Thorn glanced around and saw the few remaining patrons staring back, empty glasses lifted. He opted not to comment.
“She wants to build apartments, a hotel, maybe a resort. It’s just going to eff-up this whole place.”
In his brain, the fact that Sally used letters to swear vied with the idea that anyone would build anything around here, each idea equally bizarre. A more immediate thought buried both of these concepts—long legs, wide hips, slender waist, big tits, stockings and sass, just a half mile down the road. Thorn would definitely pay this Felicity Malkin a visit.
Thorn lifted the pitcher and drained it before quietly picking up his chainsaw and leaving the bawling Sally for last calls.
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Chapter Two
Felicity rose from the four-poster bed, staring out the window at the gray morning. In this hick outpost, she would no doubt have to drive for half an hour to find a decent latte. Well, she would fix that soon enough. Houses out here were cheap, and so was land. Although Portland, an hour or so away, was booming, people hadn’t flocked this far out just yet. Or, rather, hadn’t been priced out this far yet. She had to get in on the game early. Eventually, people would get priced out of their current living situation, and come running east.
She’d spent the week scouting the area, and already had a place picked out for a shopping center. Nothing too big, just an anchor supermarket and a bunch of little businesses—a decent café among them. If she could swing the financing, she would build it at the same time as the apartments went up. Ripple, Oregon, a damp little nothing village in the middle of the woods would work its way onto the map.
Hopping in the shower, she thought of the mess she’d made of the bar offer. The place was horrible, and didn’t even have a proper apostrophe in its name. Still, her proposition was more than fair. Couldn’t that weepy bar owner see that?
As she soaped up her body, she thought about how the night nearly ended in utter disaster. Felicity should have paid more attention to her animal senses. The two morons hitting on her were as much predators as she was—although those creeps were hunters on only a human level. A sick and evil level, but they didn’t have the beast within to back their play.
That guy, that huge guy, if he hadn’t come out after her, Felicity would’ve had to shift to fend the asshole creeps off. While she doubted three potential rapists would go to the authorities when they saw the monster she became, there was always the chance they would out of spite. The thought of the contents of the backpack filled her with dread.
Felicity shook it off like water from the shower. She was fine. Everything was going, more or less, according to plan. While she dressed, she thought of the lumberjack. Behind his half-buttoned shirt, he had pecs like tectonic plates. Behind his beard, you could use his jaw as an anvil. With shoulders that broad, he probably had to step sideways through doorways.
Despite the tingle at the thought of the massive stranger, she dismissed her contemplations concerning him. Felicity had an empire to build. She didn’t have the time to get involved, even if the big man looked like a whole lot of fun involvement.
Once she got outside, she realized her empire building would have to be put on hold for a while. She sighed and folded her arms. “For fuck’s sake.” Someone had turned her sporty little rental upside down on the front yard of the bed-and-breakfast. Now she was stuck, damn it. Did her insurance cover this? Pacing around the car, she didn’t see any damage. It looked like someone had gently turned it over, like a turtle on its back. Unsure what to do, she went back inside.
Luckily, the B&B had pretty decent espresso. She sat in the doily-covered dining room, wondering who the hell you called when your car was upturned on its roof. Who would do such a thing, and why? Two suspects came to mind immediately: the three creeps, and the giant dude. Three guys could probably tip the little car over if they started rocking it. She didn’t see any damage to the paint on the sides, and no dents. And maybe, just maybe, Mr. Pecs was strong enough to do it solo. Nah. No way could one guy, even an enormous guy, turn a car over.
Still, from her brief observations, that big-boobed waitress had a thing for Mr. Giant. If she cried on his shoulder, would he get all protective and send Felicity a message? The crazy thought that he might be showing off for her, in a very odd way, also occurred to her. A voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Would you like some breakfast, Miss Malkin?” Emma Shoat, one of the owners of the place, walked into the dining room rubbing her hands on a towel.
“Coffee’s fine, thanks.”
