Chapter 12
BANG, BANG
what the—
dead. gus is dead.
goodbye, cruel world. tell gus’s story…
— gus
Waking up next to a male after a night of mating is a new sensation for me.
I like it.
Of course, that’s probably because it’s Ashton Morgan snuggled up against me.
He’s back in the clothes that he’s been wearing ever since he became the ghostly version of himself.
In fact, he never quite took them off. I’m not actually sure he can, now that I think of it.
So much of what happened once I got his consent is a blur of instinct, emotions, and my raccoon screeching mine, but I do know that I’m the one who got his pants around his ankles.
I’m the one who shoved his sweater and his shirt up so I could kiss his chest. He was never completely naked, and now he doesn’t look like Roxy Kane rocked his world all throughout yesterday evening and overnight.
We finally snuggled together and passed out around one in the morning.
If it wasn’t for our early baking call, I might’ve kept going.
Sex is fun. Sex is great. But sex with the one male meant for me…
I finally understand why most shifters claim each other the first time they mate.
If I thought it would take while Ash is still outside of his body, I might’ve tried.
As it is, I just barely resisted the urge to sink my fangs into his ghostly body and see if it did anything.
Any other time I accepted a male into my bed, I booted him out once I got mine and he got his. Now? I actually wake up before Ash for once—whether he finally slept or is just resting, his eyes are still closed when I opened mine—and give myself a few tender moments just to watch him exist.
But it’s Sunday, and after the locals attend their various churches and houses of worship, I expect Dough You Believe in Magic to be a madhouse.
So though it would be nice just to enjoy the morning after with Ash, I reluctantly slip out of bed, drop a kiss to his transparent forehead, and start to get ready for the day.
Once I have, I leave the bathroom to find him waiting for me in the hall. He grips me by my hips, tugging me into him, and gives me a morning kiss that makes me grateful I had the chance to brush my teeth.
Breathless by the time he’s done, I pat his chest. “Morning, baby.”
His eyes brighten at the term of affection. “Good morning, Rox.”
Rox. Considering my actual name is Roxy and it’s not a name for something, I get a kick when anyone shortens it. All along I’ve been calling Ashton Ash because he asked me to, but this is the first time he’s used a nickname for me.
I nip his bottom lip. “How’d you sleep?”
“After last night… I think I actually might have,” Ash chuckles, lifting his hand, ghosting it over my cheek. “How about you?”
“Best night I ever had,” I tell him honestly.
He didn’t seem too hurt to discover that I’d have previous lovers last night—though that might change when he finds out he’s my fated mate and the ol’ shifter possessiveness rears its head—but I just want him to know that last night… I mean it. I’ve never had any better.
He dips his gaze, and I can’t tell if the expression that crosses his handsome face is embarrassment or pride.
I take his chin, forcing him to look at me.
Pride, I decide a little giddily. As it should be.
After a quick kiss that I initiate, I slip my hand in his. “You ready to head to the bakery?”
Ash nods. “Of course. But…”
I arch an eyebrow. “But?”
“It’s only until Friday, right? After that, you won’t have to leave our bed so early because Honey will be back?”
Our bed. Don’t think I didn’t notice you said that, baby. Or that you’re already looking ahead to after Honey’s return, not because you’re worried about being a ghost, but because you want to sleep in with me.
God, I fucking love this male.
“That’s right. And, lucky for you, when I open the shop, my customers already don’t expect me before noon.
” I squeeze his fingers. “One upside to raccoon discrimination, I guess. They think I’m up all night and sleep all day and don’t care about my unorthodox hours…
even if I’m probably up before the rest of them so that I can get first pick of the dumpsters before the sanitation department gets to them.
” With my free hand, I pinch the edge of Ash’s jaw lightly.
“For you, though? I might make an exception and go out a little later in the day.”
He lays his hand over mine. “Or I can go with you. I’ll follow you anywhere, Roxy.”
While he’s cursed and ‘dead’, he kind of has no choice. After that… well. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
I wasn’t kidding when I said that I often get up early even before I agreed to run Dough You Believe in Magic for two weeks. Raccoons might be nocturnal, but I’ve got enough person in me that—while I won’t say no to the odd nap now and then—I rise during the day and sleep at night.
