The Witch And The Werewolf. Michele Hauf
“You won’t hear me complaining. But what’s with the purse?”
She lifted her purse. A cool find on Etsy, crafted from black suede in layers that emulated a fish with scales. “Mermaid, remember?”
“Right. Let me guess... You’re the chick at the summer festivals with the flowers in your hair, dancing in the mud with bare feet and not a care?”
“You got it.”
“I think I’m the guy always standing off to the side, wondering if that beautiful blossom of a chick will ever notice him.”
She placed her hand over his. “I have noticed you, Lars. And I think you’re pretty cool. I’ll get you in daisies and bare feet before the summer is out. Promise.”
“I’d actually wear daisies for you. So why don’t we...” He paused, staring off over the lake with the swans floating by.
The pause was...quite long. “Lars?”
“Huh? Oh. Sorry, lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?”
Daisies and flirtation. “Nothing much.” But it was time to move it up to the next level. “Now do you know what I want to do?”
“What?”
“You said you live close?”
“About ten miles north.”
“Then I want to see this mysterious outhouse with the modern plumbing.”
He smirked and collected his credit card as the waitress swung by with it. But instead of dimples, he rubbed his jaw, with a wince. “I’m not sure. I have to make a stop on the way home, actually...”
“Am I being too forward? I’m not suggesting anything. I mean, am I? Maybe? If you’re not ready to take me home with you, just for chatting, I get that. You’re a guy who works more slowly than most.”
“Not at all. I can do fast. I’m very fast. I mean...” He swiped his fingers over his beard in what Mireio was learning was a nervous gesture. “I want to spend more time with you tonight, Mireio. I just, uh...well...” A heavy sigh surprised her. “You’ll need to know sooner rather than later. Guess now’s as good a time as any.”
“That sounds absolutely mysterious. But I’m in. Let’s go!”
Ten minutes later, they drove up the long driveway to the Northern Pack compound, which was where Lars had to make a stop. It wasn’t like a big military compound, which Mireio had expected, but rather a white plantation-style home with a massive tin-sided building out back that housed all kinds of building materials and lots of junk.
“So none of the pack members live here except Dean and Sunday?”
“Nope. We all live in the area, though. Packs used to share close living conditions, but you know, it’s the twenty-first century. We like our privacy as much as we like the family we get from being in the pack.” He parked before the house and swung around to open the door.
Just when she thought to step down, he lifted her and swung her out, setting her down carefully until she could get a sure footing with her heels on the gravel drive. How many times had a man helped her in and out of a vehicle? Exactly twice. Both of those times had been tonight. She could get used to this kind of chivalry.
“Shall we?” He offered his hand and that pushed her over the edge and into a giddy swoon.
She clasped his hand and beamed as he led her toward the front door, which opened to reveal a waving Sunday. The chick sported long, white-blond hair and was built like Valor—straight—and she seemed accustomed to hanging out in jeans and greasy T-shirts as opposed to frills and lace. She was a cat-shifting familiar, married to Dean Maverick, a werewolf and the pack principal.
“Hey, Lars!” A shout from near the storage building drew their attention to Dean standing near a huge steel beam he held at a diagonal, one end of it digging into the ground. “Come give me a hand!”
“Be right back,” Lars said. “Uh, you know Sunday?”
“We’ve met once,” Sunday confirmed.
Lars winked at Mireio. “This won’t take a minute!”
“Hey, Mireio.” Sunday gestured she come inside and held the screen door open for her. “I didn’t know you and Lars were a thing.”
She entered the house, which was dimly lit. The sun had set, and the soft kitchen lights gleamed on the white marble kitchen counter and copper toaster.
“Lars and I just started seeing one another. First official date tonight. Oh!” She spied a munchkin sitting in a baby seat on the kitchen table and her maternal instincts rushed her to check it out. “Who is this little sweetie? Can I hold him?”
“Sure, I just fed him. We call him Peanut.”
Mireio picked up the warm bundle of blue fleece and baby softness and he nuzzled against her chest. The scent of warm baby was better than baked bread or chocolate any day. She rubbed her palm lightly over the thick crop of black hair swished to a wave on top of his head. “So much hair! And it sticks straight up. Adorable. How old is he?”
“Uh, about four months?” Sunday leaned against the counter, her T-shirt falling from one bare shoulder and her hair a little tangled as if she’d been through a tough day. Or she simply wasn’t a fashion queen and didn’t often bother to comb her hair.
“Did you and Dean adopt?” Mireio knew, from Valor, that Sunday couldn’t have kids. Well, she could, but a cat shifter simply could not make a baby with a werewolf. Just didn’t work that way.
“No. He’s uh...” Sunday straightened and scratched her head. “You don’t know who Peanut is?”
“Should I?”
The front door opened and Lars and Dean wandered in, chuckling about almost dropping the steel beam, but finally getting it loaded into the back of Dean’s truck. Lars took one look at Mireio holding the baby and activated the nervous beard swipe.
“Hey,” she offered. “Isn’t he the cutest little button ever? He’s called Peanut.”
“I know that.” Lars exchanged glances with Sunday.
“I’ll leave you two.” The cat shifter left the kitchen swiftly, grabbing her husband’s hand and heading toward the front door. Dean protested with a “What’s up?” as his wife tugged him outside.
“What was that about?” Mireio bounced as she held the baby. It was a natural motion, instilled from years of babysitting. His plump little body felt so good snuggled against her breast and neck. Someday she would have a million kids. Or at the very least three or four. “She must be babysitting for someone, huh?”
“She is.” Lars smoothed his hand over the baby’s hair. “Peanut is mine, Mireio.”
“What?”
“He’s my son.”
Mireio blinked a few times, then realized Lars was talking about the baby she cuddled against her shoulder. He held out his arms for the boy, and she handed him over. The big hulking werewolf gently cradled the sleeping infant in his arms as if he were a wise old granny who had been doing so for generations. He stroked the baby’s hair and kissed his forehead.
“He’s a sweetie,” she offered because she was taken aback. But then she realized she was only surprised because she’d never expected such from Lars. “You’re not married, are you?” came out too quickly.
He snickered and began to rock the baby with a gentle bounce. “No.”
“Good. I mean—well, I don’t date married