The Witch And The Werewolf

“Yeah, I got that. I wish I could find the zone so easily nowadays. Whew!” Eryss blew a strand of long hair from her face. She had a six-month-old at home who lately had been keeping her up nights because of teething. “But don’t be too untouchable tonight, okay? That man is sexy times two.”

“Don’t tell me that, Eryss. I’m not in the market for a—Oh, my goddess, he’s coming over here.”

“Then I’m going to leave you to him.”

“No! Eryss!”

The man pushed by two people and deftly avoided a bull terrier sitting beside his owner’s table. (Yes, the brewery was dog friendly.) He was halfway across the room.

“Please don’t be a creeper. Please don’t be a creeper.” Mireio performed a hip swinging turn and he stood right before her. “Oh!”

Big brown eyes looked into her soul almost as deeply as if he could do a soul gaze. Of which, only witches were capable. And no one in town knew the owners of The Decadent Dames were witches. Well, mostly no one.

“Oh, hey,” she offered.

Eryss had been right in her assessment of the man. But more like sexy times infinity. His dark brown hair was tied behind his head and his beard was trimmed neatly to reveal a snow-white smile. Chocolate brown eyes? Dreamy. Dimples? Oh, mercy. And he smelled like a forest after the rain.

“My name’s Lars.” He leaned in to be heard over the music. “I don’t normally walk up to pretty girls and introduce myself.” He looked aside briefly, then cast his eyes toward hers for only a few seconds. Nervous? “But there’s something about you. Do I know you?”

“I’ve never seen you before. Unless you come to the brewery often. I work here,” she said, unable to keep her hips from swaying to the beat. “You like to dance?”

The man shook his head. “I’m not a dancer. Was hoping you wouldn’t mind a little conversation.”

He seemed nice enough. And he hadn’t tried any pickup lines on her yet, so that earned him points. But, as she’d told Eryss, she’d been in her zone. And some nights a girl just wanted to be with herself. Maybe she should reinforce her white light. She always warded with a white light against psychic invasion—or energy vampires—before going out. It tended to wear down as the night went on.

“Sorry.” He shrugged and smirked, interrupting her thoughts. “I think I’m out of line here. You don’t seem interested—”

“No, wait!”

Ah hell, she wasn’t a mean girl, and the guy was cute. What could a little conversation hurt?

“That table is empty. I need a break anyway. New shoes, don’t you know.” She didn’t need the break, but again, the man was a tall order of nummy, so she’d be a fool to send him off like a stuck-up witch.

He wandered over to the table and Mireio assessed him as he did. His jeans were snug and showed off incredibly muscled thighs and legs that stretched much longer than hers. Good thing she was wearing the heels. But she still came up a head or two shorter than him. He wore a soft blue-and-green flannel shirt opened to reveal a plain white T-shirt beneath. And that shirt stretched over abs and chest muscles that screamed this man works out. A lot. Add in the beard, mustache and well-groomed hair and he sported the whole lumbersexual vibe.

She could dig it.

She stepped onto the lower rung on the stool to boost herself up to the high table. Hey, she was five-two on a good day. Here at the back of the taproom they were set off from the dancers but it was still loud.

“Lilacs,” he said.

“What?”

“You smell like lilacs.” His dimpled smile was accompanied by a shy dip of his head.

She didn’t wear perfume, save for essential oils once in a while, so if he smelled lilacs, then... “Oh. I was in the garden this afternoon. That must be what you smell on me. The lilacs are blooming. I love spring. Everything is so lush.”

He nodded. “A familiar scent. I like it.”

“You’re a big one,” she said absently. Then she realized what an idiot she’d sounded like. “Uh, I mean... Oh, witch’s warts. I need another beer.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“No, I got it.” With a wave, she caught Eryss’s attention behind the bar and made the pouring signal for another beer. “I work here. Not right now. But I own the place along with my friends. They know the fill-me-up signal.”

“You ladies make excellent beer.”

“Thank you. I brewed that oatmeal stout you’re drinking.”

“It’s nice and creamy.”

“I’m the head brewer,” she said over the rising noise as the band kicked into a rousing ’80s tune that everyone started to pound their fists to and bounce up and down.

“You say it’s newer? Yes, I like it.” He tilted back the drink and offered her a cheers with his half-empty glass.

She was never going to have a conversation with him surrounded by this noise. And she did want to get to know him better. Because why not? He was sexy and nonthreatening. And she wasn’t against having a conversation with a handsome man.

“So, Lars, eh?”

“Yes. Officially Larson Gunderson.”

“That’s a fine Scandinavian name, if I’ve ever heard one. I’m Mireio Malory.”

“Muriel.”

“No, Mir-ee-O.”

“Oh. It’s loud in here with the band singing. My hearing is usually...much better.” He winced then, as if thinking of something he’d forgotten. He shook the sudden lost moment away and offered her a smile that flashed his pearly whites from beneath his trimmed mustache.

“Muriel will do.” She thrust up her hand for him to shake.

His hand clasped hers gently, wrapping with ease about it and up to her wrist. And then he held her more firmly, and the heat of their connection gave her a shiver. One of those really good, how-could-a-girl-get-so-lucky kind of shivers that she felt from head to nipples to toes—and everywhere in between.

And yet... She sensed something in his handshake. Something not quite human. It was the same feeling she got whenever the Saint-Pierre brothers stopped into the brewery. Those four ranged from werewolves, to a vampire and also a faery.

With a gasp, Mireio pulled her hand from his. He didn’t notice her surprise, thank goodness. She was a water witch and spent a lot of time in nature working with streams, ponds, lakes and otherwise. She also communicated with the animals, and could always sense when one was near.

And Larson Gunderson gave off a distinctive animal vibe. Could he be? Oh, mercy, he wasn’t. Please, do not let him be the one who...

Mireio swallowed. If the lilac scent was familiar to him—witch’s warts. He was the one.

Eryss suddenly popped up beside the table and handed her another pint of blueberry cream ale. She winked and sailed off before Mireio could grab her as an anchor. Something to hold her down so she didn’t float too near the curious man who—This couldn’t be an accidental meeting. But did that mean he’d followed her here?

She tilted back a swallow, then set the pint down on a coaster that featured their logo, a sexy witch casting a spell over a foamy brew. “So, Lars, uh...what can you tell me about yourself? I mean, I don’t want this to sound like fifty questions.”

“Fifty? You have that many questions for me in such a short time? I’m impressed.” He pushed his glass aside and leaned his elbows on the table. She wanted to touch him once more. Just to be sure that what she’d felt was real. “I live out past Oak Grove. I come to town once a week for groceries and a pint. Just remembered this place was here so thought I’d stop in. I’m definitely coming back.”

“And what is it you do, exactly?” Because if he didn’t have a real job, she’d get suspicious. And fast.