Chapter 7 Roxy and Max
ROXY AND MAX
Mother has abandoned gus.
Jail for Mother. Jail for a thousand years!
— gus
Where did that come from? Because while Roxy might’ve picked up on something twanging between me and the wolf, I have my scent-dampener potion on. He won’t be able to recognize me… right?
I can’t lie, either. I won’t lie. Improving the truth… keeping it from him… faking it… that’s one thing. But flat-out lying to my fated mate? My inner opossum won’t let me even if I didn’t have to worry about an Alpha being a truth detector.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Emphasis on the yet.
“But what about—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m here to—”
Hang on. “You thought the opossum I brought with me to the station was a shifter.”
Sheriff Lobo has the good grace to look embarrassed. “It’s a logical conclusion. If I was walking around Moonburrow with a wolf, you’d think he was one of mine.”
“Yeah, because loose wolves don’t go for a stroll down Sycamore Street. Gus is a wild opossum that I rescued as a young pup.” My eyes widen. “You thought I mated him.”
His expression turns defensive. “You’re an opossum… he’s an opossum…”
Ugh. “What are you, a speciesist?” My hands drop to my hips. For a moment, I completely forget that we have an audience. “What’s next, Sheriff? Prey and predators shouldn’t mix?”
“Ms. Morgan… Honey. I am all in support of mixed matings. I don’t have a mate, either. But if she were human, prey, witch… I would accept her no matter what. When I find her, that is. I’m not here to discuss that, though. I’m here about Declan’s murder.”
Oh. Well. His softly stated comment really takes the wind out of my sails because, whether he knows it or not, he went from triggering my worst fear—that a wolf Alpha would never be happy with a prey shifter—to confirming that he would be…
if she were his fated mate. I am, but he’s right. This isn’t the time to talk about that.
Murder trumps mating, simple as that.
Still, something changes in that moment. I notice it. The way Roxy suddenly backs off, her wild energy dimming as she slinks away from the sheriff and me, she notices it, too.
Since Declan’s unfortunate murder, I’ve been a suspect. The spark in his gold wolf eyes suddenly says: female.
As long as it’s not mate yet.
Roxy doesn’t know that I recognized him as my mate months ago.
No one knows. I’d bet that Roxy was just trying to break the ice, break the tension by being her obnoxious self.
Or maybe she’s trying to keep us all distracted for the moment for her own reasons until the air becomes charged with a different type of tension because, suddenly, she’s behind the counter.
“On that note…” Roxy reaches into the pastry display, snagging a pumpkin spice muffin in each hand. She shows them off. “Gotta love dexterous fingers. Score one for us prey shifters.”
Sheriff Lobo scowls. “Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to commit petty theft right in front of Moonburrow’s sheriff? Because I’m right here, Roxy, and I don’t see you reaching for some money to pay for those. I could arrest you, you know.”
“You tell yourself that, handsome. Honey? We’ll chat later. ‘Kay. Ciao.”
And, taking a careful bite from the muffin while stalking around the counter, cutting specifically through the few feet of space separating me and the sheriff, she waggles her fingers and disappears out the front door of the bakery.
There are no other customers inside. Just me. Just Sheriff Lobo.
Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have left Gus upstairs.
I could’ve used the moral support.
“So… I guess you’ve met Roxy Kane?”
Crap. I was just about to ask him the same question.
In my head, both the sheriff and my old frenemy existed in Moonburrow.
Interacting, though? Nah. They were totally separate.
Moonburrow has about a thousand occupants.
It’s a small supernatural town, but not so small that I expected the sheriff to know every member of his pack.
Then again, this is Roxy. With her personality and belief that laws exist for shifters who don’t have white streaks running through their hair, I’m not surprised that she’s acquainted with Sheriff Lobo.
I’m not surprised. Jealous, though? That’s a totally different story.
And speaking of stories…
“We go way back. One time, when we were in high school, she was missing during the period before lunch. No one could find her. Eventually, her sister mentioned that Roxy had said she might be peckish. We eventually found her snoring in a dumpster. The lid had shut while she was going through the trash for a snack, and when she couldn’t get out again, she said screw it and took a nap. ”
I remember how everyone started mockingly calling her a trash panda after that.
She leaned into it, styling her hair so that the white streaks were more prominent.
