by Jessa Slade
But Beck was relieved there was still considerable strength in the old man. And he was glad enough for the pants too.
Avoiding the squirts of green goo, Beck approached the thing impaled on the lawn. “What is an imp?”
“Phae.” Orson spat the word as if he too tasted the fetid, greasy char.
Beck frowned. “We haven’t had trouble with their kind in...” He shook his head. “Since before my time.”
Orson huffed out a breath. “Not before mine. I was a boy last time I saw one. Cocky bastard, walking through town just as dusk settled, all wrapped up in his glamour. Lying through those smiling teeth. Probably fanged, though no one could see.”
Pursing his lips, Beck decided not to remind Orson that they had fangs of their own. Though he’d never dealt with phae himself, he knew all the old stories. Werelings had always hated the phae. Phae glamour was an affront to the verita luna, where the shape was the truth.
Not that it was always a truth they could share.
But werelings had not abandoned the sunlit world as the phae had. They’d kept to themselves, kept quiet, and kept their ways while the phae had skulked away, driven by changes in a world to which they would not—or could not—adapt.
Beck studied the grill tongs. “So those are iron.”
Orson nodded. “One thing those liars can’t lie about. Cold, hard iron will end them.” He spat again. “But nothing’s made of iron anymore. The steel-born phae can creep back in if no one’s watching.”
Crouching beside the imp, Beck looked at the big ruined eye. “What was this one watching?”
“Maybe nothing,” Orson said. “Maybe just a stray.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
Beck nodded, more at the concern not spoken. “I think we might need to do some hunting.”
“My boys will do a walk through town. No sense getting everyone worked up about nothing.”
Beck thought about the stories he remembered. “The phae have no argument with us.”
“Besides us being where they wish they could go.”
“They can’t have my town,” Beck said. He heard the wolf in his own voice, protective and possessive.
Speaking of protective and possessive...
He glanced at Orson. “Merrilee needs to know about this. Can you deal with this mess?”
The bear-kind nodded. “If I leave the iron in, it’ll just melt away. But I’ll bring the boys over for a whiff before we head out on patrol.” His eyes glinted. “If the phae want a war, we know how to fight.”
* * *
After making a few investigative calls, Beck aimed for the winding road to the lakeside village. The first golden light of morning reminded him the last thing he wanted was a fight. He’d put fighting behind him when he took his honorable discharge. He wanted the peace to brew his beer and serve his pack. He wanted quiet nights to run free. He wanted...
But what he wanted and what an Alpha had to do were two different things and not as easily brought together as a wereling’s shifts.
That truth was as clear to him as the displeasure on Merrilee’s face when he cruised up to the A-frame cottage perched above the other houses closer to the lake. She stood on the porch with her legs braced in a wide stance. The overflowing flower boxes framing the windows seemed too soft for the Alpha he knew, even though the rich red blossoms matched her compressed lips. What other incongruities might he might find within?
Not that he’d ever be invited.
He’d known the Harley’s roar in her pristine community would get her hackles up. Which contradicted his earlier thought about not wanting to fight, but there was a good reason he’d been sent off to military school and then the army; he’d always been too good at fighting.
He killed the engine, letting the stillness of the mountain morning return. For a pack of apex predators, Merrilee’s werelings were outliers. They focused on their creative pursuits, ignoring were-typical physical pastimes. Honestly, they were the kids he’d have beat up in grade school before he got shipped off and got beaten on some himself. Now the peace appealed to him. He’d had only a couple hours of sleep after calling his contacts about the strange phae appearance, and the quiet was almost as much a balm as the powerful rumble of the bike.
Almost as much as looking at Merrilee. In her tight leggings and a long, V-neck sweater with a colorful fringed hem that danced under her butt, she made his fingers twitch with a need to play with all the disparate textures.
She didn’t say anything as he swung off the bike, just took a sip from the coffee cup in her hand. The twist of steam told him it was recently poured; likely a pot still simmered somewhere inside. Not that the simmering Alpha outside would let him have any, so he wasn’t even going to ask.
“Got another cup?” He cursed himself when the request popped out anyway.
Merrilee raised one brow. “Long, cold ride this early just to get coffee.”
And a long, cold day in hell before she gave him one was implied.
When he stalked up the walkway, she put the cup down and squared her shoulders. Her bare toes, nails pearly pink from the chill, curled over the edge of the step.
Looked like she was ready for a fight too.
He focused on the flowers and didn’t continue up the porch steps even though the pounding of his pulse in his ears echoed as if he kept right on walking. “Quit challenging me,” he said through gritted teeth. “We have to talk, and I can’t do that with you staring holes in me.”
Though he didn’t look at her, he felt the moment her gaze shifted. Like a hot hand leaving his skin. He kinda missed it.
“What are you doing here, Beck?”
“Had a problem in town last night.”
“I’m sure you handled it.”
He hazarded a lightning glance her way, but her expression was clear. She meant what she said. “Might not be the sort of problem that goes away so quick.” He told her about the imp and Orson’s plan to case the town. “I called some people, asked about unrest among the phae, and what I heard isn’t good.”
