Thank You For Not Shifting (Peculiar Mysteries Book 2)
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Authors: Renee George
Tags: #General Fiction
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I
took my time getting dressed. I didn’t want to face Billy Bob.
Be strong, little wolf
.
The voice startled me. I turned my head sharply left then right. I was alone in the room, but I’d heard it. I’d heard
him
, the intruder from the night before. Only, I hadn’t because I was alone.
It’s just the voice,
I told myself.
My stupid, stupid voice
. The master bathroom door was wide open, the shower had a see-through glass door, and the closet was closed. If the guy were hiding in the closet, he wouldn’t have sounded so clear or so close.
I shook my head. My brain was playing tricks on me. It was the only explanation. Even so, I suddenly wanted to be out of the bedroom and in the kitchen with Billy Bob. Well, really, anyone. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts or my invisible friend.
“Good morning,” the doc said when I shuffled into his kitchen. He’d pulled on a sage green T-shirt that complimented his skin tone perfectly. I wondered if he’d look bad in any color.
“Morning,” I said, accepting the steaming mug of coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“Sugar’s on the counter.” He pointed to a white spirally sculptured sugar dish. “I’ll get the cream for you.” He opened the large side-by-side refrigerator and pulled a quart container from the door shelf.
The coffee had a nice pungent but fresh aroma, and after a couple of tablespoons of raw unrefined sugar and real heavy cream, it was as if I could smell heaven. Or at least what I hoped it smelled like.
“This is really good.”
“I grind my own bean.”
“Of course you do.”
He let my snide comment go. “Did you get ahold of Sunny?”
“Yeah, she and Babe are on their way over to get me.”
He set his cup down, a hard thump on the center island. “Are you going to go stay with them?”
I hadn’t even thought about going to Sunny’s since I’d suggested it the night before. Did Billy Bob want me to leave? “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Probably. No worries. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“You can be such an idiot,” he said.
I snapped my gaze to him and narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me.”
His whole body seemed to be vibrating as he met my stare with the same angry heat. Within two heartbeats, he closed the distance between us, his arms wrapping me up as his lips melded hot over my own. My loosey-goosy arms flopped at my sides as my skin ignited with the pleasure his kiss foisted upon me. My knees buckled, but he held me up as his tongue found its way between my lips, conquering me with every thrust. He tasted of coffee, of cinnamon, the pungent scent of bergamot and spice filled my nostrils as my lower, more sensitive area throbbed with an aching need born so deep in my soul.
The doorbell rang. We ignored it, feeding the growing passion. The loud banging on the front door along with Sunny shouting my name, however, brought us both to a gasping halt.
“I…” couldn’t formulate a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence. “I…”
Billy Bob growled. “I’ll get it.” He let me go, and my shaking legs could barely carry me. Fuckity-fuck-fuck. What the hell had just happened? Before I could process, Sunny stormed into the room and embraced me.
“Oh, Chavvah. I’m so sorry. This is terrible. I’m so glad you’re okay. You’re safe.”
“Yeah.” I gulped. “Safe.” And horny. What the hell?
She put her hands on her ample hips, wider and curvier now that she was a mom. Seriously, she’d never looked more stunning. Her green eyes sparkled with fire as she turned to stare at Billy Bob. “Tell me what you know and don’t leave anything out.”
Peculiar Mysteries, Book 2
Renee George
Published 2016 by Renee George.
Copyright © 2016, Renee George.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Renee George.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
Chavvah Trimmel, a werecoyote and part owner in Sunny's Outlook, has recovered physically from her kidnapping, but emotionally she still has scars. Her best friend Sunny is happily married and knee deep in baby poop, all Chavvah wants to do is focus on the future and forget about the past. When the Tri-State Council of therianthropes decides to hold their annual Jubilee in Peculiar, Chavvah is stoked. It's great for business, and a hunky new shifter in town might be the answer to getting over a crush she has on a certain werewolf shaman-doctor who doesn't know she even exists.
A murder in Sunny's Outlook makes ignoring Billy Bob Smith impossible, especially after he insists on trying to keep her safe. But his strange behavior--acting protective, territorial, and annoyed (okay, the annoyed part isn't that strange), has Chavvah worried more about her heart than her safety. It doesn't help that she's hearing voices...again.
The town, full of shifters from Arkansas, Kansas, and Missouri, is on lock down. Another murder has everyone on edge. Can Chavvah and her friends find the killer? Or will she or someone she loves be the next victim?
I’d like to thank the usual suspects for making this book even more awesome! First, my BFF Michele Bardsley, who is a kick ass editor and great hand holder. Secondly, my sister Robbin for an honest,
Come to Jesus
, critique from a readers POV, my BFF Dakota Cassidy, who keeps me on writing track by sitting on the phone with me for four or five hours three nights a week, and for all the fans of the series who make it fun to keep writing these wonderful Peculiar shifters.
I’d also like to thank Michelle the Magnificent for helping me to stay calm (which is a bigger deal than you can imagine). Also, I can’t forget to mention my husband, who works hard all week long so I can stay home and pursue my writing full time, and my son (aka the man-child), who makes dinner every night, so I don’t have to!!! It’s a huge load off. I love you all, and my life would be a total dud without you!
T
he cowbell over the entrance to Sunny’s Outlook jangled for the umpteenth time. I heard the waiter, Jo Jo, offer a welcome, so I continued scrubbing off the diner table and re-setting it.
