by Michele Hauf
To lure in Beck.
“Is it healed?” Beck asked, kissing her ankle. He stroked it lightly with his thumb, sending good shivers up her leg.
Daisy nodded. “That feels great.”
Could the hunter have known Beck was the ghost wolf? Beck had shifted back to human form while the hunter had been unconscious. But Beck had said he’d encountered the hunter in town, and they had followed the hunter, Beck and her brothers nights ago.
Was the hunter something more than human to know about their breed and detect a werewolf while in human form? If so, he could prove very dangerous.
Had a werewolf harmed one of the hunter’s own?
They were missing something about this hunter, and Daisy felt that whatever it was, it was the key to them solving this dilemma. As long as Beck knew he didn’t have to kill Marx...
“No,” she whispered. Being the ghost wolf would kill her lover sooner rather than later.
“What’s that?” Beck whispered.
“I mean, yes,” she said. “Keep doing that.”
He placed another kiss to her leg. Sprawling onto his side, he moved the kisses down onto her foot and biggest toe, tendering them intently. If he did have a foot fetish, she wasn’t about to argue against it. Lingering in his soft, stroking touch was beyond luxurious.
“I’m going to do it,” he said, grasping her foot in his big warm hand.
“What?”
“Sacrifice my wolf.”
“No,” she murmured.
“I have to, Daisy. Unless I want to commit murder.”
His confession hurt her. He had surely thought it over. And it was the right thing to do. But it was such a great sacrifice. And could she love a mortal?
She slid down to lie alongside him and kissed his mouth. It was so easy to be with him. She’d once thought that she would recognize a hero when he walked into her life. This one had loped in on four legs.
“I’ll support you,” she said softly.
“Do you think you could still like a guy who is just a guy? Not a werewolf?”
“I know I can. You are in me now. We’ve bonded.”
“But will the bond remain when I’m no longer wolf?” He bowed his forehead to hers and exhaled. “Is it the right thing to do? I... What will I do as a human? It’s so alien to me. Hell, my mother is vampire. I’m soon to have a little brother or sister that will likely be werewolf. And then I’ll be the odd one, completely mortal. Is it even possible?”
“With the sidhe, anything is possible.” She nuzzled her face against his chest. Comforting. Masculine. Tortured yet a survivor. All hers. And she intended to keep him in the form he should remain. “You’re not one-hundred-percent sure. You can’t do this, Beck.”
“What? But you said...”
“I know what I said. But I can hear the reluctance in your voice. Feel it in your heart.” She pressed a palm over his chest. “Kill the faery.”
“What? No. Daisy?”
“My father once destroyed the faery responsible for cursing him.”
“That was different. She was evil and cursed your parents. I asked for the ghost wolf. I can’t take another life just because it didn’t work out the way I planned it to. Really, Daisy?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was desperation talking.”
She turned on the couch and snuggled her back to Beck’s chest. He wrapped an arm across her stomach, holding her against his warmth.
He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed the curve of her ear. “Wolves and humans get along well enough. So do faeries and humans. Your parents are proof of that.”
Daisy closed her eyes. It didn’t matter what she chose to become. She’d mourn the loss of one half and rejoice gaining full control of the other. But as for Beck, his choice could destroy his life. Unless...
“I’ve been thinking about the hunter.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. The less time you afford Marx consideration the better.”
Daisy turned her head to meet his gaze. “I don’t think he’s completely human. He knows too much.”
Propping his chin in hand, he studied her eyes. “Maybe. But what will that serve us?”
“We could get the Council involved. If he’s vampire or some other breed and he’s hunting werewolves—”
“The Council would punish him and...I’d still be left with this monster growling within me. It doesn’t matter, Daisy. The fight is no longer between me and the hunter. I’ve got to stop whatever is inside me.”
“But you have to stop the hunter, too. What about the gray wolves who populate the area? The entire state?”