There’s something about the early morning hours that has always brought a little peace to me and my raccoon.
Today is no different. Dawn is just starting to break over Moonburrow, the streets mostly empty except for the occasional early-rising predator heading toward the butcher shops or wannabe bakers and their opossum entourages heading in to prep for the morning rush.
The town is still sleepy at this hour. Quiet, too.
After all the sleep he got, Gus is full of pep.
He refused to let either of us carry him today, and as long as he stays a couple of feet ahead of me, I don’t argue with him.
The streets are empty so the odds of anyone stepping on him are much lower than on our afternoon walks home.
I’m being careful to watch where I step.
Ash, meanwhile, is hovering beside me with his hands shoved into the pockets of his blue jeans, white-blond hair seeming to glow from the light of streetlamps still lit.
He’s been watching me for the last ten minutes. I know that, too, because every time I glance over at him—and through him—he quickly looks somewhere else.
“You’re staring again,” I point out with mild amusement. He has a habit of doing that, and though at first, I believed he was nitpicking, I have a different idea these days.
Ash is staring because he likes what he sees, not because he’s trying to figure me out.
Still, he says in a low voice, “I’m simply observing.”
“That’s just staring with a library science degree,” I retort with a snort. “Ashton Morgan, MLS.”
Ash smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.
I don’t like that. “Something wrong?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Not really. It’s just… I’m feeling nervous.”
My heart sinks down to my boots. “Because of me? Because of last night?”
“What? No!” Ash surges next to me, taking my hand.
“It’s not that at all. I… I can’t explain it.
When I’m like this, I can’t reach my opossum.
It’s like it’s inside of me, but muffled, if that makes sense.
Last night was the closest I was to my beast, and now…
it’s telling me to be careful.” He squeezes my fingers.
“Do you feel it, too? That something’s wrong? ”
“Ash—”
“I think you do, Roxy. We’re the only ones on the street, but you keep looking around.”
“I’m a prey shifter. Situational awareness is literally my thing. Same with you.”
He shakes his head again. “I don’t think that’s what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
And let me know because Ash… he’s not wrong. I’ve had shivers run up and down my spine a couple of times during our walk. So we’re about ten minutes away from the bakery on foot. So I’ve taken this trip countless times. Something… something’s not right.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him.
Ash studies me quietly for another second. “You can tell me things, you know.”
I… I can, can’t I? I’ve never had someone that I could be so vulnerable around that I could tell my thoughts, my concerns, and fears without worrying about any sort of judgement.
And, yet, a week after discovering Ash in the dumpster and his ghost hovering nearby, I realize I finally do.
But, before I can figure out how to explain the vague warnings coming from my own raccoon, something cracks sharply through the morning air.
I go still.
Gus screeches and immediately faints, dropping on his side with all four legs stuck out in front of him as though he was dead.
Ash… Ash uses his ability to touch me to shove me in my shoulder, taking my place. As I stumble away from him, that same something punches straight through Ash’s chest.
For one horrifying second, I genuinely think I just watched my mate get shot. It’s like I completely forgot that he’s currently a ghost, and I’m stunned that the bullet soars right through him, slamming into a pole or a brick wall or an unsuspecting building somewhere behind us.
Another crack. Another bullet. A second shot tears straight through Ash’s shoulder, and as I’m watching in horror, I notice that the two spots where he got hit are absolute holes in his translucent form.
I move toward him.
“Get down,” he orders, lunging toward me even though the bullets literally just passed through his body.
Hearing the dominance in my opossum mate’s voice snaps me the fuck awake. In case the shooter wants to get off another round, I’m not going to stand here and make myself a target for him. Ash… as of this moment, Ash is dead. They can’t kill him again.
But me and Gus? We can die.
Ducking low, I grab Gus while praying to whatever shifter gods give a shit about opossums and raccoons that he’s gone catatonic and didn’t accidentally get shot and I didn’t notice.
I don’t see any blood, just a motionless Gus, and I clutch him against my middle as I bolt behind me and take the nearest side street so that I can lose the shooter.
I didn’t see anyone. Didn’t scent anything out of the ordinary either, though now as I take a whiff, it’s just gunpowder and the irritating stink of fright.