Ghost Wolf by Michele Hauf

Author:Michele Hauf [Hauf, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Daisy finally cleaned up a photograph using Photoshop. The white wolf stood on powerful hind legs. Its head was ruffled with thick white fur. Ebony talons scythed the air. Its eyes glowed red.

She couldn’t publish this photo. It exposed her lover for a monster.

But not publishing it would compromise her chances at winning the internship. This was truly a prize-winning photo. Dare she? Did she really need it? Maybe journalism wasn’t her thing?

She needed this internship to finally prove her independence to her father.

* * *

The day had been long and cold. Icy rain slicked the tarmac. Yes, he lived in Minnesota. Cold was a natural state six months out of the year. Why hadn’t his parents moved to Florida to raise him? He could seriously work the beach-bum vibe.

A stop for groceries on the way home was necessary, but Beck wasn’t feeling motivated after the shop owner’s rude treatment. Though he felt deserving of it. How to ask around about silver bullets without sounding like a complete wacko?

The blinking blue neon sign outside the Blue Bass bar—the last dive bar before Burnham—called to him. A shot of whiskey to warm his bones sounded more interesting than squeezing oranges in the produce section.

Inside the small bar paneled in wood timbers and blinking madly with various beer signs hung all over the walls, a few men played a game of pool under the watchful milky eye of the bar’s mascot, a stuffed blue bass. One man sat at the bar, his head bowed and long black hair concealing his face.

An old-timer sporting a white beard to his belly and commandeering the table next to the men’s room waved to him. Beck nodded in acknowledgment—the guy was here every time he stopped in—and ordered a whiskey. He asked the bartender to pour the old man another of whatever he was drinking. He’d never spoken to him, hadn’t a clue who he was, what he did or where he lived. Didn’t matter.

The first swallow of whiskey burned sweetly. Beck pressed the shot glass to his forehead and closed his eyes. The sounds of pool balls clacking battled with the cheesy country tune that proclaimed cowboys the best rides.

Beck laughed to himself, thinking that women should really give werewolves a try if they were looking for a wild ride. Then again, best keep all the wild goodness away from the mortal females. They wouldn’t know how to handle him.

Hell, what was he thinking? He’d dated many a mortal woman. They could handle him in were shape just fine.

Daisy had been his first wolf. And it had been a risky pairing. Normally packs protected their females as if they were gold in Fort Knox. The only wolves allowed to sniff around them were fellow pack members, or wolves from neighboring packs. But if Beck knew correctly, Daisy’s pack was just her family. So she would have to seek a wolf elsewhere to mate and marry. Naturally, her father, the pack principal, would insist she marry another pack wolf.

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