“The wolves will continue to suffer as soon as the ghost wolf is gone. There’s never going to be an easy way to make men stop hunting for sport. Even if we could get the DNR to reinstate the hunting ban, the wolves will always be in danger because kills are made and go unreported.”
“Yes. But one less Marx is a bright spot for the packs, if you ask me.”
“How do we learn more about him? Wait,” Beck said. “I do know a local reporter.”
“Who has no clue how to go about researching the man. I’ll have Stryke look into it. He knows people who know things. It’s worth a try, yes?”
He nodded.
“Can I stay overnight?” Daisy asked sweetly.
“I wasn’t planning on letting you leave.”
* * *
The next afternoon Daisy set down her welding torch just as a knock sounded on her front door. She sniffed, tilted her head. “Stryke?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes. I’ll be right there. Door’s open!”
Her brother entered while she tended her equipment and slipped out of the work apron. Meanwhile, Stryke stuck his nose in her fridge, found a half pan of brownies and pulled it out. He was sitting by the counter, fork in hand, by the time she wandered over and grabbed the edge of the glass baking pan before he could spear up a hunk of treat.
“Use a plate, little brother.”
“I was going to eat it all,” he complained.
“Oh.” With a shrug, she pushed the pan back toward him. “Fine. Those are a few days old anyway. They need to go today or get tossed.”
“You have some whipped cream?”
She commandeered the Reddi-wip can from the fridge and handed it to him. “So I thought you were going to do some research for me?”
“Already have,” Stryke said between bites. “Talked to Dez Merovech earlier. She’s a—”
“I know, she’s an ancient witch married to the vampire Ivan Drake. Beck’s mom is friends with them.”
“Dez is a wise witch who knows everything there is to know about spells and curses. Daisy, it freaks me out that you believe Dad’s curse is still lingering in you.”
“If I can believe what the faery said. But Stryke, it makes sense. I can’t seem to get a handle on my wolf without my faery interrupting. And vice versa. So I do believe it. Some part of Dad’s curse is keeping me from being fully...me.”
“And what would you choose?” he asked, setting down his fork and giving her his attention. He had her father’s deep brown eyes, and they were soulful, understanding.
“My wolf,” she said without hesitation. “But I’d miss the faery.”
“Well, if Dez knows her stuff, then maybe we can find someone to break that curse, or somehow lift the lingering remnants of it from you. Then you wouldn’t have to choose.”
“That would be amazing. And what about Beck’s ghost wolf spell?”
Stryke pushed the brownie pan aside and placed his hands on the counter before him, palms down. “Dez told me there’s a sort of witchlike person who isn’t really a witch, mostly human, that is called a peller.”
“A peller?”
“A peller is a breaker of spells and curses. They are rare. Some humans go through life without ever realizing their gift, or so Dez explained to me. They might even end up going down the wrong path, thinking they are psychic or like a ghost
chaser or something like that.”
“So if we find a peller, this person could break my curse? And lift Beck’s spell?”
“Dez said it was possible. And she knew of a peller living close to Tangle Lake, probably Burnham. I guess he looked her up for help finding ingredients for a spell.”
“What?” Daisy clasped her brother’s hands, but his expression didn’t lift to a hopeful grin as hers did. “Stryke, this is amazing. Who is it? When can we go to this person?”
“Daisy.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “The peller is Denton Marx.”
Chapter 30
Denton limped across the snow before the old shed that he had built so many decades earlier. Or had it been over a century earlier? He hadn’t broken any bones, but when he’d landed against the tree after being tossed by the werewolf, his body had been bruised and battered. Though he could manage remarkable feats by any human’s assessment, self-healing was not one of them.
He paused and reached out for the figment that stood so near, yet so far away. Her long dark hair fell over half her face. She was crying. For the love of all that was sacred, she was crying and he could but stand there and witness that silent pain.
