Mated by Moonlight sb-3 Page 4

  “Yeah.” The iron pulled heavily at her arm; she’d have to watch out for that.

  The old house with a touch of Victoriana that was Babette’s Antique Emporium displayed mostly plastic and glass knickknacks in the front windows. Merrilee’s mood plummeted lower as they walked into the kitchy little front yard with its dozen concrete birdbaths and tribe of lawn gnomes. “If the phae be chased off with bad taste, I think we’re on to something here.”

  Beck gave her a reproving glance. “You’ve never even been inside, I bet. Babette has a lot of nice homey décor and wearable art.” He ignored her snort. “More to the point, she keeps farm salvage in the barn out back.”

  They stayed on the walk that circled the house, passing a tree hung with upward of a hundred wind chimes. They were eerily silent until Merrilee nudged one, just to make it ring.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Beck muttered.

  The house’s side door swung open, and Babette popped out with a smile as wide as the ceramic sun faces decorating the fence. “Bexley!”

  Merrilee choked and stumbled over a nonexistent crack in the sidewalk.

  Beck ignored her and hugged the smaller human woman who was hanging on to her mid-fifties with all the strength in her custom acrylic nails. Merrilee told herself to pull in her own; just because she couldn’t paint her nails without the work being wasted when she shifted was no reason to be a raging wolf bitch.

  Although if Babette didn’t remove her hand from his ass—

  The woman stepped back and straightened her fringed Indian print scarf. “You two finally shacking up?”

  Merrilee choked again.

  Beck shook his head. “Babs, you’ve always been hell on secrets.”

  Merrilee glared at him while the woman shrugged. “I figured it wasn’t a secret anymore if you’re standing so close together.”

  Merrilee took a long step back which sent her knocking into the wind chimes. They clattered over her shoulders.

  Babette raised her plucked brows. “Never mind then. What can I do you for?”

  “We’re looking for iron. Maybe old horseshoes or nails. Not steel or any other alloy though.”

  “Cold-forged iron.” Babette nodded. “Only thing to keep fairies away.”

  The chimes fell silent Merrilee went so still.

  Beck gave a little smile. “Even more hard to believe, Merrilee here is taking up blacksmithing.”

  Babette shot her an incredulous look. “What good is that in New York City or whatever other fool place you’re flying off to?” She waved a hand. “Come on back to the barn. Let’s see what I have.”

  The big barn was a treasure trove strung with cobwebs. “Most everything’s steel nowadays,” Babette said, poking through a rack of garden tools. “But the antiques are sometimes iron.”

  Merrilee sidled closer. “How do we tell the difference?”

  “Take a grinding wheel to them and they’ll spark different. Wrought iron sparks flow out straight, and the end spreads like a willow leaf. Or just press it up against a fairy and see if it burns.”

  Beck laughed, but he sounded strained. “Babette—”

  She shook one sharply nailed finger. “There are secrets, Bexley, and there are lies. You can tell me one, but not the other.” When he only crossed his arms over his big chest, she huffed out a breath. “Orson was sniffing around here earlier, and he is not as good as you at keeping his voice down.”

  Merrilee sighed.

  Babette gave her an even sharper look. “But I’d have known something was afoot. You can’t get to be my age and not have seen a few strange things.”

  Beck tilted his head. “What have you seen lately?”

  “Not just lately.” She waggled her fingers. “Orson turned into a bear once.”

  “Whiskey’ll make you see things,” Beck said noncommittally.

  “And Orson, apparently,” Merrilee muttered.

  Babette gave her a reproving look. “He’s is a good man. And bear.”

  Beck rubbed his forehead. “Then why is he the only one you haven’t proposed to?”

  “He’s the only one who might say yes,” she said. “But that’s not what made me suspicious. I’ve seen that thing he’s looking for, that imp.”

  Merrilee stiffened. “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “And hear the whiskey comments? No thanks. Anyway, I thought it was another one of you people, changing into something else.”

