by Desiree Holt
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Mandy said as soon as she took a sip of her Chardonnay. “How can we help?”
Eva and Tiburon looked at each other and the connection they shared pulsed between them. After a few seconds, Eva nodded and Tiburon began to tell his story.
“I know it’s very difficult to believe. but five years ago I was swimming just off the Cape Hatteras when a research vessel tagged me. Instead of just monitoring my motion through the ocean, the device gave me the ability to shift into a human.”
Mandy and Derek were both transfixed.
“I washed up on shore near Charleston, and before I understood what was happening, I’d traded my fins for legs. I removed the tracking device stuck in my neck and made my way here to Sporting Island. It took me months to realize I could change back into a Great White when I needed or wanted to but once I figured that out, I shifted from time to time.”
“If you removed the tracking device, how did the bad men find you?” Sarcasm dripped from Dr. Derek’s voice, and Eva was reminded of why she didn’t like him.
“I didn’t get it all out.” Tiburon shucked off his T-shirt and walked around the table. Standing beside Derek’s chair, he pointed to the scar. “Part of it was embedded. See?”
Derek rose and ran his index finger along the scar. “Looks like a stitched cut to me.”
Eva knew, as soon as Mandy had told her Derek was coming along, there would be an issue. She rushed to defend Tiburon. “But it’s not, Derek. I understand this story is hard to believe but Tiburon is telling the truth.”
Derek shook his head, a jackassy smirk on his face. “I know that you believe it, Eva. That doesn’t make it true.”
If she could’ve smacked the superiority off his face and gotten away with it, she would have, but Tiburon might need his help and she’d do anything to help Tiburon get the device removed. “We can prove it.”
“Oh? I’d love to see that.”
Mandy swatted Derek’s arm. “Stop being such a prick.”
“I’m not being a prick,” he said. “But being a doctor, I’m pretty sure I understand the human body well-enough to know that it can’t transform into a Great White.”
“Grab your wine. We’re going to the beach.” Eva hadn’t asked Tiburon if he was willing to shift in front of Derek and Mandy, but she didn’t think he had a choice.
They locked the house and walked to the beach in silence. Eva held Tiburon’s hand the whole way. “I’m sorry I sprung that on you, but he was pissing me off.”
“It’s okay.” Behind his dark Costa sunglasses, she couldn’t see his eyes but she could tell that he was anxious by the way he chewed on his bottom lip. “In order to have his help, I’m going to have to show him that we’re telling the truth.”
They walked until they reached a part of the beach where the dunes came nearly to the ocean. With no swimmers or sunbathers nearby, it felt like the right place.
“Are you okay?” Eva whispered to Tiburon.
He nodded and began shucking off his shorts. He handed his clothes to her and said, “I’ll be back.” He kissed her softly and jogged toward the water.
* * *
Tiburon would miss the way being a shark felt: muscular, sleek, fearless. He’d remember the sound of the water rushing by as he swam through it, supercharging his gills with rich oxygen. He’d miss the solitude of the deep, the fathomless depths, empty save for him and a remora companion.
But he couldn’t live without Eva and he wouldn’t ask her to stay with man who was being used as a puppet either, never knowing when he’d be forced to shift and what he’d be forced to do in one or both of his forms.
This was going to be his last swim as a Great White. For the first time, he understood the meaning of the word “bittersweet”.
He swam through the warm shallows, allowing his body to adjust, change. His bones melted into cartilage and his sense of smell became razor-sharp. His body lengthened until he was fourteen feet of Great White.
Swimming close to the surface, he made sure his dorsal fin stayed above the water line. He circled back and forth, up and down the beach, making sure to give that asshole Derek a good look at him and then after waving with his fin, he dove deep and headed into the blue.
* * *
By the time Tiburon walked into the bungalow, Derek and Mandy had agreed to help.
“I’m sorry.” Derek met him at the door, his right hand extended. “I had no idea that was even possible.” The egotistical smirk had been wiped off his face, and he looked down at the hardwood floors.
“Will you help me?” Tiburon didn’t give a shit what Derek believed to be true or false. All he wanted was his word that he’d help.
“Yes. I will. I’ve got an emergency kit in the trunk of the car.”
Tiburon breathed a sigh of relief and stepped inside.
By the time the four of them had finished a bottle of wine, they’d hatched a plan.
“Are you sure you’re ready to make this decisions?” Eva asked.
He nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“Derek and Mandy are waiting in the bathroom. Want me to be with you?”
Tiburon shook his head. “I want you to be with me when I toss it into the ocean.”
* * *
Eva waited in the living room. She twirled a wine glass by the stem and tried to concentrate on the local news while Derek and Mandy worked to remove the tracker. The only thing she heard was the occasional direction Derek gave to Mandy. So far, Tiburon hadn’t made any sounds that made her think he was in pain.
She didn’t know if she could take that.
He’d been in too much pain already.
Ten minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened and the three of them stepped out into the living room. Eva jumped up and walked over to him. Tiburon looked pale but a smile lit up his face. “Here is it.”