For a long moment, only the breeze in the pines broke the silence. Then she grabbed her coffee cup and turned away. “I don’t have decaf.”
For another not-quite-as-long moment, shock locked his muscles before he jumped the steps two at a time to follow her into the house.
The front room was her business office. One lemon-yellow wall boasted design awards. Three computer screens crowded a pine desk big enough to have made his uncle jealous. Splashes of paprika-red and cool lime tones brightened the central hallway that led past a tiny bedroom on one side and bath on the other. He poked his nose in each, breathing her spicy amber fragrance.
Her call echoed down the hall. “Do you want this coffee or not?”
He sauntered to the kitchen and great room at the back of the house and dug in his heels again to admire the view framed in the floor-to-ceiling windows. While the porch at the front of the house had faced the pretty little lake below, the back looked out to the mountains, just trees and sky and freedom. Unlike the cheerful office, it looked wild and a little lonely.
The view of a woman who wanted no one to hold her back.
Merrilee shoved a mug at him. The mug was big, almost a soup bowl, and the coffee was black, just the way he liked it.
Did she know he drank his coffee black, or was she just not willing to give him the pleasure of cream and sugar?
“Thanks,” he said. “Do you have any hazelnut?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Where is the imp carcass? I want to see it.”
He shook his head. “It was mostly dissolved when I stopped by on the way here. Orson and his quartet started out at dawn. I expect they’ll have a report for me by lunch.”
“I want to hear everything they find,” she demanded.
“Good coffee,” he said.
She paced toward the windows. “My mother told me stories of the phae.”
“I think every wereling mother did. Hard to keep a
kid safe under the covers in bed with bogeyman tales when you are the bogeyman.”
Her lips quirked. “Yeah. She told me if I kept sneaking out at night, they’d steal the verita luna from me.”
He studied her over the rim of his mug. “What were you sneaking out for?”
She shrugged. “My grandmother wasn’t getting any younger, and since my mother wasn’t Alpha, I’d decided the more I ran, the sooner I’d change. I figured running under the moonlight would make me better.”
“I thought fighting would make me better. Takes more, doesn’t it?”
She gave him another look, more speculative this time. “Anyway, Mom was always trying to find a way to keep me home until she could finally turn me over to Grandmère.”
“According to my sources, your mother wasn’t stretching the truth too far.” He headed for one of the chairs pulled up in front of the windows, forcing her to follow, and settled into the deep, overstuffed cushions with an appreciative grunt. A heather-gray throw on the back of the chair tickled his nape, as if wanting to swathe him while he contemplated the view. “The phae Queen warps human desires into the magic that empowers her. Who knows what she would do with wereling passions?”
Merrilee lowered herself to the chair beside his but stayed perched on the edge. “Is that what you think this is about? The phae Queen coming after werelings?”
He shrugged. “I’m told the imps are her creatures, used for spying. This wasn’t a courtesy call.”
She drank the last of her coffee in one slug and surged to her feet. “I want to see what’s left of the imp.”
He looked at his coffee mournfully. With a huff, she plucked it from his hands and went to the kitchen to transfer it to a travel mug. She topped it off before screwing on the cap, and he felt an inexplicable surge of pleasure at the small kindness. It was good coffee.
They left the house after she fetched shoes and a coat, and she pulled the door closed behind them.
“Lock it,” he said. “Until we know what’s going on.”
Her jaw worked, but she nodded. “I’ll have to find the key. Go ahead and I’ll meet you there after I borrow a car.”
“I’ll take you down.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll—”
“I’m going that way anyway.” He gave her a steady look, not a challenge—not quite. And then he slowly cocked one brow.
She stiffened. “Wait here.”
He leaned against the railing while he drank his good coffee and admired the shimmering lake and the impressive amount of noise she made banging around her office, muttering something about Alphas.
He took another savoring sip. She should know.
Chapter 4
Merrilee finally found the key where it had been long lost in the bottom of a haphazard ceramic pot made by one of the pack’s homeschooled kids, though most of the children were bused out daily to attend school with town werelings and unaware humans.
Was the wandering imp a sign that the phae had decided to mainstream?
She made a quick call to Keisha, updating her Beta, then tromped out to the porch where Beck looked far too comfortable. And far too sexy, his dark gear contrasting with her red carnations. The scent of leather and coffee and cold wind whispered to her, and she tried to ignore the way her body wanted to fit itself to his, as if they were already leaning into the curves of the mountain road. She refused to look at him as she locked up.
However, refusing his offered ride would be pointless. And weak. And she didn’t want that.
She turned. “Ready?”
He took one more pull off his coffee, bottom’s up, and then tucked the mug behind the newel of the porch stairs. “Thanks for that. You make it just right.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s nothing. I just have a very expensive coffeemaker.”
He sighed. “Can’t you just say ‘You’re welcome’?”
“Not when you’re really saying I’m a good little woman in the kitchen.”
“I’ve seen your kitchen now, remember? I think you’ve only used one of those stove burners, ever.”
