Morris chuckled.
Mack tried hard not to join in as he offered Jude his hand. Magic, or anger, sparked in Jude’s eyes. When he took Jude’s hand, a flash of static passed between them.
“You were waiting for that to happen.”
“Yeah, was worth it to see you get your hands dirty.” Mack wiped the muck off his hand on his jeans.
Jude stared at his hand and then Mack.
Mack shook his head. “You aren’t using my jeans.”
“Fuck you.” Jude wiped his hands on his jeans and looked stricken as though he’d just run over a dog.
“You wish,” Mack muttered so Morris wouldn’t hear.
Naked desire flickered across Jude’s face. That was exactly what he wanted. The pull in Mack’s belly returned, and he wanted nothing more than to grab Jude’s hand and show him how to get really dirty. He turned away before he did something stupid.
“I’m going to follow the footprints.” Mack walked away from Jude and the cow. He adjusted his jeans, hating the way he was suddenly attracted to the overly pretty city witch. Jude was not his type. He didn’t have a type, but he’d have most definitely said Jude wasn’t it. But then he’d never met a man like Jude before.
They would have words about that kiss.
The paw prints were huge and clawed, but as they got toward the fence they got smaller, to more the size of a large dog. That was weird, and he knew weird. He turned to call out, but Jude was already walking this way, photographing the prints. He’d already noticed something was wrong.
He looked at Mack. “Get anything useful?”
“What do you mean?”
“Scents?”
“I’m not a sniffer dog?” He was a bear.
“I just thought…aren’t you meant to be able to…” He stared at the cow. “I’ve got nothing.”
Mack sighed. His sense of smell was more sensitive than a human’s, even when he was in human form, but it irked him that Jude thought that was his only use. He kneeled as if to tighten the laces on his boot, then he sniffed. Beyond the scents of grass and dirt and cow there was something else. A sour scent, but he didn’t know what it was. “It’s not an animal I’m familiar with.”
“No animal I know can change the size of its paw prints. So I’m guessing it’s not something normal.”
“We already knew that. That’s why you’re here. Now you’re supposed to do some research, tell me what it is, and we can work out a way to stop it.” The words fell off his tongue before he could stop them.
“You’ll keep helping?”
Mack closed his eyes. He didn’t need this. Jude. The creature or the attraction that surged whenever Jude was within a three-yard radius. “Yes, fine. I’ll help. But only if you tell me what you’ve done to me.” He opened his eyes and fixed Jude with his fiercest glare.
Jude stepped back. “I did nothing to you.”
“Bullshit.”
Morris wandered over trailing smoke. “That’s real weird isn’t it?” He pointed at the prints. “My grandmother, she’d tell a story about a creature that would jump on your back and bleed you dry. Made sure we were always home by dusk. She always said it could change its size and shape. I never much believed her until today.”
“Did the creature have a name?” Jude asked.
“If it did, she never said it. She was superstitious. Never name evil and all that. But she said it cleared out North.”
Jude studied Morris. “How would she know that?”
“Her family used to live there, came out for the gold before taking up farming. I don’t want to start believing in my granny’s monsters, but if a secret government agent person is standing in my field looking like the Devil stepped on his toes, I might be more careful going out after dark.”
“That would be a very wise move,” Jude said as though he knew what he was talking about.
Mack wished he did, because whatever had left those paw prints was not any kind of creature he wanted to come across after dark. No camping and shifting until the creature was dealt with. And he’d have to warn the other bears in the area, but only once Jude had a name for what they were up against.
He wasn’t sure one witch and a shifter were going to be enough.
Chapter Five
Jude had cleaned off his boots as best he could. He would never be able to wear them once he left here without thinking of Mack and the cow shit. His jeans he was tempted to throw in the bin, but he didn’t. One jackpot win wasn’t enough for him to splash out on new clothes on a whim. He’d had to set up an account that paid him an allowance for the rest of his life.
He could live well, but not extravagantly.
What kind of pay did Coven investigators get? Not that he was even sure that was what he wanted…it would only be a matter of time until the Coven turned on him. People couldn’t be trusted. He was better off solving this, turning them down, and sticking with his travel plans.
Alone.
Which was no longer as appealing as it had been a few days ago.
He studied his manure-smeared jeans. The laundromat would love him. He’d wait until he had more to wash, not that he’d planned on being here long enough to do washing. Or even hang up his clothes. But that’s what he did, while wearing only a small motel towel that had been fluffy about ten years ago, and going through the six different shirts he had with him trying to find the one that said: ‘I wish this was a date, but it’s not because we’re talking about dead cows’. He had the perfect black, slinky
