She clutched the weird purse tightly, and he realized what he’d said.

  “I’m not saying anything right tonight.” He checked his watch. Almost midnight. Shit. He had to stop by the compound, and soon. “It was nice meeting you, Muriel.”

  “Mireio.”

  “Right. You make great beer. And you have the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever had the chance to look into. But I promise I won’t come back to the brewery. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  He turned away again, and this time when she spoke, his shoulders straightened.

  “Can we start over?” she called.

  He nodded, and turned a look over his shoulder. All his anxiety swept downward and flooded out across the sidewalk. Offering her a confident smile, he said, “I’d like that.”

  She approached him and, as she did, tugged something out of her purse. It was her cell phone, which she handed to him. “Put your number in there for me, and we’ll try again.”

  He almost shouted score! but controlled his nervous energy. If she knew how much cou
rage it had taken him to cross the taproom to talk to her, and then to follow her after she’d run out on him...

  And now he was entering his number into her phone. Some kind of awesome, that.

  “I’d like to get to know you better.” He handed her back the slim pink phone. “What would you think about going out for something to eat tomorrow night?”

  “I have to work tomorrow night.”

  “Oh.”

  “But lunch tomorrow could work. Why don’t you stop by my place around noon? I think you know where I live, right?”

  “I should be able to figure that out.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Lilacs. Thanks for the second chance, Mireio.”

  “It’s—oh. Right. Mireio.”

  He winked at her, because he’d known her name since she’d first told him, then turned and wandered off. Halfway across the parking lot he turned and waved at her. She remained in the middle of the street. Probably waiting for him to leave before she returned to the bus stop. He wouldn’t be rude and force her to wait long. Picking up his pace he aimed for his truck around the corner.

  He’d talked to the girl! And it had turned out almost okay. Which was about how he rated his life right now. Almost okay, with a side of what the devil. The almost okay waited for him right now, so he shoved the key in the ignition and fired up the truck.

  As for the what the devil? He’d been having weird symptoms for over a year, more than just shifting without volition, so had finally gone to see a doctor a few days ago. The doctor told him he’d give him a call in a week when the test results were complete.

  But he wasn’t going to worry about that. He’d been invited to a pretty witch’s house tomorrow for lunch.

  So he did indulge in a shout out loud. “Score!”

  Chapter 3

  Lars strode up the sidewalk to the little red cottage placed at the end of a cul-de-sac. He didn’t recognize the area by sight, but by scent? He’d been here before. Yet, besides the naked woman, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He remembered someone screaming, and then the sight of a beautiful woman—naked. He wasn’t going to tell Mireio that as werewolf he saw things as he did when in man shape. His instincts and thoughts were more animalistic, but he did recall sights and sounds and smells.