the dancing people and slunk around the electric guitarist and pushed open the door. He could hear her high heels clicking on the concrete, though he couldn’t see her. But he smelled lilacs...that way.
Turning left, he passed three storefronts, then swung another left and there she stood, near the bus stop, stepping nervously from foot to foot. He heard her mutter softly, “Oh, shit.”
That utterance stabbed Lars right in the heart. Never had a woman rejected him so soundly as to run off. So he stopped about twenty feet away from her and put up his hands placatingly.
Should he really do this? Was he that desperate for more cruel treatment? She seemed almost afraid of him. Threatened? He didn’t want her to feel that way. That wasn’t his style.
But the heady scent of lilacs wouldn’t allow him to turn away.
So what to do?
The woman wore a short skirt that looked like one of those tartans the Highlanders wore, along with a blousy red top that emphasized her ample cleavage. Sky-high heels matched the blouse color. And white ankle socks with a delicate ruffle kept drawing his eye down there. She was short, a good head shorter than him, even in the heels, but the shoes did make her legs look long and slender.
“You keep staring at my legs like that, I’m going to have to slap you,” she said.
“Sorry.”
She offered him a smile and a shift of her hips. “I don’t do things like slap men.”
He took that as a sign it was okay to approach. But only a few steps. “Couldn’t help but stare. You’ve amazing gams. I, uh...did you have a previous engagement you forgot to tell me about?”
She rubbed a palm up one of her arms. A black fish swung near her waist. What was that? A purse?
“Sorry. I suddenly got a weird vibe about you. No offense.”
“Really? Because if you think I’m weird I do take offense from that.”
“No, I don’t think you’re weird weird. Just—hey, weird is good, right?”
“Still offended here.”
Her wince was accompanied by a shrug. “I’m usually much better at explaining myself. I think you’re a...” She bit her lower lip. Her lips were so red and plump. Kissable. Yet juxtaposed with her appeal was also her strange fear of him. What had he said to her to make her flee?
“I’m a what?” Lars prompted.
“I’m not sure how to say it. You said the lilac scent was familiar to you.”
It had been in his nose since three nights ago when he’d been out of his head and had woken in the morning knowing he’d shifted again without volition. It had been happening with a disturbing frequency lately. And each time he risked being seen by more than a few humans.
Yet, he also sensed this woman wasn’t necessarily human.
“I did, and do, smell lilacs,” he said. “There’s only wildflowers growing out where I live. I keep bees. They make me happy.” Ramble much? Just out with it, you idiot! “So anyway, the lilac scent stood out to me the moment I entered the brewery. Let me see if I can approach what I think we’re both trying to avoid. Okay?” He took a step toward her.
She clung to the bus stop pole fiercely.
“Tell me,” he asked, “if the rumors I’ve heard about the owners of the brewery are true?”
Thankfully, no one else was out on the sidewalk, and the streetlights illuminated their conversation. Around the corner, the band could be heard singing a Billy Idol tune. Lars would love to give a rebel yell right about now. Anything to release his anxiety over talking to this goddess of a woman.
“What?” She teased a bright curl about her forefinger and her stance relaxed. That wasn’t a motion that Lars could look at for long without wanting to do it himself. Tangle his fingers in her hair, that is. “That we spike the beer with a little something extra?”
“Is that a rumor? Huh. No, I’m talking about the one where you bewitch the beers. Because you’re witches.”
“Oh, that one.” Her shoulders dropped. The fish purse slid down her arm to dangle near an ankle. A heavy sigh preceded her nod. “Well, we try to keep things as normal as possible for the human patrons. But...” Her pretty blue eyes dallied with his. “You have a problem with me being a witch?”
“Nope. I was raised by a wolf who was married to a witch.”
“Which means...” She teased her tongue along her upper lip as she eyed him carefully. “I’m guessing you’re not human either, are you?”
Lars dared a few steps closer to her. He cast a glance around toward the parking lot across the street—no one in the vicinity—then said quietly. “I’m a wolf.”
“Shit.” An accusing finger pointed at him and Lars couldn’t be sure if it might possess a magical zap. “It’s you.”
He actually flinched. “I...don’t even know what to say to that.”
“You were the wolf the other night, weren’t you? The werewolf in my backyard.”
“Uh...yes?”
Talk about being caught out. Guilty as charged.
“Oh, I can’t do this.” She started across the street but avoided the parking lot.
If she’d been waiting for the bus, did she not have a car? Was she veering off course to get away from him? He’d gone about this all wrong. He’d scared her when he had only wanted to meet her and get to know the compelling woman who had not left his thoughts for days.
“Muriel, wait!”
“It’s Mireio! And don’t follow me, please. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
“You shouldn’t be. I can’t remember much.”
“What?” She suddenly stopped in the middle of the street that stretched down a quiet area between the parking lot and a closed restaurant. “So you admit it was you the other night?”
“I think so?” He approached with his hands splayed up and out. “When I’m in werewolf shape I know things and see them as the wolf, but my wolf mind shares space with my man mind. Things get a little confusing.”
“Not confusing enough for you to be unable to find me tonight.”
“It was the lilacs. I smelled them that night. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about them since. Or of the soft woman I saw standing in the doorway.”
“Oh, my goddess. You do remember that! I was naked!”
He offered a weak shrug. “Yes?”
“You said things were confusing. Do you remember me naked or not?”
He wobbled his hand before him. “Kind of? I don’t have