“Soon, Sencha. I am close. I was right about the man and his girlfriend. They are both werewolves. I was able to use her to lure out the monstrous beast that he is. The people in the nearby town call it the ghost wolf. He will provide the powerful last step to the allbeast spell that I can then exchange for your release from the Edge.”
He reached for her hair, but his fingers moved through the beautiful brown tresses as if she were a ghost herself. She did not acknowledge the touch. She could not. She was trapped in another dimension. One that she had feared someday falling into during her frequent trips through time.
“Soon we will be reunited,” he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks. “And then we will go home. To the time where I was born to live. And the time where you are safe.”
* * *
Beck arrived at Daisy’s place just as Stryke was finishing off the pan of brownies.
“Lone wolf,” Stryke acknowledged Beck after he’d kissed Daisy silly in greeting. “We were talking about you.”
“Stryke knows someone who can break spells and curses.”
Disappointed the pan was empty, Beck leaned against the fridge and asked, “And who is that?”
“The hunter who is after you,” Stryke said. “He’s a peller. Breaker of spells and curses.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I talked to Dez Merovech.”
The witch friend of his mother’s. Beck knew Dez was all-powerful and revered within the witch community. She’d lived for something like a thousand years. If anyone knew something about Denton Marx, it would be her.
“So our only hope is a guy who wants us dead?”
“Life’s a bitch, man.” Stryke stood and kissed his sister’s cheek. “I gotta go catch up with Trouble. You two want me to send him this way? You’re going to need the full force for this one.”
“The full force?” Beck asked.
“It’s showdown time. You gotta make this peller guy work for you without getting killed in the process. Do you have any idea how to do that alone?”
“I just found out about this. Give me a minute to process, will you?”
“Yeah? While you’re processing, I’m sending in the troops. Do not go near the hunter,” Stryke said to Daisy, waggling an admonishing finger. “Even if Beck decides to go talk to him, you stay away. You understand?”
“Stryke, I’ll be fine.”
Stryke turned to eye Beck. “You know she’ll try to jump into the fray. She’s stubborn like that.”
“She’s not going to get hurt anymore.” Beck pulled Daisy to his side and wrapped an arm across her shoulder. “You’re right. This is showdown time. It’s got to end today. I can’t let the ghost wolf terrorize humans any longer.”
“Give me an hour,” Stryke said as he wandered to the front door. “I’ll gather the troops and we’ll meet?”
“I’ll be waiting,” Beck called.
As the door closed, he turned to pull Daisy into his embrace, but she shoved him away.
“I’m not some helpless pup you have to protect,” she said. “I freed myself from that trap last night. And I stopped the ghost wolf from harming the hunter. You need me, Beck.”
“I do need you. I need you alive.”
“And I need you alive, Beck.”
He pulled her to him, and this time she didn’t resist, crushing her body against his and tilting her head to his chest.
“I’ll have your brothers with me,” he said. “I promise you I won’t go into this alone. But you have to trust that I can handle this. Please, Daisy?”
She nodded against his chest. “I love you.”
“Yeah? Well, I like you.”
She chuffed out a weak laugh. “I like you more.”
He kissed the crown of her head. He’d never tire of her candy scent. “I’ll call you as soon as we’ve found Marx and talked to him. Promise.”
“Fine. I’ll...do something to keep myself busy.”
“You could work on the sculpture. What about your article? How’s that coming along?”
“It’s almost finished. I’m going with a fictional slant. Ghost Wolf Really a Man Dressed In a Wolf Costume. I figure I can doctor up a blurry shot of it and maybe add a zipper?”
“Hmm, I like it.”
“Yeah, but I can’t focus on that right now. I was thinking about baking. It’s more relaxing. I need to relax. Not think about you approaching a killer who wants to claim your head as his next trophy.”
“Don’t say that. It’s all going to be great. I promise. Now, where was your brother headed?”
“To Trouble’s place. I’ll give you his phone number, then you won’t have to venture into Trouble’s lair.”
“That bad, eh?”
“I don’t think the guy knows the meaning of clean. It’s safer if you don’t tread his territory.”
