Ghost Wolf. Michele Hauf

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      Her mother had stayed at home today in favor of an afternoon to herself. She was uncomfortable in large crowds. It wasn’t because she was one-hundred-percent faery; Rissa was just quiet and didn’t much understand socializing.

      Daisy could relate. Her mother had bequeathed her the scarlet letter of introversion. Her four brothers had inherited their father’s extroversion. They could all be somewhere in the area, though she suspected Blade had stayed away. He wasn’t much for crowds simply because he was secretive.

      A familiar face smiled through a bustle of winter caps. Stryke was the second-youngest of Daisy’s four brothers, and was full werewolf. Trouble was also full werewolf. Kelyn was faery. And Blade was a mix of vampire and faery (the vamp was thanks to their grandfather Creed’s DNA).

      “Hey, sis!”

      Stryke pulled her into a generous hug. The guy was a master hugger. When he hugged, he gave his all. The wise, more cerebral one of the bunch, he was the one his siblings went to when they had a problem and needed to talk.

      “Why the long face?” he asked, turning to lean against the concrete bike rack where she had paused. “Not into the festivities?”

      She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just kinda melancholy, I guess.”

      “Yeah, this town isn’t the most exciting. Hot dishes and lutefisk?” He shuddered comically.

      “Tangle Lake.” Daisy recited the town’s name. “And not a tangle to it. This town is straighter than straight. The highway dashes a straight line beside it. All the streets are parallel and straight. Even the lake is square! I need a tangle, Stryke.” She sighed, twisting the ends of her pink hair. “I’d even settle for a little twist.”

      “I hear you.” Stryke’s gaze traversed a nearby ice bowling match, where the participants bowled ice balls toward frozen autumn squash. “I can’t wait for Aunt Kambriel’s wedding this summer.”

      Kambriel, their aunt, who was their father’s twin sister (and a vampire), had fallen in love with the vampire Johnny Santiago and planned to wed in Paris, where she currently lived.

      “You might find yourself a European werewolf,” Daisy said, knowing her brother’s strong desire to find a woman and settle down. Yet for some reason Stryke was never compelled to put down roots with any of the women in the area. Not interesting enough, he’d often lament.

      “That’s the plan,” he agreed. “A tangle, eh? I’m not sure you’ll find the excitement you’re looking for in Tangle Lake, Daisy. Most exciting thing lately— Well, hell, what about that ghost wolf? You think it’s a werewolf?”

      “Yes,” she answered quickly. And then, “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m doing a story on it for the local paper. Or I’m trying to.”

      “Whatever it is, be careful.”

      “I will. Do you think it’s a werewolf?”

      “Yes,” Stryke said. And then, “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I’d have to see the thing up close. And I’m not sure I want to. Though I can promise Trouble would like to have a go at it.”

      The eldest brother of the siblings, Trouble (whose real name was Jack) had a thing for picking fights and pushing people to their breaking point. But he did it in a playful way. Unfortunately, most people did not get his confrontational humor.

      “I have to go,” Stryke said. He nodded toward a crowd of young women bundled up in bright ski pants and boots. Pom-poms bobbed on their heads and mittens, plus a few at their boot ties. A cavalcade of sex kittens. “Got a date.”

      “A tangle?”

      “If I’m lucky.” He winked. “You going to the fireworks?”

      “Kelyn and I usually head out together. I’ll see you later, Stryke.”

      He kissed her cheek, a cold smack that made her giggle, and strode off toward the pom-pom kittens.

      Sighing, Daisy tugged out the paperback she always took along to public events and found the bookmarked page. She wore gloves with rubber tips on the fingers, designed for operating touch devices. Books were the ultimate touch device. Immersing herself in the fiction, she strolled slowly along the packed snow embankment that edged the hockey rink where makeshift teams had gathered to play. Should have brought her skates. What she wouldn’t give to slap sticks for a while...

      All of a sudden, someone charged into her. Daisy dropped her book and made to shove away the annoying guy, but she paused when she saw who it was. The sexy wolf she’d run into the other night at the edge of the forest.

      “What is it with you and the need to ram into me every chance you get?” she asked.

      “Uh, sorry. I had my eye on the puck.” He tossed the hockey puck he picked up from the snow toward the guys outfitted in knee pads and skates waiting on the ice. “Besides, this is the first time I’ve rammed into you. If you’ll remember correctly—”

      “Yes, yes, I recall. So you’re playing with the mortals?”

      “Exclusivity to one’s breed is not wise in this small town.” He swept a hand toward the players who had continued the game without him. “They’re a great bunch of guys. I love hockey. There you go.”

      “I like hockey, too, but I don’t think the boys would like a woman joining them.”

      “Probably not. All the girls are over at the food booths making cocoa and serving us men.”

      Daisy’s jaw tightened. “I don’t serve any man.”

      Beck swerved his gaze toward her. “Huh? Oh. Right. Sorry, that was—”

      “An asshole thing to say.”

      “Whoa. This is fast going down an icy slope I don’t want to slip on. Let’s start over.” Tugging off a leather glove, he then bent to pick up her book and handed it to her. “Sorry. The pages got snow on them. Don’t you have one of those fancy e-readers like I see everyone carrying nowadays?”

      “I have a few of them,” Daisy said proudly. “Sometimes I prefer the touch, feel and smell of a real book.”

      She pressed the closed book to her nose and inhaled. Snow had dampened a few of the pages, but she couldn’t be upset because she also owned the digital copy of this book.

      “It’s so personal to hold a book in my hand. I can open it to any place I like with a few flutters of the page. I can trace my fingers down the words, rereading phrases that speak to me. The stories make my heart race and my skin flush. My toes curl when I’ve read a well-crafted sentence. Mmm...”

      “Uh...”

      She glanced at Beck, whose mouth hung open. Oh, those eyes could attract wise men on a clear winter night beneath a velvet star-filled sky.

      He scratched his head. “You just made reading sound sexual.”

      So she had. “Books turn me on.” Daisy resumed her stroll along the snowbank shoveled up around the rink.

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