by Kian Rhodes
“This isn’t the first time?” Antoine gasped, aghast. “And you still use it?”
Pete shrugged. “It’s tradition.”
I could tell from the look on my Omega’s face that he had a ton of questions. Questions that, unfortunately, we really didn’t have time for, so I interrupted. “We’re going to need an x-ray.”
“Fuck that!” Pete snapped, his long ears flopping around as he shook his head emphatically. “No fucking way! You know how I feel about hospitals!”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but if you ever want to hop again, I don’t think we really have a choice, do you?” Pete narrowed his eyes and I raised a brow. “7 days and counting, man.”
Pete’s furry throat shifted as he swallowed and he knew he was thinking the same thing I was. The was almost no hope that he’d be back on his feet that soon.
“Seven days?” Antoine asked curiously. “That’s Easter, isn’t it?” There was a beat of silence before his jaw dropped. “Oh my Gods! You can’t be..are you? The Easter Bunny, I mean?” When Pete just smirked, Antoine turned to me. “Is he?”
Peter Cottontail, this is Antoine,” I intoned dramatically, keeping my face serious. “Antoine, meet Peter Cottontail, Head of Easter Relations.” Antoine stared at me and I winked at him. “Also known as the Easter Bunny.”
“But..” Antoine looked at Pete and back to me, then down to the oversized furry brown paw in his hand. Laying it down gently, he staggered to his feet, his eyes wide. “But..” He made it two steps before he collapsed in a heap, thankfully landing on his good side. Still, I cringed when his injured arm flopped against his chest. It had to hurt.
Pete sighed as I gathered Antoine in my arms and lifted him to the sofa. “This probably wasn’t the best time to tell him. Or the most appropriate way.”
“You’re probably right,” I admitted, checking the pulse in my Omega’s wrist. “But he seemed to be taking everything so well..” I trailed off with a shrug. “He’s fine,” I decided. “Pulse is strong. You, on the other hand, need medical attention.” I waved off the objection that I knew was coming. “It’s not a clean break like the last time,” I explained. “If any of the bones are crushed and we don’t set it right, you might never hop again. You know that.”
Pete’s ears drooped. “Fine. Give me a minute.”
Knowing how much he hated an audience when he shifted, I turned my back and waited to hear my name. When I turned back, Pete’s long, floppy ears were gone, the luxurious brown fur had become light caramel skin and shaggy brown hair. Only the big, soulful brown eyes were the same.
“You okay?”
Pete nodded, but I could see the pain in his face clearly. “You want some whiskey before I reset these legs?”
“Just do it,” he said roughly, balling his hands into fists. “When they cast them..”
“I know,” I interrupted, moving his right leg into position as carefully as possible. “Flexible braces, no plaster.” He would need to be able to shift for the best chance to heal properly. “Give me a sec.”
Antoine was still out cold on the couch, so I took a minute to inspect his arm. Other than the bruising where the edges of the cast had dug in, everything felt fine. “I think he’s okay,” I mused. “The cast must have been too tight.” I studied the unconscious Omega and finally reached a decision. “I already know what his x-ray looks like, so I’m going to re-splint his arm and then we’ll go get you taken care of.”
“No problem,” Pete agreed, taking a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter
Thirteen
Antoine
The first thing I noticed when I woke up from my crazy dream was that I was alone. I was lying on my back on the couch in Keeson’s cabin and everything was quiet. The kind of quiet that guarantees no one else is around.
The kind of quiet that definitely doesn’t suggest that a sinfully handsome sheriff and an injured, seven-foot talking rabbit are wandering around.
Or that a wolf had just rescued the Easter Bunny.
Because there’s nothing weird about that.
I allowed myself a little snicker as I revisited my crazy dream. I mean, I’ve always had an overactive imagination, but this was hot fudge and marshmallow crème on an anchovy pizza at bedtime level of crazy dreams.
Then I noticed that the plaster cast lay discarded in the center of the floor and my arm was again braced in a makeshift splint. That was odd. Odder still was the wadded up brown fabric a few feet away from it. Fabric that looked suspiciously like what the Rabbit’s suit had been made from.