Mrs. Shoat, who looked about three hundred years old, smiled and cast her eyes away. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you.”
Thinking the woman had discussed selling this place with her husband, the also three hundred year old Mr. Shoat, Felicity leaned forward. “What is it, Mrs. Shoat?”
“Well, to each his own, I always say. But it’s about parking. We usually prefer our guests to park in the driveway. On their wheels.”
Felicity found this a curious thing to say. “Do your guests often park their cars upside down?”
“Our guests do all manner of strange things. We aren’t that far from Portland, you know.”
***
The gas station was a half-mile down the road, and there were no sidewalks, and Felicity had only brought heels for the trip. Even as she hiked along the empty highway, she wondered if the bumpkins who ran the place could even help turn her car back over.
A big white truck with a trailer roared by, the male occupants hooting and catcalling and whistling as they rode past. Did everyone around here drive a big white pickup with a trailer? Was every man a total asshole? Again, thoughts of the huge lumberjack came to her. He wasn’t an asshole. Dumb and macho as he was, he didn’t assume she needed help, he just offered it. Unless, of course, he was the one who upturned her ride. Then he was a bigger asshole than the rest combined.
Still, she didn’t really need his help. Felicity Malkin was no one’s damsel in distress. At the gas station, she strutted into the little structure that sold bait and chips and walked up to the counter.
The greasy-haired teenager at the register gave her a smirky up-and-down. Nothing irritated the animal within her like a smirking teen. It snarled in her subconscious. When Felicity reached the POS, she slapped both palms on the counter. With a start, the kid leaned away from her.
“My car’s been turned upside down. Find me someone to put it back on its tires. Now.”
***
Thorn awoke in his single-wide trailer and fumbled for the remote. Nothing happened when he pressed the power button. One eye opened, reading a little message on the big flat screen: No signal. Half-asleep, he considered rummaging around for something to throw at the TV. Anger only fully roused him, and he got out of bed.
He spent a few minutes turning the set on and off, but no cartoons appeared.
“Fucking fuck!” he shouted at the screen.
Flannel shirt thrown on, he slipped his feet into his boots and walked outside in his tighty-whities. Two sights struck him with equal dread. On the ground just beyond the porch, his satellite dish lay half stuck in the mud. Thorn was good at knocking things down, but not so much so at putting things up. No cartoons, no cooking shows, no pay-per-view porn—these thoughts nearly paralyzed him.
Except further out in the yard, he spotted hooves sticking straight up in the air. Lots of hooves. A veritable forest of tawny legs.
“What. Thee. Fuck.”
Wiping blear from his eyes, he crossed his leafy lawn. Three deer carcasses lay next to his driveway, on their backs, antlers driven into the ground so that the feet stuck up in the air. Thorn had never heard of mass suicide by deer, and he doubted a car had struck each one and sent it sailing perfectly so that the horns stuck in the soil and the legs pointed upward.
He searched the ground, but found no blood, no tracks. Someone or something had killed the deer and brou
ght them to his yard. Displayed them.
“Thee. Fuck.”
“Hey, yo, neighbor. I’ve got kids. And a wife. Think you could put some pants on?”
Laramie Marino. The guy owned a small plot of land that just happened to be adjacent to the only place on all of Thorn’s property that allowed for a connection to the infrastructure. Call him a wuss, Thorn appreciated indoor plumbing.
Marino and his brothers, and brothers-in-law, and some cousins, were contractors. Thorn first became aware that the vast clan were shifters when Laramie’s first born turned into a wolf cub under the full moon at age two, and pissed on Thorn’s truck. At that point, it sort of became obvious.
“Can you help me put my satellite dish back up? If I put some pants on.”
Laramie came around the fence. “Holy shit, you got deer in your yard. You go a little bear-crazy last night?”
Laramie Marino became aware of Thorn’s inner bear about two minutes after Thorn discovered the Marinos’ inner wolves. He shifted into a bear, knocked down the fence, and pissed all over Marino’s truck.