He opened his hand to reveal a tiny cylinder, the size of a bullet. Made of silver metal, she touched it with the tip of her finger. She’d expected something more elaborate, but it looked so benign. “It’s so small. Did it hurt?”
“Not really. It stung like a paper cut.”
She looked up at him, this man who’d totally and completely stolen her heart and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. “I’m glad you’re free.”
“Walk with me to the beach?”
Hand in hand, they walked along the beach until they reached the spot where they’d first met. He pulled her into him, her face nestled into his chest. She loved the smell of him, the solid feel of him. Tiburon held her close and pressed his palm against the small of her back. “I love you, Eva. I’d do anything in the world for you. I’d die for you, and I’ll live for you.”
She tilted her chin upward and pressed her lips against hers. “Then let’s throw that thing into the ocean and start living.”
The tiny device barely made a sound when it landed in the Atlantic.
About the Author
Blaire Edens lives in the mountains of North Carolina. She grew up on a farm that’s been in her family since 1790. Of Scottish descent, her most famous ancestor, John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch and Guardian of Scotland, was murdered by Robert the Bruce on the altar of the Greyfriars Church at Dumfries.
She has a degree in Horticulture from Clemson University. She’s held a myriad of jobs including television reporter, GPS map creator, and personal assistant to a fellow who was rich enough to pay someone to pick up the dry cleaning. When she’s not plotting, she’s busy knitting, running, or listening to the Blues.
Blaire loves iced tea with mint, hand-stitched quilts, and yarn stores. She refuses to eat anything that mixes chocolate and peanut butter or apple and cinnamon. She’s generally nice to her mother, tries to remember not to smack her bubble gum, and only speeds when no one’s looking.
www.blaireedens.com
I Found My Rhino
Erin Hayes
I’m extending an offer
to a guy who I slept with the night before. Not that he wasn’t bad—no, he was wonderful. I was just stupid enough to sleep with the grandson of the very rhino shifter I was looking for. And now we may work together.
Author’s Note
A few months ago, I was upset when I read of a gorilla named Harambe who was killed when a boy entered his enclosure. It hit international news and became a topic of debate for humanity’s impact on the natural world.
Without taking a side to the debate, I wished so desperately that there had been a happy ending. Where the zoo didn’t have to follow through on a difficult decision. And where both the animal and the child had their happily ever afters.
Also, some comments mentioned that there are less and less of these majestic animals in the world. I began to wonder what would happen if there weren’t enough creatures to fill zoos, and it seemed like shapeshifters would make a great substitute, at least until they found a more permanent resident.
The idea of Shifters Unlimited was born, a staffing agency where recruiters sought out different kinds of shifters for contracts for local zoos, circuses, etc, and the patrons are none the wiser if they’re looking at an animal or a human. It seemed like such an easy, safe way to avoid life and death situations in the future.
Zoos have always been controversial. From the Tower Zoo in London to the more humane zoos of 2016, there have always been lingering questions about them because they are intersections between man and wild, tame and untamed, fair and unfair. They have made great strides in conservation and education of the public on areas of the world that many of us can only begin to imagine. But such places come with great sacrifices and responsibilities, as we’ve seen.
I’m not attempting to make a commentary on that here, for or against them. I just wanted to give everyone their happy ending. So while there are similarities, they are used for fictitious purposes. And everyone gets their happily ever after (sorry if that spoils it for you! But I do see blurbs that state whether or not to expect an HEA, so I hope you’re okay with that).
I agonized for a long time on whether or not I should write this story. You can ask my friends—I talked with them at length about it. Probably drove many of them nuts, too.
In the end, I decided to write it.
So I hope you enjoy this story. And that you have your happily after, too.
Chapter One
Ryan
“I’m cutting you off.”
She looks up at me, her drunken eyes hazy.
“What?” she slurs.
I nod at her empty glass as I wipe down the bar. “You’ve had enough to drink, and it’s almost two. We’re closing.”
She blinks and looks down at what’s left of her drink, as if surprised by its disappearance. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
In fact, my bar, the Drinking Horn, is empty except for her. The second-to-last person left about fifteen minutes ago. She’s been sitting at the bar for a few hours, not talking with other patrons but watching me work the entire time. Scrutinizing me. Like she’s trying to figure out something. And then she ordered a cocktail. Then a shot. I lost count of her intake several pours ago.
“Long day at work?” I ask. It is a Tuesday night, after all. If you’re at a bar on a Tuesday, it’s either because you’ve had a bad day or are an alcoholic.
And I get the feeling that Miss Green Eyes doesn’t get drink often enough to be an alcoholic, based on how glazed her eyes were after the second drink.
“Yeah,” she mutters, running a hand through her blond hair. It’s long and luscious, the kind of hair that I want to run my fingers through. “Long ass day at work. And my home life is shit at the moment, too. So, ya know…”
I study her, like I’ve been doing out of the corner of my eye all night while I worked. She’s got that girl-next-door kind of vibe to her, which I find hot as fuck. She’s got a fierceness to her—right now, not so much, but when she first came in—that says that she’s proud of her position in life and how hard she’s had to work to get there.
