Chapter 19 #2
There’s rainwater and oil. The familiar stink of garbage close by nearly drowned out by the amount of territorial wolf markings behind the station; kind of like the sheriff and his deputies go out back to take a leak and ward other predators away from their immediate territory in downtown Moonburrow.
The taste of magic lingering in the air that ruffles my fur the wrong way.
After nearly three decades of shifting, I’m used to the momentary disorientation of going from my skin to my fur.
Shaking it off, I snatch up my discarded clothes in my paws and regretfully leave my boots behind.
I do kick them behind the door so it’s not so obvious that I came this way before remembering that, with Max’s nose, he’ll know exactly where I went.
Ah, well. Gotta make this quick, I tell myself, and then I go.
This is a supe town. Seeing a raccoon ambling around Moonburrow carrying their clothing so that they can dress again after they return to their skin is a lot more expected than a naked raccoon trying to pass themselves off as a wild animal in the town center.
That was Crystal’s mistake. She caught the sheriff’s attention because she wasn’t acting like the shifter she was. It was just too suspicious.
I need my raccoon. First, when I’m in my fur, I can move faster than running in my boots because I don’t have to follow roads; when trees and rooftops and shortcuts are available to my beast, it’s better to shift and bolt.
Second, I’ve had way too many reminders that someone shot at me.
I don’t care that Olivia got what was coming to her, no matter who offed her.
Penelope made it seem like I was in danger from the coven so long as I have the compact shoved in the jeans I’m clutching to my furry chest. There’s still a gun out there somewhere.
If they’re looking for Roxy Kane, maybe they won’t be expecting me to run around Moonburrow in my fur.
Who knows? Witches live here, but they’re not part of the pack. They might not even be aware that there are no other raccoons in town. Here’s hoping that, if they do come after me, they don’t just shoot at innocent raccoons assuming they’re me.
And if they do? Maybe I’ll get lucky and Crystal did come back. So long as they didn’t actually kill her, I wouldn’t mind seeing her take a round in her rump.
Okay, I probably would, but I just need to make sure that, if anyone is getting shot at again, it isn’t my mate…
In almost no time, I’m approaching the shop.
The alarm sounds every few minutes, letting me know that the intruder is still there.
I abandoned the non-essentials—and some supe is going to be surprised to find my bra, my panties, and my socks strewn around Moonburrow—only keeping my jeans and t-shirt.
Both are shoved in my mouth, clamped down on with my fangs, flapping in the breeze behind me as I eat up the sidewalk.
I’m running flatout on all four paws, trying to reach the shop before the intruder leaves—or everyone back at the sheriff station discovers I disappeared.
I stop when I’m a block away. I dodged everyone on the street as I ran, and the handful of supes I passed all stepped aside because they could see I was obviously a shifter on a mission.
Careening down the side street, I find the first alcove I find—the side door to the local predator gym—and shift back to my skin.
I yank on my t-shirt and jeans, sans underwear, and march the rest of the way to my shop in bare feet.
The first thing I notice is that the intruder sure as fuck didn’t bother picking the lock this time. Nope. The glass door is shattered, leaving more than enough space for a small supe to slip inside or a much larger one to reach for the lock and undo it from the inside.
Either way, it’s unlocked now, and I grab the handle, wrenching it open, and step into my store. I breathe in deep, but there’s a moment after every shift where my nose seems dull in comparison to how the scents explode around me when my raccoon is in control.
Nothing stands out, but that doesn’t mean anything. Scent-reducers are all the rage these days, as proven by both Honey and Crystal, and from the way my raccoon hisses deep in my chest, it knows that we’re not alone in here.
I squint, waiting for my shifter sight to kick in.
Without any lights on, and dusk quickly falling outside, the shop is dark except for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the front windows.
Shadows stretch long between shelves overloaded with antiques and junk—my treasures—while there’s enough magic hanging in the air to make my human skin prickle.
Then, because I’ve never been the kind of shifter to just sit back and wait for danger to come for her, I put on my ballsiest voice that I can and call out, “You know, I had the door locked for a reason. We’re closed.
Come back tomorrow to make any purchases.
And I’ll tack on a fifty percent mark-up for you breaking my fucking window. ”
“Why would I pay anything,” drifts a familiar voice, “when what I’ve come to take is rightfully mine?”
There was a reason I didn’t see her at first. Whether she saw me enter the store or she was too busy tearing through the large display case near the back corner, she was ducked down, out of sight. Now, though? She straightens up, and both me and my raccoon curse in unison under our breaths.
On the plus side, her ring-covered hands are empty… for now. No gun in sight, and based on the nasty look currently twisted Olivia Frost’s very alive face… yeah, if she brought it with her, I’d be Swiss cheese right about now.