Free Hair of the Dog by Kelli Scott

Ivy’s just another gal strutting around with low self-esteem,
waiting to be dominated by the right buck.” He went so far as to thump his
chest with his fist.
    Grant’s blood boiled. His stomach churned. “And you thought
it would be wise to get wasted, skinny-dip in the hot springs, and then
transform into a buck while her back’s turned? Followed closely by abandoning
her in the woods late at night. Is that a typical date night for you?” Shaking
his head, he said, “I can’t believe you’re still single.”
    “You perv.” Bobby Joe chugged his entire beer in one long
drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar. The bartender scowled, but brought
him another. “I shoulda knew you’d skulk in the dark and watch.”
    “I always visit the spring on my runs,” he protested, taking
offense to the likes of Bobby Joe calling him a perv. “Always.”
    “Perv,” B.J. mumbled. He shot his next beer. He pointed to
his empty glass. The bartender refilled it. Again. “She has some strong magic,
that one does. I couldn’t stop m’self from shifting.”
    Tell me something I don’t know. Taking the high road,
Grant let the “perv” insult slide. “You’re single-handedly making everyone in
Mystic Springs look bad, Bobby Joe.”
    He snorted a laugh and puffed out his chest. “In
comparison.” The feet of his barstool scraped against the floor when he got up
to leave in a huff, taking his beer with him.
    Grant shook his head. Good riddance . He held his
finger up in the air for another beer. Two was normally his limit, but tonight
felt like a six-pack sort of night. He preferred his wits about him when he
raced through the moonlit meadows and woods. There might be something to be
said for drunken inertia, watching the stars spin in the sky above. A hangover
might give him some perspective.
    When his third beer arrived, so did Ivy. The air around him
felt fresher. The chatter in the bar sounded more like background music than
droning noise. The dull lighting in the room appeared to brighten with glow of
her aura. Maybe he should have stopped at two beers and gone home, but then he
would have missed her.
    In a way, she was like the Native Americans had been to his
pack. Ivy was a missing piece of his life. But believing that would sully the
memory of his wife. For that very reason, he fought the hold Ivy had on him.
    Ivy smiled pleasantly at him. “Good evening, Mr. Mayor.”
    He bobbed his head. “Ivy. Looking for Bobby Joe?” God
forbid .
    “Oh no.” Her head swiveled around in both directions before
returning to him. “Why? Is he here? Point me toward the nearest exit,” she
muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
    He washed down his desire for her with a gulp of beer and
decided to give her his cold shoulder. She was not for him. Grant glanced
around the crowded bar and said, “Was.” He took a long drink of his beer.
    She slumped in relief. “I’m sure he’s a great guy and all,
but not for me. Too…full of himself. He ditched me last night. In the woods.
Alone.” Her voice raised an octave with each new revelation.
    Feigning ignorance, he said, “Alone?”
    “Not entirely alone.” Her lip turned up in one of her
mischievous grins and he wanted desperately to lick like he’d done the night
before at the spring. “Speaking of being alone, I have not had a moment’s
peace. I’ve been hit on by nearly every man I’ve come in contact with and one
woman. Is there some sort of woman shortage in town?”
    “Not to my knowledge.” Since Molly’s death, Grant had been
dogged by every available woman of his kind in town and a few wolf lovers. A
widower was tantamount to fresh meat in these parts. He was the catch of the
day.
    The bartender placed a glass of white wine in front of Ivy.
“From the guy at the pool table.” She walked away to wipe down the bar.
    “A bounty on my booty or something?” she asked, glancing
toward the corner of the bar where the pool tables stood.
    Grant laughed to