  Beck laughed once. “Babette, is there anything you don’t know?”

  She didn’t smile back. “Why a man who can change into a grizzly is scared.”

  Beck’s smile flatlined. “We’re not sure either.”

  After they’d taken Babette’s report of the imp sightings—plus another set of fireplace tools, a few antique farm implements and a good length of wrought iron fencing with each upright topped by an arrow point—Beck and Merrilee returned to the street. They’d left their purchases in the barn, planning to return with Beck’s truck.

  Merrilee glanced back as they headed for the Harley. “Can we trust her?”

  “No reason not to.”

  She ticked off on her fingers. “Alcoholism. Selling out to the highest bidder; she robbed us at those prices. Her wanting to get her hands on your ass again... Wow, you’re blushing, Bexley.”

  He strode to the bike and slammed on his helmet. “You coming or not?”

  Amused, she settled herself against his spine. They never spooned after sex; she never hung around long enough to get that far.

  It seemed strange—and maybe just a little sad—that only the looming threat of a phae invasion had pushed them so closely together.

  Chapter 5

  Beck loved his Harley, but he’d never been so eager to get off it to get away from the press of Merrilee’s hot body when they arrived at the Sun-Down. How many layers of denim and leather—how much steel—would he need to put between them to forget her touch?

  Maybe the phae Queen could suck that desire out of him.

  The nasty thought made him frown, and Merrilee was echoing his fierce expression when she pulled off her helmet.

  What did she have to be angry about? She had her rewarding work, far away from him, she had her pack, her fuck buddy with no strings attached, just as she liked it.

  Orson’s quartet hadn’t shown up yet, so he unlocked the bar, though he kept the shades down. Normally he didn’t open until happy hour, making the bar a good place for a clandestine meeting.

  Assuming everybody in town wasn’t already in on their secret like Babette.

  Merrilee went behind the bar, tossing her coat beside his. “Mind if I get a drink? I think I need one after this morning.”

  “Help yourself,” he said. “As always.”

  She’d bent down to the cooler, but she straightened slowly at his dangerous tone. Her blue eyes glimmered in the light of the neon beer signs. “You can just say no.”

  “Apparently I can’t.”

  “I thought we were talking about a can of Dr. Pepper.”

  He leaned his hip against the pool table and clicked on the overhead light. “For someone with wereling senses, you sure are blind.”

  Abandoning the soda, she stalked toward him until she was right up against the toes of his boots. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He huffed, wishing the scent of her wasn’t so enticing. If he could just clear his nose and his skin of that sweet and wild fragrance, maybe he wouldn’t be so inclined to reach for her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Whenever she presented herself. But all he could do was tuck his hands under his arms. “Never mind. Let’s stay focused on—”

  “No, now I’m curious.” She didn’t look curious; she looked furious. “If you want me to walk away, just say the word.”

  “You never walk away. You run. You hardly batted an eye at Babette mentioning fairies, but when she said something about us being together—” He wiggled his V’d fingers like little running legs.

&nb
sp; Her eyes narrowed to slits.

  Whoo. Chasing after the imp hadn’t been anywhere near as reckless as what he was doing now. Why did he feel the need to grab the wereling by the tail?

  Because he wanted more than tail.

  She leaned into him, close enough that her breasts brushed his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down the V-neck of her sweater. It wasn’t his fault; the wolf inside him saw the pale swell of skin, thought moon, and came out to sing.

  “I. Don’t. Run.”

  He lifted one brow. “Really?”

  He tilted his head and kissed her.

  Open mouth. Tongue. Slick lips. A moan. His or hers?

  He sealed the kiss so they had to swap breath or separate, and he knew she wouldn’t give ground. Not now. He canted back over the pool table, forcing her to anchor one hand behind his head or lose the kiss. Lose the fight.

  He was an idiot to fight so hard when she didn’t want to be won. But her kiss... Ah, her kiss was like a howl in his heart, and he had to answer.