Then there were the purple circles under her yellow eyes that marked her as a raccoon.
As though she was sticking her middle finger up at the rest of the school, she started to color them in with black eyeliner.
It was like she was saying, you think I’m a raccoon all the time, I’ll be a raccoon.
She didn’t care what anyone thought, and a part of me envied that.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized that Crystal had known where she would be because Crystal had been the one to shut the lid on Roxy while she was dumpster-diving, and I almost admired her more for glaring at the world after it tried to make her a victim.
Of course, almost immediately, she ‘accidentally’ got a wad of pink bubblegum in my hair, positioned in such a spot that I had to hack off eight inches.
After it finally grew out, I got into the habit of doing a loose braid on both sides of my head, resting the hair over my shoulder.
That way, if it happened again, maybe I could only lose a lock instead of most of the back.
Twelve years later, I still wear my hair the same way, and I have Roxy Kane to thank for it.
“High school?” echoes the sheriff, as though he’s having a hard time believing that could be true. “You’ve known her that long?”
“Longer,” I admit. “We were technically in the same pack when we both lived in this small shifter town in Virginia. I grew up with her.”
“You’re friends?”
“Sometimes.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me.
What can I say? Sometimes is a pretty accurate description of our relationship these days.
Sure, she teased me when we were younger.
When I got my first crush on a porcupine shifter, she made sure to tell him—then later went with him to the end of school dance.
She also got into a very fierce catfight with a, well, cat when a stray chased me home during an unexpected shift.
I ended up falling over, playing dead in my actual opossum shape, and if Roxy hadn’t intercepted the hungry tom, that might’ve been it for me.
Instead, she shifted to her raccoon, beat the shit out of the cat until it ran off our turf, then moaned about how I owed her twenty bucks because the shift ruined her favorite vintage tee.
We have a past, and though Roxy Kane was the last person I expected to see in Moonburrow, a couple of pilfered pastries now and then is a fair price to pay to feel like someone has my back.
Even if I might claw out her yellow eyes if I really thought she was hitting on Max instead of doing the Roxy special of just making everyone around us uncomfortable…
“She doesn’t respect me as her Alpha.” He frowns. “She doesn’t seem to respect you as her friend, either.”
I snort. “Roxy doesn’t respect anyone except Roxy.”
He tilts his head, a silent agreement to my very astute observation.
Oof. It’s such a simple gesture, but the way it shows off the thick column of his throat, the length of his eyelashes, and the power in his shoulders…
uh-oh. I’m in trouble. Without Roxy to act as a buffer, I’m getting the full blast of the sheriff—and my inner opossum is perking up, begging for his attention.
Down, girl. He’s the sheriff. Right now, after what happened yesterday, I don’t think I want his attention… not if that’s all he can be to me.
Sheriff, I tell myself. He’s the sheriff—
“So what brings you by?” I ask. Okay. It comes out more like a squeak, but the sooner I understand the reason why he’s here, the sooner I can wave him out my door.
He gives his head a small clearing shake, like he forgot there was more to his visit than threatening to arrest Roxy.
“Right. Yes. I came over in person because I wanted to tell you that one of my team tested the cupcake. You were right. No magic.”
So he did get it tested? Phew. I knew it would help me prove my innocence.
“Oh, thank goodn—”
“No magic,” he echoes. “Just straight shifter poison.”
I’m sorry. What?
Whoops. There I go. My knees wobble. My body locks. I’m just about to drop—
“Easy, killer.” He grabs my arm, steadying me. “I got you.”
The dark spots on the edge of my vision vanish in an instant the moment his warm paw lands on my upper arm, nearly searing me through my shirt.
“You okay?”
Shockingly, I am. “Yeah. I think so. But… I didn’t do it. Whatever was in that cupcake, I didn’t put it there.”
He releases me. I bite back a sound of utter disappointment as he rumbles, “I know.”
Wait—
He does?
“You… do?” Relief rushes through me. I want to throw my arms around him, but that just might be my inner opossum talking, wanting a little more skin-to-skin contact with her mate. “Sheriff Lobo—”
“Max.”
I startle. “What?”
Hands returning to the back pockets of his jeans, he shrugs. “You gave me permission to call you by your name. You’re one of mine now. I’m not just the sheriff. I’m your Alpha. I’m Max.”