“Hey, me and Trouble are tight. Lately, he doesn’t punch me quite as hard as he’s capable.”
She laughed. “Are you sure you want to claim me as yours? Because you know with me, you also get the whole pack. All four arrogant, rough and tough brothers. And the father.”
“The Saint-Pierre pack will definitely keep me on my toes. If not humble. I’m in for the ride, Daisy Blu. You okay with that?”
“More than okay.”
* * *
Half an hour after Beck had left, Daisy was up to her knuckles in flour, eggs and—no cocoa. She had only a tablespoon left and needed much more. So she bundled up in coat, cap, mittens and winter boots, and decided to walk the four blocks to the closest grocery store, which served an ongoing cavalcade of hunters during the winter season.
With a shudder, she strolled by a sign advertising deer cleaning and homemade sausage casings. Sure, she ate meat. It was her nature. But she never began a meal without blessing the source and thanking the universe for the gift.
Once in the baking aisle, she dropped a few extras in her basket. Vanilla, powdered sugar and those snowflake sprinkles looked interesting. Might be cute scattered on top of frosted cupcakes.
At the end of the aisle her senses, overwhelmed by sugary sweetness and spices, suddenly homed onto a familiar human scent. Woodsy and slightly old, like a smoky log cabin. She followed the scent past the cereal aisle and toward the natural foods section. Turning down that aisle, she sighted a tall man with hair tugged behind his head. He wore an odd leather coat and knee-high boots.
Daisy slipped around the end of the aisle, pressing her back against the canned tomatoes display. “It’s him.”
The hunter who was also the one man who could help her and Beck. And Beck and her brothers had gone off to find him?
She had left her cell phone at home. No way to alert Beck. Maybe she could talk to Marx? Beck had been adamant sh
e not put herself in danger. But what harm could befall her in a supermarket? If anything, the hunter should beware her bite.
Decided, she swung around the corner. Marx stood before the spices, studying the label of a small glass jar. She strolled up to him, turned toward the spices and made a show of looking over the display from cumin to pepper to turmeric.
“I want to make you an offer,” she said.
“You are quite the daring wolf,” he said under his breath. “I would have thought you’d keep your distance after the other night. Looks like you’ve healed well enough. I am pleased for that.”
Aghast that he’d express such false condolences, Daisy almost swore out loud, but she suppressed her anger. “You were using me to lure in the ghost wolf.”
“To much success.”
“Your definition of success is lacking. We both got away.”
“Yes, but now I know where to find my prey.”
He made to turn away, but Daisy gripped his wrist. Twisting gently within her grasp, the man turned his gaze on her. His eyes were bloodshot. And black, almost demonically black. But he wasn’t demon. Dez had said he was merely human.
“Why are you hunting werewolves?”
“Just the one wolf is all I need,” he said. “Let go, little girl.”
“Why? You afraid of me?”
He relaxed within her grip, his grin curling as he shook his head.
Daisy released him, and he remained before her. She had to look up to meet his eyes, but was not daunted by his height. “If you only need one wolf—and I don’t know what for—then take mine.”
“Ah? Sacrificing herself for the lover?”
“I’m a half-breed. I’m cursed. I have to give up one or the other. I’ll give you my wolf, then I’ll become completely faery.”
He tilted his head at her. “Intriguing. Faeries can be useful—but...no. I have my sights on bigger quarry. And what I need might only be obtained from a dead werewolf.”
She gripped his wrist again, but this time he tugged away from her. “We can make this work,” she pleaded. “I know we can. Then no one has to get hurt.”
“It’s too late for that,” he said. He glanced around them, ensuring no one overheard their conversation. “I am concocting an allbeast spell. You won’t understand, so I needn’t explain my reasons for such a thing. Suffice it to say, I do this to save someone important to me. Now, I apologize in advance for any pain I will bring upon you for taking your lover’s life, but it must be done to save my lover.”