Oo-wee.
I was tired. Who knew being co-owner of a vegetarian restaurant in a tiny shifter town would be so exhausting?
Not me.
The breakfast crowd had been full of eager beavers. Not real beavers, of course, though werebeavers do exist, some were even in town this week, but most of their kind tended to be integrators—therians who hid their second natures to live like non-shifters. My parents are integrators, which means Mom is seriously unhappy with my brother Babe and me for living in an (almost) therian-only locality. Dad is more rational about the situation, but he shows his disapproval in other ways.
A blond boy ran inside the door, he was laughing as a teenage girl, face red with fury, fought to catch him. The boy was my friend Ruth Thompson’s nine-year-old son Linus, and the girl was his nineteen-year-old sister Michele.
“Linus,” Michele scolded. “You hold it right there.”
The boy dropped to his hands, and in seconds, he transformed into a young buck, nubs for horns and the softest looking buff-blond fur.
“Linus!” my best friend and business partner Sunny shouted. “No shifting in the restaurant. This is a shift-free zone, boy.”
Michele blushed as Jo Jo Corman, our young waiter, wrangled the small deer wearing denim shorts and a pale blue tank top.
“I’m so sorry, Sunny. You too, Chav,” Michele said. She grabbed the shorts off the ground when they fell down the deer’s bony legs. In one of the pockets, she pulled out a phone. “Got it!” She held it up triumphantly then blushed again. “Linus stole it out of my hands while I was texting.” She gave Jo Jo a meaningful look.
A silly grin formed on his face until he saw me staring, then he blushed as well. Over the past year, he’d let his short, brown hair grow out a couple of inches and wore it spiked with blue frosted tips. I wasn't sure whether it was any better than the blond leopard spots that used to grace his head. The spots had really pissed his dad off to no end. Though, Brady Corman had preferred the dyed hair to all of Jo Jo’s tattoos and piercings. I think Jo Jo told me once that he had twenty-six piercings in all. Twelve of them were in his face. I really didn't want to know the location of the others.
“Michele, you better get your brother out of here and take his shorts with you.” I looked at the deer who I could swear was silently laughing. “Don’t you dare shift back in here, Linus. No flashing your wee-willy in the restaurant. Take it outside.”
He snorted then pranced to the door, the pale blue tank top tight against his chest. He was already growing into a young adult. I’d known the youngest Thompson since he was six, and it just didn’t seem possible he was already starting to grow horns. It made me feel old.
Michele opened the door for him. She gave a shy wave to Jo Jo, and he nodded to her.
“Oh my,” Sunny said. She danced around Jo Jo like a fairy throwing flower petals. “I think young love is in the air.”
“Stop it,” Jo Jo said. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Chavvah, help me.”
I grinned. “I think I hear a baby crying. Do you hear a baby crying, Jo Jo?”
“No, Chav,” Sunny pleaded.
Jo Jo’s expression faltered, then he smiled. “I wonder if Baby Jude’s hungry.”
“I hate you,” Sunny exclaimed. She covered her chest with her forearms, but it didn’t hide the breast milk streaming in twin rivers down her pale green blouse. She headed toward the bathroom where she kept spare shirts.
“That wouldn’t happen if you’d wear breast pads,” I muttered.
I returned to my post behind the counter. We’d been doing a brisk business due to the Tri-State Council July Jubilee. This was the first time Peculiar had hosted the annual event, and our therianthrope community had been overrun by shifters from the surrounding states. Right now, our part of the Ozarks was bursting with every type of shifter you could imagine.
The cowbell over the entrance of Sunny’s Outlook jangled for the umpteenth time. Delbert and Elbert Johnson, the twins who ran the general store across the street, came inside.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Just grab an open table. I'll be with you in a minute.”
“No hurry, Chavvie.” Delbert grinned, his forehead crinkling over bright blue eyes. He was so cute for an old possum.
“Take your time, darlin'. We're not going anywhere,” Elbert added.
They both had that Uncle Jesse look. You know, the dude from Dukes of Hazzard. White hair, white beards, overalls, and a little tubby in the middle. I could tell them apart by only two things, Delbert had a thinner face, and Elbert had a small freckle near the corner of his left eye. Sunny had actually pointed it out. At a distance, it was nearly impossible to see the difference, but up close it was no problem.
The cowbell jangled again. I ignored it while I finished recording the last order.
“Chavvah.”
I immediately recognized the deep male voice.
My heart jumped into my throat, and my palms turned clammy and cold.
Ugh. I hated myself.
You are not a teenager. Stop acting like one.
I looked up and met the smoky gray eyes of Dr. Billy Bob Smith, the local witch doctor and family medical practitioner. I went completely squishy inside. He was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. Usually, he wore his hair down in silver waves that flowed over his shoulders. Right now, he wore it tied back, really showing off his angular face with a strong but narrow jaw, a wide mouth, straight, broad nose, and hypnotizing eyes.
Once, he’d had a tangle of thick dreadlocks down to his trim waist. I still remembered how soft his hair felt when he’d carried me bloodied and bruised away from the hunters who’d tried to kill me. I lost myself for a moment thinking about the how the doc’s hair had brushed my skin like the tips of angel wings, and even though I’d been in excruciating pain, I’d been comforted.
Billy Bob was good at offering comfort.
But he was a lycanthrope, and I was a werecoyote. We were about as compatible as lemon juice and an open wound.