Thorn hadn’t gone bear at all. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten drunk. “Nope.”
The wolf-shifter examined the carcasses. “Fresh kills. Nice and fresh. But you better get rid of them. Someone might accuse you of poaching. Or something… else.”
Else. Marino didn’t have to spell it out. For months now, Thorn had seen billboards, ads on TV. Report any unusual animal activity to local law enforcement. Reading between the lines, some agency out there was aware of the shifters in their midst.
“Who the fuck would put dead deer in my yard?”
Laramie paced around them. “Looks like someone’s sending you a message. Or a lot of free venison. It’s like what our cat does, leaving mutilated mice on the doorstep.”
Thorn side-eyed him. “You got cats?”
The wolf shrugged. “I got kids. And I sure as hell ain’t getting a dog.”
“Laramie Marino, what are you doing out there?”
At the shrill voice, both men turned to see Mrs. Marino standing on the porch. She angled her head at Thorn, features tugged in appraisal.
“Wendy, go back in the freakin’ house.”
Her features puckered in a snarl. “Hey! I do what I please, Mister.”
Thorn didn’t like to pry, mostly because he didn’t give a shit, but it seemed all the Marino boys married alpha bitches. Not being a social animal, the bear in him just didn’t get it. Wendy stood, hip-shot, in her house coat. She was a good looker in a lupine way, tall and willowy. Despite giving birth to a whole pack, her body was taut, skin smooth, hair long and silky. Given the opportunity, Thorn was pretty sure he’d--
“Look,” Laramie positioned himself between Thorn and his wife. “I can get rid of the deer for you. Pack’s got a lotta mouths to feed, and a little out of season venison would be great for Sunday dinner.”
Thorn cast a mournful look at the UFO crashed in the dirt. “What about my satellite dish?”
“I’ll go get my tools.” Laramie started back for the road. “You go put your tools away.”
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Chapter Three
Half an hour later, the wolf stood on the top of a ladder with a screw gun while Thorn held the dish from below.
“I gotta tell you, the more I think about it, the more them deer seem like a message,” Laramie said between zips of the power tool.
While the eight-foot dish weighed only about seventy-five pounds, Thorn had been holding it up for twenty minutes. It made him cranky. “Message from who? What the fuck do three dead deer mean?”
“You’re the apex predator around here, pal. I’d have to guess this is some kinda challenge.” He zipped in a few more screws. “You know, ‘I’m as big and bad as you, I can kill the prey in your territory’ kinda thing.”
Thorn’s arms were straight up over his head so he couldn’t shrug. “I got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re the top of the food chain. No other animal, shifter or otherwise, preys on you. You’re, what, a grizzly?”
“Kodiak.”
“Whatever. Being a shifter, even humans can’t come after you—unless they’re armed with silver. You maintain the whole ecosystem, and you’re the king of your domain.”
Thorn liked the idea. Except “Aren’t wolves apex predators?”
“Yeah, we are.” Laramie shook the dish mount. “It’s a matter of competition, scale and time. For instance, you like to eat, what, elk and moose?”
“Fish, mostly. Can I let go of this thing now?”
“No, I gotta get it in the mount.”
Thorn sighed. “Yeah, moose, elk, they’re delicious. Buffalo. But so what? Wolves can take down a moose or buffalo.”
“Lift that up a little?” Laramie fucked around with the dish as he talked. “Sure, a big pack can take down just about anything. But you can do it alone. That’s one point. Another point is, my people can take down the big prey much better in the winter—when your people hibernate. Easier for us in the snow. And the third point is that bears of your size have been known to prey on freakin’ whales.”
“Are you talking about polar bears? I ain’t no fluffy white sissy,” Thorn growled.
“Easy, pal. Kodiaks and polar bears are about the same size. I’m just making a point about scale here. So I gotta say, you’d better start watching your back.”
Finally, the weight of the dish eased off Thorn’s hands. “How do you know all this stuff? You go to shifter school or something?”
“Pack lore.” Laramie descended the ladder. “Instinct. You must have clan somewhere to tell you about all this.”