  She levered one knee up onto the felt so her thigh pressed hard against his flank. He gripped the curve of her ass in those tight leggings, feeling the flex of muscle and lush padding. The fringe of her sweater tickled his wrist.

  She wrapped her other leg around him, both hands anchored in his hair while she kissed him, hard and desperate, as if she were drowning...

  He pulled her snug against him, dry humping like a randy kid. God, he could have held her aloft with the might of his throbbing cock alone if he let that beast out.

  No longer needing to hold herself, she let her freed hands skim inside of his T-shirt. Her fingers tripped up his abs, and he flexed for her, every muscle tightening. She rubbed his nipples, and he jerked against her, which made her rub him again, harder. Then she pinched, and he gasped, pulling the air from her lungs.

  If he wasn’t careful, she was going to make him come in his jeans.

  He hitched her higher on his belly, taking the strain off his denim-bound erection. Down through the opening between their bodies, she wedged one hand into his waistband. His cock, already surging upward, rose to meet her questing fingers as she popped the first button of his fly.

  She slicked her thumb over the first bead of cum at the same time she pinched his nipple again, sending an electric jolt through his groin.

  She palmed him, sliding the ring of her thumb and forefinger over the blunted head of his shaft. He threw back his head in anticipation of that first delicious stroke...

  That didn’t come.

  He opened his eyes to find her all but crouched over him, eyes glittering, both her knees on the pool table, him bent over nearly backward.

  “I don’t run,” she repeated.

  “You better not.” The threat sounded a little breathless in his own ears. “Not now.”

  Still she lingered, holding him—literally—on the edge.

  Footsteps scraped in the gravel outside, and a quartet of voices rose. In another second, the door would swing open.

  And here he was, almost flat on his back, Beta in his own bar.

  He heaved upright, dumping Merrilee off his lap while he hastened to stuff his stiffy back behind the buttons.

  She landed easily, the long hem of her sweater settling around her as if nothing had happened.

  But she gave him a triumphant look. “So having people know about us...”

  He growled low in his throat. The sound was a little ragged and lost in the thump of the door swinging wide to admit Orson and his cronies.

  “I’m telling you,” Orson was saying. “Imps are only the first sign.”

  “Unless it’s the only sign,” argued the quartet baritone, a black bear wereling who conveniently went by the name Barry. The other two black bears nodded.

  Orson threw up his hands with a grizzly-sized grunt which clearly did not impress the others. He fixed Beck and Merrilee with a stare. “What are you two doing?”

  Beck tried to choke out an answer, but Merrilee slipped in front of him gracefully. “We gathered some iron antiques for weapons.” She grinned at Orson. “Babette said you can come pick them up whenever.”

  A flush colored the old man’s cheeks. “Ain’t got a truck.”

  “Borrow Beck’s.” While the grizzly grumbled, she went behind the bar and served up a round of plain waters. “So tell us, what did you boys smell?”

  “That imp was creeping around for a couple days at least,” Barry said while the quartet clambered onto stools in front of her.

  Orson drank deep before rubbing his nose. “It was a subtle thing, which I suppose makes sense for a spy. Wouldn’t have known what I was smelling if it hadn’t died in my backyard.”

  “Any pattern?” Beck didn’t take the fifth water, and Merrilee arched a brow at him.

  Orson pulled a small, tattered notebook from his pocket. Flipping past pages of musical notations, he paused on a sketched map of the town. “Caught the oldest scent here.” He pointed at the mouth of the valley. “Anything earlier was lost in the comings and goings. Lot of traffic there. Anyway, it skipped up the valley, back and forth.” He zigzagged his finger along the map, stopping when he got to the Sun-Down at the end of the road.

  “Searching,” Merrilee said.

  “For what?” Beck scowled at the map. “It was digging through my garbage.”

  She deliberately did not look at him. “Maybe we should have held it for questioning.”

  “Next time a three-legged spider thing tries to stab you, you can hold it for questioning.” But even as he said it, the thought of her wrestling the imp with its stabbing claws made what was left of his erection wither.

