Be sure to check out
by Michele Hauf
Mireio Malory is a quirky witch whose on a quest to complete a dark spell that will grant her immortality—until she meets a lone werewolf and beekeeper, Lars Gunderson. Will she sacrifice the most potent magic she’s ever worked on to be with the man she loves?
Keep reading to get a glimpse of
THE WITCH AND THE WEREWOLF.
CHAPTER 1
Feet floating up so her toes peeked out of the frothy bubble bath, Mireio Malory wiggled the little pink beads as she sang to the music filling her bathroom. She sang along with the Meghan Trainor tune about loving herself and not having time for a man because she was all about having fun. A fitting theme song for Mireio at the moment.
Guys were great, but she didn’t have the time to focus on a relationship if her plans to achieve immortality came to fruition. A simple spell could prolong her life a hundred years, guaranteed. But to actually perform that spell—which involved drinking the blood from a live vampire’s beating heart? She’d been avoiding the spell for years, but she couldn’t do that anymore. It was time to honor her departed mother, and to take back her power.
Baths were a common ritual for her in the evenings, after a long day of work at the brewery, or after she’d flexed into a few yoga moves and watched an episode of Bones on Netflix. Born a witch, yet pretty darn disappointed she’d not been born a mermaid, Mireio honored her water magic by feeding her body’s innate craving for water. Surely she owned the biggest bathroom in the city. It was hexagonal, tiled like a Moroccan temple and the big round marble bathtub sat at the center of it all. It was the size of a hot tub, but there were no bubble jets in this tub beyond the sensory explosions from her homemade bath bombs.
Singing loudly, she blew a handful of bubbles skyward and laughed when some landed in her pinned-up red hair. The water was starting to cool, and she’d been in for forty-five minutes. Her fingers and toes were pruned, providing her traction—if she were an amphibian. Or a mermaid.
With a reluctant sigh, she rose from her watery haven and reached for a toasty towel hung over the towel warmer. It wasn’t the wet porcelain tile floor that almost caused her to slip upon exiting the bath—it was the scream.
And a very familiar scream at that.
“Really?” Mireio wrapped the towel around her ample curves and padded wet tracks to the back window to peer out, though she knew she couldn’t see into her neighbor Mrs. Henderson’s yard from here. The windows were also fogged.
She often mentally compared her neighbor to Mrs. Kravitz, the noisy neighbor on the 1960s TV show Bewitched. They didn’t look at all similar, but they possessed the same snoopy, and unwelcome, curiosity and annoying voices.
Yet another scream, this one curling the hairs on the back of Mireio’s neck, prompted her to use the side door in the bathroom that walked out onto the patio.
Pushing open the screen door, she leaned out into the cool spring air and scanned her backyard. It was close to midnight, yet her yard was always illuminated from the house light above the door where she stood, and the dozen solar lights pushed into the lawn at five-foot intervals that framed the backyard.
Suddenly something ran into view. A deer? Wildlife always dashed through the neighborhood yards. Raccoons, beavers, deer, once even a black bear.
Mireio stepped out onto the bamboo patio rug, holding the screen door open with two fingers. She peered into the night, thinking her species, witches, had gotten ripped off because they didn’t have cool night vision like vampires and werewolves. Suddenly an animal stopped, twenty feet away, in the middle of her yard.
She recognized the creature with an ease that made her heart sink.
“A werewolf,” she gasped.
Removing her hand from the screen door to put her fingers to her mouth, she suddenly felt a cool breeze skim her bare skin. More skin than should have been exposed. The towel had gotten caught in the door and fallen away, leaving her standing naked beneath the house light, unable to form words as she met the werewolf’s golden gaze.
The creature, who in fully-shifted form was half wolf, half man, thrust back his shoulders and lifted his chest, looking ready to howl. But when his gold eyes dragged away from hers and down her body…
Mireio tried to cover herself as she actually said, “Eek!”
The wolf snorted and a low growling noise rumbled in the night. It didn’t sound threatening. In fact, to her it sounded…amorous.
Mrs. Henderson’s scream sounded again. It was the catalyst to setting the werewolf off in a dash out of the yard.
Released from the spell of the creature’s piercing gaze, Mireio grabbed the door pull and opened it, reaching for the towel and quickly wrapping it around her body.
Just in the knick of time because from around the corner of her backyard appeared a policeman, and in his wake, Mrs. Henderson.
“Did you see it?” Mrs. Henderson, wrapped in a thick white terry robe, scampered over to the patio, the ears on her bunny slippers bobbing.
Tugging the towel up higher and this time clasping it firmly, she stood before the elderly policeman, whom she knew lived on the other side of Mrs. Henderson, Mireio nodded. “Uh, yes?”
“I told you!” Mrs. Henderson slapped the policeman’s back, who shrugged and winced. He was accustomed to answering Mrs. Henderson’s cries of wolf at all hours of the day.
But had this been a true cry of wolf? Best not to let humans know that.
“It was a deer,” Mireio hastily tossed out. “Or maybe a moose. Yes, I’m sure that’s what it was.”
