История кривого билда: Баф-машина. Сергей Вишневский

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      Beck bent to pick up the thermos and handed it to her. “I’m sorry about this.”

      “No, I am,” she offered. “This isn’t how things should have gone tonight.” Inhaling a deep breath, she swept her gaze over her father’s stare then wandered down the hill.

      She hated leaving Beck at the hands of her father. And what had he done? He’d only wanted to get to know her better. Rare was it a guy actually asked her on a date to do something, as opposed to wanting to go straight to her house to make out on the couch. She craved the wooing process. And that kiss. It could have been amazing had her father not shown up.

      Glancing up the hill, Daisy saw that her father was already on his way down. Whew. He hadn’t given Beck a chewing-out. Her father was not a cruel man, but he was feared for the very reason that his physicality was remarkable. It was the rare wolf in this area who could stand against him, alpha or otherwise.

      Daisy got into the old pickup truck and pulled the door shut with the duct-taped handle. As her father got in, she tucked her legs up to her chest and twisted to face the window. The engine rattled, and the truck took off.

      “He’s arrogant,” Kai said after they’d driven a few miles.

      “He’s kind.”

      “I’ve invited him to join our pack too many times.”

      Daisy swung her head around and met her father’s brief glance. “How many is too many? Two? And the one time he was grieving his lost father.”

      “Two too many. He’s refused both times. Says he doesn’t need a pack. That’s arrogance, if you ask me. Stay the hell away from him, Daisy Blu.”

      Beck had every right to refuse her father. Daisy could imagine that if he had grown up with a father who had been a lone wolf, then the idea of a pack must be odd to him. Overwhelming. Perhaps even threatening.

      “You’re not going to stay away from him, are you?” Kai asked softly.

      Daisy bit her lower lip to fight the tears that threatened to spill down her cheek. She wanted to do the right thing in her father’s eyes. But her right and his right weren’t in alignment now. And she was a grown woman. Too old to still have her father tailing after her, approving or denying her choice in men.

      “Daisy?”

      “I don’t know,” she finally said.

      Kai’s sigh rippled through her skin and twanged at her heart.

      * * *

      The afternoon had been designated for research. Scanning the internet, Daisy tried various search words, starting with “ghost wolf,” which brought up nothing. The data on werewolves provided for interesting reading, some laughs and a lot of head shaking. Eventually she typed in Fenrir, the name of a Norse god who was the son of Loki.

      “The ghost wolf obviously isn’t Fenrir,” she said as she scanned the information. But there were some similarities. A monstrous wolf often depicted in paintings as white or ghostlike, he could not be restrained, save by a delicate ribbon named Gleipnir.

      Though it was fascinating, it wasn’t getting Daisy any closer to results. The article needed facts, or in this case, some 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.

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