История кривого билда: Баф-машина. Сергей Вишневский

you to be careful and stay out of the woods unless you bring someone along with you.”

      “And I renew my assertion to being able to take care of myself. You are such a guy.”

      Beck sighed and shook his head. He did appear genuinely concerned, but Daisy was trying to prove herself here, so she disregarded his anguish. She could do anything the boys could do. Oftentimes better.

      “So can I pick you up later?” he asked.

      “Um, I guess I could call my brother and cancel with him.”

      “Really? So it’s a choice between your brother, whom you’ve gone to this event with before, or the lone wolf?” Beck winced. “You should probably go with the safer bet.”

      “Yeah, but that’ll never get me the tangle I want.”

      “The tangle?”

      Oops. Where had that confession come from? Deep inside, where the yearning part of her ignored her armor of introversion and just wanted to get tangled, that was where. If she didn’t stop blurting her secrets out to Beck, she’d tell him about her shifting troubles, too. No way. That was mortifying.

      Daisy nodded toward the trunk, indicating he set the box inside. “I gotta go. I have some research to do online before tonight.”

      He settled the box into the trunk and stood back to look over the box. “I cannot believe that fit.”

      “Thanks, Beck. I appreciate it.”

      “Where do you live? I’ll pick you up around ten.”

      The man would not take maybe as an answer. So she’d let it happen. Beck would make a much better date than Kelyn. She gave him her address, which he entered into his phone.

      Walking around to the door, Daisy paused and turned to find Beck standing right before her. His breath fogged out. Ice eyes took her in. The moment felt as if he should kiss her. And then it did not. It wasn’t right. Sunday wasn’t far away, and even if she said she couldn’t hear anything, Daisy knew that cats had as excellent hearing as wolves did.

      She held out her hand, and Beck stared at it awhile before conceding and shaking. “Later. Uh, will there be brothers at this event tonight?”

      “Probably. You scared?”

      “Should I be? What’s the one’s name? Trouble? I should probably keep a good distance from anyone with a name like that.”

      “Trouble is all bark and no bite. Blade is the one you won’t see coming until it’s too late.”

      Daisy slid inside the car and turned the key to fire up the engine. As she backed out, she smiled and waved. Sometimes brothers came in handy. Couldn’t let him think it was going to be easy courting her, could she?

      But really? The guy was courting her. How cool was that?

      * * *

      Beck went over the brothers’ names in his head as he pulled up before Daisy’s building. Kelyn. Had she mentioned he was faery? Faeries were no problem. And Trouble was not the one he was supposed to worry about? But Blade was? There was another brother, as well. He didn’t know his name.

      But he did know the father’s name. Malakai Saint-Pierre. The man’s name was as much a mouthful as he was a menace. The wolf was big, and he made swords for a living. Freakin’ swords. He’d asked Beck on two occasions to join the pack, once a few years ago, and then only a month ago when he’d seen him in town at the local hardware store. Both times Beck had felt disdain in the man’s growl.

      He couldn’t do it. Severo had lived free and alone, but he had been the best wolf Beck had ever known. His father hadn’t needed the approval of a pack. He’d lived life on his own terms and had thrived, earned respect from his fellow breed and married the woman he loved and had a son—

      With another child on the way.

      Beck squeezed his fingers about the steering wheel. His father should have been here for the birth of his second child. The hunter needed to pay.

      The stir of his werewolf twisted inside. It straightened his spine, prodding his skin to form goose bumps. Beck growled. Now was no time to shift, so he redirected his thoughts.

      He shut off the engine and stretched out his legs. Focusing on the pull at his hamstrings diverted the werewolf’s urge to run free. He normally experienced a twinge of the werewolf when upset or angry. But lately? It was growing stronger. More insistent.

      Concentrate on Daisy. Glancing over the brick building’s facade and arrowing his gaze up toward the third floor, Beck muttered, “What am I getting myself into?”

      Did he need to mess around with Malakai Saint-Pierre’s daughter? He’d never let a pretty face distract him so easily. And then again, he’d always let a pretty face distract him. Anytime he went out into the world, whether walking through the grocery store or standing in line (even with a date) at the movie theater, he appreciated a pretty woman. If a guy didn’t notice the beauty walking around him, then there was something wrong with him.

      But he hadn’t dated seriously in months. Not since his father’s death. The salad chick last week had been a fruitless attempt at jumping back into the social game.

      He’d gone through the grief process rather quickly. Or so he felt. Lately, he was more concerned about his mother. Didn’t have time to worry about himself. He was fine. He missed Dad dearly. But he had to move on. For his mother’s sake.

      So getting back into the groove with this date tonight felt right. Like he was moving forward.

      As long as Daisy didn’t learn about the other thing he’d been involved with lately, then everything would be golden. Hell, he’d have a tough enough time acting accordingly if any of the brothers were wandering around the fireworks, so he didn’t have to worry about the other thing coming up.

      Jumping out of the truck, he landed on the compacted snow. He wore his Arctic Cat overalls and a warm matching coat, plus gloves, pack boots and a knit ski cap. It was already bitter cold tonight. And he intended to test the whole touch not the princess theory. He looked forward to holding Daisy close to keep her warm.

      Grabbing the flowers he’d worried over for a full five minutes at the grocery store, he headed inside and up the stairs to the top floor, just as she’d directed him to do. It was an old warehouse that was slowly being retrofitted for apartments, and so far Daisy and a few other residents were the only ones in the building.

      “Nice,” he muttered as he topped the stairs and took in the open framework that exposed the original ironwork and ducts. Not what he’d expect a woman to choose.

      Daisy was the opposite of the usual sexy, soft, slinky woman he preferred. She punched, too. Entirely unexpected, but she had warned him he’d get a black eye for calling her princess. And the pink hair? He liked it. It looked like cotton candy.

      Unzipping his jacket because it was hot up here, Beck knocked on the door, then whipped the flowers around behind his back. He waited a few seconds, listening. All wolves could hear well, and if she had been in the shower, he’d hear the running water and start to imagine that water slicking over her skin—

      “Those for me?”

      He spun around to find a pink-haired pixy wolf standing behind him, a smudge of black across her cheek. She wiped her hands down an old gray T-shirt, imbuing it with more grease.

      “Uh, yes?”

      He held out the fluorescent blue daisies. The color was god-awful, but they had made him think of her. “For Daisy Blu, blue daisies.”

      “That’s so...” She wrinkled her lips into a moue as she accepted the horrible bouquet. Sporting wilted leaves, with one of the flower heads chopped off, it had been the best of the bunch. A guy couldn’t find any better in the middle of January in a Midwestern Minnesota town.

      “Thank you,” she breathed,