My curiosity piqued the moment she came through those doors. And I’m only more interested now.
I set down a glass of water in front of her. “Drink this.”
“Thanks.” She throws it back like she’s chugging four fingers of vodka. Even grimaces like she did.
“You want me to call a cab?” I offer. “Or do you have someone picking you up?”
“I live just down the road.” She sticks her thumb out behind her in an awkward way of showing me a direction. “By myself now.” She chuckles mirthlessly and I get the hint that she’s going through a very recent break-up. “I’ll just walk.”
Indecision and an overprotectiveness twist in my gut. That alpha male instinct has gotten me into trouble in the past, but then again, we’re only a few blocks away from the Tenderloin in San Francisco. And it’s late at night.
I really should just call a cab, but I say, “If you wait a few more minutes, I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safely.”
She quirks an eyebrow, looking at me differently now. Like she’s appraising the merchandise. It’s a look I’ve seen many times before. My bar may not be very popular, but I still get propositioned at least once every other night.
“Personal escort?” she asks. “How much did I tip you on my tab to deserve that?”
I smirk as I hit the button on my register, and it immediately churns out a receipt. “You haven’t yet.” I tear it off and put it in front of her. “The last few drinks were free.”
Partly because I stopped counting but mainly because I’m a sucker for a girl-next-door who’s had a long day at work. I’m a terrible bar owner. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this and it probably won’t be the last.
“Thanks,” she says as she shakes her head. She signs her name and hands me the receipt. “Say, do you know an Ernest Shepherd? I thought he owned the bar.”
I pause at my grandfather’s name and my mouth twitches. “Why are you looking for him?”
She shrugs. “No reason.”
Liar.
She’s hiding something. I know I offered, but now I’m not sure that I want to walk her home. Then I get a glance at the large tip she left me—probably because I did offer—and I sigh as I grab my coat and my keys.
I’m going to get myself into serious trouble one of these days.
“Let’s get you home.”
* * *
“This is it,” she says, standing in front of a swanky Victorian row house in Nob Hill. “Thanks for the personal escort.”
“Nice place,” I observe.
She frowns and nods. “Yeah. It was. It’s all mine now.”
Something is warning me, telling to get back to my bar, finish closing up for the night, and go to bed with my own bottle of whisky to try and drink away my problems. Not to pay attention to the way she bites her bottom lip. Or the way she smiles at me. Or the fact that she hasn’t been able to keep her eyes off my ass all night.
It’s because she’s drunk. Nothing more.
“Well, have a good night then,” I say raggedly.
She sways as she looks up at me, giving me a sultry look. A moment passes between us, one that catches me off-guard. Then she grabs my shirt and pulls me to her, her lips crashing against mine. The satin feel of her lips against mine sears a pathway through my soul, and my body responds as she wraps her arms around me. I feel the heat of her body against mine. Her tongue enters my mouth.
So fucking hot. She lets out a moan which makes my cock harden in my pants. She feels it too.
Our lips break and she looks up at me with those big green eyes. “Do you want to come up?”
Do I?
As a bartender, I’ve gone home with quite a few women in my time.
“Yes.”
A lazy smile comes to her lips, like I just gave her the best present ever.
She reaches in her purse, pulls out her keys and opens the door. We step through the entrance, and she kicks off her heels like she
always does this when she comes home. I’m both pleased and surprised at how short she is. If tonight is going to go how I think it is, she’s the perfect size for me to toss around and get into all sorts of positions.
I note that her place seems like she’s in the middle of moving in. Or moving out. No. I see the darkened shadows of some of the lounge set still arranged in the living room. Someone’s moving out, but not her.
She doesn’t turn on any lights. She doesn’t say anything but she looks over her shoulder at me, the lust in her eyes shining with an intensity that excites me.
And then she kisses me again. I’m more prepared for it this time, for the fire that erupts in my soul. The beastlike instincts inside me awaken and want more of this. Something inside me takes over. I not only want to take her. I want to own her.
There, in the foyer of her place, I help her tug off her shirt and unclasp her bra. I’m rewarded with her creamy breasts as I take a nipple in my mouth and bite lightly as I massage the other one. I’ve heard before that more than a handful is a waste, and I can see that now. Her breasts are perfectly suited to my hands, like they were formed with me in mind.
She leans back in my hands and moans lightly.
“Sofa,” she croaks, speaking for the first time since we entered her house. “Take me to the sofa.”
I happily oblige, shedding my clothes as we make our way to the couch. She looks at me coyly, her eyes drinking in my bare body, lingering on my throbbing cock. She kisses me and takes me into her hand, giving me a long, curious stroke.
It sets every nerve-ending I have on fire.
I begin to tug off her skirt, hungry for her. Hungry for release.