“How many burners do you need to warm up soup?”
He shook his head. “No wonder you come to the bar so often, just so I can make you burgers.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I had a very nice Kobe filet in New York.”
To her surprise, a flash of hurt darkened his eyes before he turned to go down the steps. If they hadn’t been so close together on the small porch, she wouldn’t have noticed.
“No exotic beef here,” he said. “But if you want a sniff of dead imp before it’s gone, we better get moving.”
Despite his long, angry strides, she lingered.
She hadn’t meant his burgers weren’t good. He knew his way around raw meat, knew how to throw on a quick sear and then be patient, letting the juices simmer. She’d meant that she didn’t go to his bar just because he fed her. She went for...other reasons. She respected his leadership and knew he’d tell her all the valley gossip. Plus, he was always quick with a smile that made her feel better after being too long away from her mountains. And he did look mighty fine, whether he was in an apron or one of his bar T-shirts or his leathers like right now.
Actually, he looked mighty, mighty fine right now. And mighty dangerous.
He started the Harley with a roar that echoed inside her. He gave her an impassive look before pulling on his helmet and holding a second out to her. The darkened visor cut off any further fulminating stares.
She stalked toward him, zipping her coat. The strap on the helmet fit just right under her chin, as if it had been sized for her.
He twisted around to help her mount, but she avoided his hand and slid up into place behind him, settling her hands primly at his waist.
His flanks jerked under her fingers as he caught his breath in surprise. As if he thought she’d never been on a bike before. Well, she hadn’t, but she’d thought about it. Maybe dreamed about it, once or twice.
The phae Queen could’ve discovered all sorts of crazy powers on the strength of those dreams.
He spun the bike in a tight circle, leaning hard and forcing her to line her body up with his. But as they headed down valley through the crisp morning air, she found herself grateful for the close proximity. His broad shoulders blocked the wind, and even through his leathers and her heavy coat, his body heat burned her. She’d forgotten her gloves, though, so she sneaked her hands inside his waistband, finding blazing-hot bare skin.
His scarred abs contracted to escape her ice-cold fingers, but the Harley never wavered. Even when his growl was lost in the bike’s rumble, she still felt it in her bones. She grinned at the back of his head, knowing he would sense her amusement just as clearly.
They pulled into the alley behind Orson’s bungalow, and Beck halted. He held her elbow, steadying her as she dismounted. At his touch, the vibrations seemed to keep humming in her body. She slanted a glance at him as he shut down the bike and called Orson from the cell phone that looked ridiculously tiny in his big hand.
It had been...odd having him in her house. She always told herself she liked her privacy too much to have many guests. Plus, she could never have any Alphas claiming her space. But when she saw Beck sitting in one of the two chairs facing her mountain view, she realized she did have two chairs. She’d never really asked herself why.
He finished his call and looked over at her. “He said the quartet should be finishing up soon. They’ll meet us at the bar.”
She nodded and pushed through the back gate.
Her hunter’s eye took in the signs of struggle—the scuffed grass, the upended grill. The iron tongs sticking up out of a puddle of greenish gunk.
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“It wasn’t much better when it still had three legs and one eyeball.” Beck circled the imp remains.
She sniffed more cautiously, parsing the scents of charcoal, rot and grizzly-kind musk. Underneath was the
hint of wolf-kind. And beneath that, an elusive fragrance, strangely sweet. She crouched next to the pile of stinking jelly streaked with black char where the iron speared it.
The perfume was coming from the imp. “It smells like cotton candy.”
“Orson says all the phae have a wonder to them, even the grotesque ones.” When Beck prodded the tongs, the jelly sizzled, sending up a puff of oily smoke and another whiff of scorched sugar.
She’d recognize the scent from now on. She stood. “We need more iron.”
At the general store, to their consternation, they found few usable items.
“Steel’s a better choice,” the owner, Bill, told them. “Won’t rust.”
Since Bill was a none-the-wiser human, they couldn’t very well tell him they needed to slay creatures that lived only in his children’s bedtime stories.
Merrilee smiled at him. “I was thinking about taking a stab—” she slanted a glance at Beck “—at blacksmithing.”
Bill rubbed his chin. “Well, maybe you could melt something down.”
They walked out with a set of fireplace tools, a decorative door stop in the shape of a hedgehog, and Bill’s advice to visit Babette’s Antique Emporium up the street.
“That old gal is made of iron herself,” he said.
Merrilee hefted the ash hoe and poker, which felt nicely like weapons, and left Beck to carry the hedgehog as they headed up the sidewalk.
She stabbed experimentally with the poker. “Didn’t Babette propose to you once?”
He glowered at her. “She’s proposed to everyone in town at least once, but only when she’s drunk.”
“So you weren’t interested?”
“I gave her a pot of coffee. Not as good as your coffee, of course.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t settled down yet.” She swung the hoe with more force. “Almost two years since you got back and took over for your uncle, and you don’t even have a Beta, much less a mate. What are you waiting for?”
“I have my pack and my job, same as you. What more do I need?”