Thorn shook his head. “I was bitten when I was little. I’m not a born shifter. Got no clan.” Dark memories threatened to descend. Orphaned at a young age, Thorn had passed a lonely existence. Before he could be buried in gloomy thoughts, Laramie’s words jerked him out of it.
“Well, if you wanna know about apexes and stuff, you gotta talk to The Vet.”
The idea interested him. “There’s a veteran apex predator I can talk to?”
“No, no, not a veteran. A veterinarian. Well, really, she’s kind of a hippie witch. We all just assume she has a medical degree.” Laramie packed his tools and folded his ladder. “She knows a lot about shifters. The Vet’s got a place out by the swamp near Little Crater Lake.”
Thorn was pretty sure he didn’t want to go to The Vet, or drive all the way to Little Crater Lake. Still, if the wolf was right, someone was after his position as apex. Whatever that meant. “Thanks for putting my dish back up. What do I owe you?”
“No need to thank me, no need to pay me.” Laramie grabbed his tools and started for his house. “Just keep your fucking pants on around my wife.”
***
Felicity plucked sod out of her windshield, feeling glad she hadn’t brought the convertible. All in all, there was no damage to the car. The ground beneath the roof had been rain-softened. Who would pull such a prank on her? Or was this more of a threat than a prank? She had already made offers to several homeowners out here, and most of them were receptive. Only that bar owner had gotten really upset. From the way she made puppy dog eyes at that lumberjack dude…. The giant man was still her best suspect.
Mrs. Shoat was preparing lunch when she entered. Fish scent made the beast within Felicity roll on its back and purr.
“Get your car right-side up, dear?” Mrs. Shoat called from the kitchen.
Felicity sat in the dining room. “I did, thanks. Have you given my offer any thought?”
The old woman hunched into the dining room with a plate of fish sandwiches. “Me and the mister are talking it over. We raised our kids here, you know. Lots of memories. Frankly, we don’t have many guests. I’m not sure why you’d even want to buy the place.”
She understood that she was the only guest, and Felicity enjoyed the privacy. “I have big plans for this part of the world
. You do get tourists staying here, right?”
“Only during the hunting and fishing seasons. We’re booked in November.”
Felicity took her plate. “Would you join me?”
“Certainly! I like to remain professionally aloof, but since we’re not busy, I’d love to chat.”
Once Mrs. Shoat settled down with her own plate, Felicity started asking about the lumberjack. “Big guy, like seven feet tall, wears a lot of plaid, carries a chainsaw?”
“Oh, you must mean Thorn. That poor boy.” Mrs. Stoat took a huge bite of sandwich and wolfed it down.
“Something bad happen to him?”
It didn’t seem the woman bothered with chewing. “He’s an orphan. I don’t know the whole story. I think his family came from the east of here, maybe Idaho. He was raised by a single mother, who took him to live with relatives in Alaska, I think. There was some terrible accident.”
“So how did he get here?”
Mrs. Shoat gobbled the rest of her sandwich. “No idea. I just know that he inherited a lot of land here. He came when he was eighteen, and stayed.”
A lot of land. Felicity’s ears pricked up.
“Boy’s a total fuckup.” Mr. Shoat, who probably weighed three hundred pounds despite his five-foot-two frame, waddled into the dining room. “’Bout as bright as a bag of tent stakes. Calls himself an arborist, but he just knocks down trees. Dropped one on my truck one time, the big idiot.”
Like his wife, Mr. Shoat gobbled his entire sandwich in just a couple bites. Felicity’s stomach moved a little sideways at the sight.
“Does he have any friends? A sweetheart?”
Mr. Shoat laughed through a mouth of fish and bread. “Man’s a walking disaster. If he had a friend, he’d probably end up dropping a branch on his head.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Gordon,” Mrs. Shoat rolled her eyes. “Thorn is a bit of a loner.”
The Apex Shifter Complete Set: Books 1 - 3 Page 2