“A moose?” Mrs. Henderson jammed her bony fists to her hips. “It was Bigfoot!”
“All right, all right,” the policeman said, placating his neighbor with a pat to her back. “Miss Malory here says it was a moose. She’s got very good eyesight, and her backyard is well lit. So if she says it was a moose, I believe her. Let’s go home now, Mrs. Henderson. Leave Miss Malory to…her bath.”
To his credit he didn’t eye her blatantly, only tipped a nod to her and turned Mrs. Henderson around, walking her back to her yard. All the way they argued over why a moose would be wandering through the tulips when it had very obviously been Bigfoot.
Mireio stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door and locked it. She peered out the now-defogged window, attempting to sight the werewolf. Perhaps spy a wolfish shadow backlit by the moonlight.
Whispering a protection spell to encompass her yard, she sent it out with a blown kiss.
Why had a werewolf been wandering through the neighborhood? That wasn’t common. Too risky. And it wasn’t even the full moon. Werewolves were much smarter than that. They knew to stay away from humans when shifted.
“It was a good thing for him I scared him off.”
Mireio winced. She had scared the wolf away with her naked body? Not one of her finest moments.
On the other hand, that look it had given her. Definitely animal, but also…maybe kind of…sexual.
She shook her head. “You’re a silly witch. Just be thankful you didn’t flash the whole neighborhood. Ha!”
The music now blared Taylor Swift. Dropping her towel, Mireio performed a hip shimmy as she reached to drain the tub and then blew out the candles one by one, blessing the water goddess Danu as she did so.
* * *
Three nights later, Mireio stayed late after her shift at The Decadent Dames. She, and her three witch friends owned the microbrewery in Anoka. Mireio was the master brewer. They all brewed and worked shifts and took turns scheduling, but Mireio was the early riser, so she generally arrived around six in the morning to start the day’s brew and finished about an hour before they opened in the afternoon. Today, she’d gotten a late start so had finished the brew hours after opening.
A local band that covered current pop hits was set up before the front windows and the house was packed. At the moment, the lead singer belted out a cover of Meghan Trainor’s “NO,” which was an anthem to a woman not needing a man.
Singing the chorus, “Untouchable, untouchable,” Mireio danced by herself amid the crowd on the dance floor, arms thrust high and hips swaying her short red-and-blue tartan skirt. Nothing felt better than a beer buzz and dancing. And she had new, red, five-inch heels to break in, so much dancing was required. Tossing her bright red corkscrew curls over a shoulder, she let out an exhilarated hoot.
Eryss, the brewery’s principal owner, danced up to Mireio. She and her boyfriend, a former witch hunter who lived in Santa Cruz, California, split their time between cities during the year and soon she’d be headed for the sunny West coast. Her friend’s long skirts dusted the hardwood floor and she grasped Mireio’s hands and the twosome danced for a few seconds.
“You look happy,” Eryss said over the noise.
“I am! I’m always happy!”
“It’s contagious!” Then Eryss leaned in to speak close at Mireio’s ear. “Did you notice the hunk at the bar who has been eyeing you up fiercely for the last ten minutes?”
“What?” Mireio abruptly stopped dancing and glanced to the bar, which was fronted by rusted corrugated tin in keeping with their rustic theme. She scanned from the left end of the bar to the right, and there at the end a big, beefy man with a mustache and beard, and long brown hair tied behind his head, lifted his pint glass to tip toward her. Handsome. “Huh.” But. “Didn’t notice. I’m in my zone, don’t you know?”
“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.
“I…well, you could sort of call it security. On a private compound.”
“Ah huh.”
That was vague. And she was getting more nervous about the guy by the second. But really, if he was the one, would he know things about her? Things she didn’t want him to know.
“I’m also remodeling the cabin I live in. I like making things with my hands.” He splayed them both on the table to reveal long, calloused fingers.
Oh, those were some fine hands that could certainly cover a lot of area on her if she was in the market for such handling. Which she was not. Was she? Mercy. Maybe giving up on men to focus on a spell she was too freaked about to give more than a few moments consideration to daily was too extreme?
Could be. But even more so? Talking to a man who may have very likely seen her naked a few nights ago was even more extreme. She couldn’t deal with this. Not right now.
“Do you want more stout?” she asked and nodded toward his nearly empty pint.
“Probably.” He tilted back the rest of the drink.
“Head to the bar.” She reached over and touched the back of his hand. There was that sensation again. Hiding a cringe, she nodded toward the bar. “Eryss will give you a refill. On the house.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here!”
No, she would not be here.
Mireio grabbed her little black purse, shaped like a fish, swung it over a shoulder, and beelined it for the door behind the band, well out of view of the bar, and the mysteriously delicious Lars Gunderson’s eyesight.
She’d had three drinks, so she wouldn’t drive home. If she were lucky, she might catch a bus this late.
Don’t miss
by Michele Hauf
available now wherever
HQN Books and ebooks are sold.
Copyright © 2017 by Michele Hauf