История кривого билда: Баф-машина. Сергей Вишневский
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idiot hunters as she looked up into the ghost wolf’s red eyes.
Werewolf eyes always glowed golden when shifted. Daisy had never seen the likes of these before. This wolf’s eyes were redder than a vampire’s feast.
She swore under her breath. The camera slipped out of her hand and slid across the slippery snowpack. The werewolf must recognize her scent as wolf—she hoped. But was it even the same breed as she? It was like her, and yet not. Bigger and bulkier, its shoulders and biceps curved forward in impossible musculature and ended with talons coiled into fists.
And its coloring was surreal, not of this realm. Glowy and pale, but not see-through, as she had guessed. Iridescent. From Faery? Only Faery things glowed as this wolf did. Or maybe a god such as Fenrir? Couldn’t be. According to the legend she had researched, that god had been chained until the end of time.
Its white leathery nostrils flaring, the wolf scented her, then whipped its head back and reared from her. Growling low in warning, the wolf stepped back and stretched out its arms. Emitting a long and rangy howl, it sent shivers throughout Daisy’s body. She clutched her arms across her chest and tucked her head.
With a stomp of its massive foot, the ghost wolf took off into the forest, leaving its tracks imprinted deep in the snow near her feet.
Daisy breathed out. “Holy shit, that was close.”
Holding a shaking hand before her, she assessed her heartbeat. Ready to bust out from her ribs. She shook her head. She’d take her father’s wrath over another meeting with the ghost wolf any day.
And then she checked her fear. The wolf hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t even moved to touch her. For all she knew, it could be of her breed.
“I can’t be afraid,” she said. “Only girls cry.”
* * *
By the time she arrived back in town, Daisy’s heartbeat had settled. The fear had segued to an adventurous exhilaration during her walk. She’d stood face-to-face with the ghost wolf! Her brothers would be stunned.
With adrenaline tracing her veins, she wasn’t content to go home and crawl into bed. Instead, she headed toward the west end of town where she knew Red lived. She marched up to the front door, passing the truck that hissed out steam from beneath the hood. Seeing a light on inside, she knocked.
Red answered immediately, frowned, then looked over her shoulder. As if she should have brought along an entourage?
“You it?” he asked.
“Uh, I’m Daisy Saint-Pierre, Mister Red. I heard about you seeing the ghost wolf,” she tried.
“You bet I did.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for the Tangle Lake Tattler?” She whipped out her notepad to make it look official.
“Hell no. I ain’t talking to no one but Kare11 News. I called ’em. I thought you were it, but apparently not.” He pushed the door closed, but Daisy wedged a shoulder against it and shoved inward. “Nobody but the big news,” he reiterated, and this time managed to shut the door completely.
Daisy stepped back and stared at the door. Kare11 was the most-watched news channel in Minneapolis.
“Shoot. I should have gotten here sooner. He must have called the station as they were driving back. Couldn’t have been that scared if he was thinking about his fifteen minutes of fame.”
Daisy wandered down the path back to her car just as the Kare11 News van pulled up. She recognized the blonde reporter who got out and directed her cameraman toward the house.
The woman rushed over to Daisy and shoved a microphone in her face. “Are you related to Red MacPherson?”
Daisy shook her head. “I’m with the Tangle Lake Tattler.”
The reporter lowered the microphone. “Red didn’t give you the scoop, did he? I told him this was my story.”
“He didn’t. But I had to try.”
The woman sucked in a perfectly highlighted and blushed cheek and sneered. “Tough luck.” She spun about and marched across the shoveled sidewalk in her high heels.
Who wore high heels and a business skirt at eleven o’clock at night in the middle of January? Daisy sighed. A reporter who was always prepared to get her story, she decided. There was a lot she had to learn about the business of journalism.
But she did have one thing that might scoop them all.
Rushing back to her car, Daisy pulled away with one hand on the wheel and the other clutching her camera.
* * *
The following afternoon, Daisy opened her front door to find Beckett Severo standing there, smiling sheepishly. The frustration that had been building all day as she’d tried to understand the Photoshop program to enhance her photos slipped away. A more intriguing distraction had arrived.
And a sexy distraction, as well.
“Beck.” She shoved a hand over her hair. Hadn’t looked at it since stepping out of the shower this morning. Yeesh. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again after, well, you know.”
“Do you want to see me?” He remained behind the threshold, hands shoved in his front pockets. “I mean, should I be here?”
“Yes.” She took his hand and tugged him inside. “I didn’t want to influence you one way or the other so I didn’t make the first move. Also, I don’t have your phone number.”
He tugged out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons, then handed it to her. “Let’s remedy that right now. Type in your number. If you give me yours, I’ll do the same.”
She grabbed her phone from the counter and handed it to him. Typing in her digits, she entered simply Daisy Blu, and not her last name. She didn’t want anything in there to remind him of her father.
“I don’t want to disrespect your father,” he said, handing her back her phone and reclaiming his. “But I couldn’t stay away.”
“Why is that?”
“That I don’t mean any disrespect to a pack principal?”
“No, I understand that completely. And I have to say I’m glad that humiliating episode did not keep you away. It must have been my hot chocolate that lured you back, right?”
“While I admit that wicked brew could certainly provide a strong lure toward you, that’s not the reason. How can a guy walk away from pink hair and fluttery lashes like yours? And you’re not like most women. You’re smart, and you have interests in things beyond shoes and celebrities.”
“I don’t know what torture king expects us to walk in those wobbly high-heeled shoes.”
“I like you in pack boots and your kitty hat. Can I, uh...” His eyes danced over her face nervously. Then he splayed out his hands. “We never got to finish that kiss before your father showed up.”
Indeed not. The man had an excellent memory, and thank the goddess for that.
Daisy stepped up to him and tilted back her head because he was tall, and she wanted to stare into his eyes all day. Until such a view didn’t matter, and she closed her eyes and tipped forward onto her tiptoes.
He met her mouth with his. A warm, sure kiss that belonged nowhere but now. She gripped the front of his sweater, beneath the open coat, and when he spread a hand up her back she leaned into him. He was so warm, and strong. The muscles beneath her hands were hard as rock, and she curled her fingers against the curve of his pecs. Yet at her mouth, everything was not hard but eager and searching. Inviting and exploratory.
He smelled like caramel and coffee. Whatever he’d had to