Ghost Wolf
THE LONE WOLF'S SALVATIONAngling for a story, journalist Daisy-Blu Saint-Pierre investigates the mysterious ghost wolf that’s been menacing hunters. Instead, she encounters a juicier sort of discovery in sexy, rugged wolf Beckett Severo – who she can’t not picture curled up next to her at night…Ever since a hunter’s bullet took his father’s life, Beck has carried a hunger for revenge. Now faery magick has turned him from a werewolf into something more powerful that comes at a price. The time spent with Daisy in between the sheets almost makes Beck forget the danger they’re in. Almost.
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Beck moaned into her mouth and lifted her by the hips.
Daisy wrapped her legs about his waist without breaking the kiss. He dipped his head to deepen their connection, dashing his tongue along hers. The taste of him ignited her desires.
âYou do that very well,â she said against his mouth. âYou said something about our kiss never ending?â
âI could keep this up for years.â He tilted his forehead against hers. âYou do things to me, Daisy-Blu.â
âGood things?â
âGood. Bewitching. You make the wolf inside me want to howl.â
Daisy slid out of Beckâs grasp. âI almost had an interview with a hunter last night.â
âLast night? You were out looking for interviews? How quickly does word get around when something like a white wolf stalking hunters happens?â
âEven faster when itâs witnessed firsthand. I was in the forest. I got a few shots of the hunters running in fear from the ghost wolf, and I actually photographed the ghost wolf.â
Beckâs mouth hung open. Finally he blurted, âWhat the hell were you doing in the woods again? Alone? I thought I told you that was dangerous?â
MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage âwrite what you know,â all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.
Michele can be found on Facebook and Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com. You can also write to Michele at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.
Contents
Two gray wolves loped across the fresh-fallen snow within a forest that edged acres of private Minnesota land. The wolves had a standing arrangement to run off their energy in the forest every weekend, a father and son get-together. A half-moon scythed the oddly clear black sky. Not a star dotted the atmosphere. Yet areas where snow had begun to tamp down the still-springy blades of grass twinkled from the cool luminescence.
The younger of the wolves always tromped ahead, challenging the elder to keep up. He was well aware he could never outrace his father, but he liked to goad him. Besides, heâd spotted a red fox and wanted to chase it until its heart gave out.
When an echoing retort shattered the calm night, the younger wolf stopped, ears shifting outward. It was a sound he had learned to fear since he could remember having fear. The sound of death. Whining, he flicked his gaze about, seeking his father. No sign of the old wolf.
Another gunshot sounded.
The wolf dashed into a race toward where heâd heard the sound. At the forestâs edge the animal recognized artificial light from a mortalâs vehicle. He quickened his tracks, his paws barely landing in the slushy snow until he reached the clearing where a man with a rifle approached a fallen wolf.
Snarling, the wolf leaped for the hunter, landing its front paws against his shoulders and toppling him to the wet ground. The rifle landed in slushy snow. The innate compulsion to sink his fangs into flesh and tear out anything he could manage was strong. He could break a humanâs bones with but a bite from his powerful jaws. Yet the wolf merely snarled and snapped at the hunter.
The hunter struggled with the wolf, slapping at its maw and crying for mercy. Fear and human urine scented the air. The wolf heard the fallen wolfâs heart-wrenching whines. In pain. Dying?
In that moment of the wolfâs disregard, the hunter managed to scramble out from under his aggressor.
âDamned wolves! Whereâs my gun?â Scrambling about in the snow, he gave up looking for the weapon when the wolfâs snarls grew insistent. The hunter ran toward the lighted vehicle. âWasnât what I needed. It didnât shift. Godâs blood, this trial will kill me!â
The vehicleâs lights flashed across the tree trunks. Tires peeled through wet snow and soil, skidding until the rubber found traction. The car rumbled off, leaving the clearing tainted with the smell of gasoline and the echoes of the humanâs angry voice.
The younger wolf began to shift, its body elongating and forelegs growing into human-shaped arms. Fingers flexed out at the end of hands. Knees, bent upon the ground, sunk into the snow. Within seconds, heâd transformed from his wolf shape back to his human were form.
Beckett Severo scrambled over to the wolf lying in the slushy grass. Crimson stained the snow near the wolfâs back.
