Page 28 of Moonlight and Mischief
Setting the bag aside, I follow him back to the mixing bowl. A darkly burned batch of cookies sits scattered across a wrinkled sheet of parchment paper by the sink. A fine dusting of flour lightens his black shirt into charcoal.
“Looks like your first attempt didn’t go so well.”
He scowls at me, though I know he isn’t serious. “I’ve never baked cookies before. Give a guy a break.”
“Hey, Jasper?” I ask and he turns to me. “Thank you for the craft supplies. It’s really sweet.” I hold open my arms, and he pulls me close. While he’s savoring our hug, I dip my fingers into the bowl beside him - where a pyramid of flour sits mostly unincorporated over the creamed sugar and butter.
When Jasper releases me, I swipe my fingers across his face, leaving a streak of white powder across his tan skin.
“Did you?” he says, surprise dropping his jaw open.
“Yep!” I say, flouncing away with a gleeful cackle.
He grabs my wrist, pulling me back. “I don’t think so. Come back here and help me, if you’re so eager to get involved.”
“No thank you!” I squeal, yanking my hand away and jumping back.
“Marigold! I really need your help,” he whines, trying a different tactic.
Crossing my arms, I smirk at him. “Make me.”
For a split second, our eyes lock, mine full of challenge and his full of shock melting into delight. But then he’s lurching forward and I have to run.
Tearing out the front door, I dart around the side of the house and pull my shirt off in one smooth movement, leaping right out of my pants as my wolf form overtakes my skin.
That moment of transformation is exhilarating, my four legs stretching as I fall back toward the ground. The scents around me become high-definition, every rustling leaves loud to my wolf ears. The second my paws hit the earth, I’m off, dodging trees and leaping over the foliage.
Jasper pursues me, his huge white wolf faster. Glimpses of snowy fur flash in the edges of my vision as I listen to his steps. I wait for the moment he tackles me, but it doesn’t come.
His shoulder pulls level with mine until we are running side by side. Our breathing syncs up, his stride shortening to match mine. Wanting to see what he’s made of, I dart sideways and race north-east. Surprisingly agile, he keeps pace with me.
Bumping my side into his, I playfully snap at him. His teeth gleam as he bares them back at me. He can catch me, but can he keep me? I throw my weight into him, throwing him off course.
Finally, he takes the invitation to really play. Leaping forward, he throws his paws up, looping one over my back. I twist, pushing him back a step and trying to throw him to the ground. A growl rumbles out of him and I shiver at the rich sound.
On his second lunge, he allows me to take him to the ground. He rolls over onto his back, his paws framing my ruff. I snip at his muzzle, snapping my jaws closer to his nose.
For a moment we’re suspended, me over him. His glowing teal eyes meet mine and I can see how much he loves being in his wolf form. Most shifters do. It’s what we’re made for. I’ve noticed his white fur streaking past my window in the mornings.
Gracefully, he rolls to his feet and bends into a classic play-bow. Why yes, I’ll happily join you. As I lower my own front-half, he springs forward.
I chase him downhill toward the water, and then back up the slope across the north end of our territory. Faintly, we can hear the afternoon’s patrol east of us.
Racing through the trees together is thrilling. As wolves, we can run for hours. But it occurs to me that he may have left the oven on, so after a wide loop, I lead us back home.
Jasper disappears around the corner, allowing me privacy to shift back and pull my clothes on.Rounding the edge of the cabin, I find a deliciously shirtless man standing on the patio waiting for me.
“Now will you help me bake?” he asks, looking far too pleased with himself as I avoid looking at his chest.
“Fine.” Grabbing his hand, I drag him into the kitchen and start checking his recipe. It looks good so far. “I think you baked them too long.”
“I baked them for twelve minutes like the recipe says.” He’s baffled and it’s adorable.
I triple check the temperature. “Different ovens heat differently. This oven might run warmer or colder, but without an oven thermometer, I can’t tell.”
“Do I need one of those?” he asks.
“No, but it’s a safe bet it does run ten degrees hotter, maybe fifteen. We can turn it down and see how they bake.” The buttons chirp as he follows my instructions.
