История кривого билда: Баф-машина. Сергей Вишневский
kind of legend to compare to the ghost wolf, at the very least. The creature was larger than life. She needed to communicate that on the page.
“I need a picture,” she said. “That would be the ultimate scoop.”
When her breed shifted to their werewolf shape, they could not be photographed. Well, they could be, but none had been that she knew of. They were fiercely protective of their secret. And should a hunter manage to snap a photograph? A quick slap of claws destroyed the camera.
What would ultimately show up on film, she wasn’t sure. Nothing, much like a vampire? Or a ghost image of the werewolf? If the ghost wolf was already transparent or some kind of filmy state, the results on film were unimaginable.
She eyed her winter clothes hanging by the door. “I’ll go out early in the evening.”
The majority of hunters would be packing up and returning home for supper at that time, yet the ghost wolf sightings had been just after dusk.
Wishing she could give Beck a call and invite him along, Daisy waffled on the idea. Her father had been adamant about her staying away from him. Yet she’d been impressed by Beck standing up to her father. He’d cowered initially, to show respect, but hadn’t been about to yield to Kai’s demands without stating his own position.
“I could like him,” she said to herself, remembering their conversation about love and like last night. Like was the goal. Love would simply be a happy bonus.
* * *
Beck had felt humiliated standing before Daisy’s father last night. He should have stood up to the elder wolf, but it had been the right choice to show respect for the man, despite his intrusion on their date. He’d learned from his father that a man must never jump to hasty violence or make judgments of a man he did not know. If Saint-Pierre didn’t want him to date his daughter...
“Hell.” Beck wandered the edge of the forest a mile from where he’d parked. “He’ll kill me if I see her again.” Or at the very least, tear him a new one with a slash of claw.
But he kind of thought Daisy liked him. Make that love. Like was something even better than love, according to her. He agreed with her definition of it, too.
Man, did he like her hot chocolate.
Did she want to see him again? She hadn’t called. But then, she didn’t have his number, nor did he have hers. He’d thought about stopping by her place today, but didn’t want to push it. Certainly, Malakai would scent him if he showed up anywhere near his daughter’s home.
Was he going to let some big boisterous wolf scare him away from the girl? Was she worth the risk?
Beck nodded. The kiss hadn’t left him. He could still feel her at his mouth, sighing into him. Clinging to his clothing and leaning in closer. Sweetly hungry. And her kisses had tasted like chocolate.
“I’m going for it,” he muttered. Because he knew a good thing when it kissed him.
Now, with the sun tracing a vibrant orange line on the horizon, he shed his winter coat and boots and pulled off his sweater. Steam lifted off his hot skin as the cold assaulted his torso and arms. He stored a waterproof backpack in a hollowed-out oak trunk. The worst thing after shifting back from werewolf form was to find his clothes sitting in a puddle of snow that had melted from the lingering body heat.
Shoving down his jeans, he shuffled barefoot in the cold snow, and when he was naked he stretched back his arms and head, breathing in the crisp night air. The world was gorgeous, and he loved breathing it in. But the very reason he stood here was enough to make him want to punch something.
And then he knew he didn’t have to. His shifted form would take care of matters nicely.
A gunshot in the distance alerted him. He judged it a few miles off. This time of day, most hunters were packing it in and heading home.
No time to waste.
Bending forward and narrowing his focus inward, Beck began to shift. His human skin stretched and prickled as fur grew in the pores and his bones lengthened. Claws grew out from his paws, and his hind legs formed into the powerful werewolf’s legs. His maw grew long, and ears twisted into long, furred beacons that picked up every movement and sound from mouse to fox, to...hunter.
Beck’s werewolf rose to an imposing height, sniffed the air and homed onto the scent of human.
* * *
Daisy kept the hunters in view, while hoping to stay out of their line of sight. She wore a vivid orange hunter’s vest over her winter coat. She’d no plans to shift tonight—not with armed hunters in the forest. But she certainly didn’t want to be so incognito that she invited a bullet.
Her camera wasn’t the best at taking night shots. And now as she leaned against the base of an oak tree, fumbling with the settings, she wished she did have something more high-powered. She’d never win the internship by handing in grainy night shots.
Thinking it would have been awesome to have someone along to keep her company on this cold dark evening, her mind drifted to Beck’s sweet smile and those entrancing blue eyes.
So maybe she was getting her flirt on with him. Felt kind of awesome.
He hadn’t called her today. She didn’t know what his number was. She thought he might have stopped by. Her father must have put fear in the handsome wolf.
Daisy decided if Beck never showed again, then that meant he wasn’t deserving of her interest. Only a wolf who dared defy her father would be worthy of her time. At least, that was the romantic version she played in her head. In reality, she knew Beck was better off staying away from her and avoiding Kai’s wrath.
Too bad. Beck’s hasty confession to loving her because she had a talent with hot chocolate had won her over. The way to a man’s heart was through food. And she wasn’t beyond utilizing such tactics. But as well, his kiss was not to be overlooked. If she never felt his kiss again, the world might never again be as bright. Heck, she’d seen fireworks during that kiss. It didn’t get any better than that.
She knew where his shop was. Nothing was stopping her from driving over to see him. “No,” she muttered. “He needs to come to me.”
A gunshot alerted her, and she whipped her head around, along with the camera. Set at its highest zoom, she peered through the lens and spotted movement. She’d turned the flash off.
There were two of them. Hunters. She saw the shotguns they held. Not aimed at anything because the wooden stocks were slung against their shoulders. And they were running for their lives.
Tilting the camera to the right, she caught a blur of white tracking through the birch trunks in the hunters’ wake.
“The ghost wolf.” Daisy tracked the blur, snapping shots repeatedly.
The frightened mortals ran within a hundred feet of her. She recognized the hunter in the lead. He had bright red hair and was known in town simply as Red, a Scottish farmer transplanted from his country to Minnesota through love and marriage. She didn’t recognize the man behind him, but he yelled for Red to hurry and get to the truck.
Then she scented the wolf. It was angry and feral, and so close she could hear its breathing. Steady, not taxed, and punctuated with vicious growls. Shaped like a werewolf, she estimated it grew two feet taller than even her father when he was shifted. It was indeed white, but a sort of filmy white, perhaps even transparent.
Remembering her mission, Daisy clicked a rapid succession of shots. When the hunters exited the forest and slammed the truck doors, the wolf paused at the tree line. It smashed out its fists to the sides, cracking the tall birch trunks, and howled. It was like no wolf howl Daisy had ever heard. The haunting noise climbed up her spine and prickled under her skin. She shivered, and sank down against the tree trunk in fear.
Her camera hand dropping to the snowy forest floor, she cast her gaze upward as the white werewolf stalked toward her.
The