It’s that time of year on #1lineWed on Twitter. Witch HUNT. Man HUNT. HUNTer’s moon. Scavenger HUNT. Treasure HUNT. HUNT down. HUNT and peck. HUNT club. The WILD Hunt. Good Will HUNTing. HUNT for Red October. In case you haven’t figured it out, the THEME for the day is **HUNT**. This is a snippet about an unnamed character who will likely make an appearance in a Moonstruck Wolf book. All I know is that he’s a bounty hunter. And he has a thing for cute. 😊
I halted. Had I heard right?
A teenager trotted through the park, yelling the word I’d misunderstood. Her hoodie fell back. She wasn’t a youngster after all, just short. Even in the boots she wore, she’d barely come to my chest.
A bark floated on the breeze. The woman whirled, listening. Figuring out the general direction, she jogged off. I followed, way too curious for my own good. I was here on business. Still, I couldn’t resist.
“Where are you, Puck?” she yelled and then muttered, “Stupid dog.” If I hadn’t been a Wolf, I’d never have heard that last bit.
Standing downwind, I caught the scent of a burning match—acrid and sulfurous. She was frustrated. Hands on hips, she surveyed the area. She stiffened, as if sensing my presence, then turned to face me. I stood loose, hands at my side, totally nonthreatening—well as nonthreatening as a 6’4” bounty hunter could look.
“Puck?” I didn’t hide my grin.
“My dog. He got loose.” She wasn’t intimidated. That boded well for future interactions and now that I got a decent look at her, there would be plenty of those.
“I can help you hunt for him.” I’d barely made the offer when a heat-seeking missile hit me from the side. I went down like an NFL lineman had targeted me—and got a face full of black fur, tongue and drool. I griped the sides of his face and pushed.
Was she yelling at me or the damn dog? And why did everything that came out of her mouth make me think of sex?
“Puck this,” I growled, showing my wolf. The dog growled back.
“Don’t hurt him!”
I didn’t take my eyes off the slobberbeast. Evidently, he was too dumb to be afraid of a predator. “You talking to him or me?”
That got me a giggle and I glanced up at her and I got my first close-up look. Her heart-shaped face was the perfect frame for a little turned-up nose, the full lips of her mouth, and blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Fuck me but she was cute.
“Since you’re acting like my dog is going for your throat, you.”
“Me?” I fought back a grin. “He’s the one with teeth and eying my throat.”
“You outweigh him by a hundred pounds, are twice his size, and he’s a Newfie. They don’t do throats. They beat people to death wagging their tails.”
She had a point. Bending only slightly—she was short and the dog was big, she clipped a leash to his collar and hauled him off me. I shoved off the ground and brushed away the dried grass and leaves that my jeans had collected when I hit the ground.
“I apologize,” she said. “What can I do to make up for Puck’s bad behavior?”
Mesmerized by her mouth, I said what was rattling around in my head. “Kiss me.”
I wasn’t sure who was more surprised when she did.
So that’s my hunting story. Do you have any hunt words to share?