  She gave him a glance that would have cooled any lingering ardor. “I’ll do that.”

  “Maybe they won’t come back,” Barry said.

  Orson snorted. “The phae don’t back down.”

  “Neither do we,” Merrilee said.

  Beck looked at the pattern on the paper. The imp had stopped at the bar only because he had stumbled upon it. But the zigzag had been headed in one direction: toward the mountains.

  Toward the lake village. Toward Merrilee.

  * * *

  Why did she feel such a need to poke him?

  Merrilee watched while Beck outlined a sentry schedule for the quartet and a few others they trusted to keep quiet. No sense worrying the town’s wereling population into an uproar about creatures that were mostly a legend to them, much as they themselves were a fantasy to the unsuspecting humans.

  She waited while he tossed Orson the keys to his truck and ushered the quartet out. Only then did she shakily settle on a bar stool, flattening one hand over her aching breasts.

  She poked him because she wanted him to poke her with that long, thick, hard—

  He slammed the door open, reentering the bar, and she jumped off the stool.

  She just couldn’t back down. If she did, she might never want to get back up again.

  And worse? She might like it.

  “That imp was heading my way,” she said.

  He nodded, his face impassive. “Now you know what to watch for. Or what to smell for, anyway.”

  She wavered. Her smaller pack didn’t have the resources Beck’s did. If she tried to set up a watch, she’d quickly have a group of worn-out werelings who could be as much a danger to themselves as any phae.

  She bit her lip, and the little pain reminded her she could take greater pain and so could her people. They had before and they would again to preserve the place they’d won with blood and kept now with a fierce allegiance that a one-time soldier would surely understand.

  Beck rubbed the back of his neck. “Merrilee—”

  Grandmère would be disappointed she’d even for a moment weakened. “I’ll keep you updated. I assume you’ll do the same.”

  “Of course. Let me give you a lift home.”

  She spun on her heel. “I’ll hitch a ride with Orson.”

  “Babe...”

&nbs
p; She didn’t pause this time, but she kept her footsteps even so it didn’t look like she was running.

  But even though she was going slow, he didn’t chase after her.

  By the time she retrieved the iron scraps with Orson—who loaded Beck’s pickup with a notable lack of bear deliberateness while Babette chatted at him—and they swung by her cottage to unload half the iron, the sun was heading for the backsides of the mountains.

  She paused to wipe her forehead. Despite her wereling strength, wrestling the length of decorative fencing without getting impaled was a trick. Even Orson was huffing as he leaned against the pickup’s bumper.

  He resettled the straps of his overalls. “Got everything?”

  She nodded. “Half of it, anyway.”

  “He’d give it all, if you just asked.”

  She frowned at him, bemused. “I wouldn’t leave the town undefended.”

  “Ain’t the town that’s wide-open. It’s his heart.”

  It hadn’t been Beck’s heart open, but his pants. “Babette got to you, didn’t she?”

  The old griz flattened his lips in a prim line. “Bears are solitary.”

  Merrilee tapped her chin. “So where do little bears come from?”

  “Never mind that. I mean to say bear-kind don’t bother themselves with who is first and who is second.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t bother either. I am Alpha.”

  “If that keeps you warm at night.”

  It didn’t. It kept her up some nights, as she checked her spreadsheets and work orders, making sure her pack stayed strong. Strong and separate. She didn’t have much from the mother who’d left her with a loving but stern grandmother, even less from the ancestress who had fought a hundred years ago, but this they had passed to her along with her Alpha blood: a place of her own. She would not give that up to another pack or to the phae.

  Or to her own traitorous heart.

  Chapter 6

  Explaining the imp to Keisha and her husband, Peter, was easier than Merrilee had expected. She invited them to her cottage for dark beers and darker troubles, but they knew more about the phae than she did.

  “Peter’s mother loved fairy tales,” Keisha said. “Where do you think he got his name?”