“Keeson?” I called out, unsurprised when there was no response. Well, that confirmed that I really was alone.
Retrieving my socks and boots from their spot the brick hearth surrounding the fireplace, I pulled them on and cautiously approached the back door. There, on the deck outside the door, was the sled I’d used to haul the injured bunny into the house. If any doubt remained, it was dispelled by the makeshift ramp I’d fashioned out of the hot tub cover to get the sled up the step, which was still in place.
Shaking my head, I squinted against the glare of late afternoon light on the fresh snow. Sure enough, a wisp of smoke still rose from the tiny cottage in the corner of the yard. Trudging through the runner tracks in the snow, I made my way to the cottage and slowly pushed the door open before stepping inside.
Yep. From the rows of neatly decorated eggs to the cases of candy to the shelves of toys and decorative baskets, it was exactly as I’d dreamed. It was sheer Easter perfection. Except for the eggs that were broken and splattered on the floor. And the massive metal pot – now with an equally large dent in one side – lying on the concrete floor.
It was freaking Easter Central.
I was looking around for something to clean the mess up with – after all, it wasn’t like Pete was going to be up to it any time soon – when I heard a familiar chime from the far corner. Tucked behind a colorful screen, I found a small office and, on the tiny desk, a cell phone very similar to the one I’d lost in the accident.
The message waiting light was blinking frantically. Before I’d even considered that I was violating someone’s privacy, I flicked my finger over the screen and revealed a cascade of text messages.
HAVE U GOT THE STUFF? IM DESPERATE, MAN!
I recoiled slightly at the all-caps typing and moved to the next.
102 dz d, 45 dz ch., 23 cs JB ASAP!
Then, the next.
MaryJane NOW!!!
I felt myself frowning. Was it possible that Keeson’s friend was dealing pot from the cute little cottage? If so, did Keeson know about it? I felt my face freeze in a frown. I mean, I knew marijuana was legal in some places, but Sharon Hill was definitely not one of them. Surely my Alpha wouldn’t be allowing someone to deal literally underneath his nose, would he?
Sighing, I shoved the phone in my pocket to show to Keeson when he returned and, grabbing a broom and mop from the corner by the desk, set to cleaning up the ruined eggs.
I was just finishing up when I heard the telltale hrrrmph of someone clearing their throat from behind me. Turning, I found Keeson watching me with an undecipherable look on his face.
“Is, um, Pete going to be okay?” I asked, propping the mop up in the bucket.
“Yes,” Keeson said calmly. “Thanks to you. If he’d been under that damn cauldron much longer or tried to get free on his own, who knows what would have happened. As it is, his left leg is only bruised but his right leg is broken in two places.”
“That’s awful.” I fiddled with the broom for a minute before placing it in the trash can. There was no way the egg yolk was going to wash out. Keeson was watching me intently and I shrugged nervously. “I didn’t think he’d mind me cleaning up a little. There were broken raw eggs everywhere.”
“I’m sure.” Keeson crossed to the large pot and, grabbing an iron bar that was leaning against the wall, levered the pot back to an upright posi
tion, resting on its three stubby legs. “There are a hundred easier and safer ways for him to boil those eggs, but he insists on the traditional method, even though it takes forever and it’s more dangerous than electric boilers would be.”
I nodded as if that all made sense, but, in reality, I was still reeling from the afternoon of discovery.
“Is he, ah, here now?”
Keeson shook his head. “They had to put pins in his leg, so I came home to check on you when they took him into surgery.” He took a couple of steps toward me and then stopped as if he was expecting me to run. “Are you okay? How’s your arm?” He hesitated. “I can take you back to the hospital to get another cast any time, I was just afraid that if you were still unconscious when we got there that they might admit you. I wasn’t sure how you would feel about that.”
I literally shuddered at the thought. “Yeah, thanks for not doing that.”
Keeson was still staring at me. “Your arm?” he finally prompted me again.
“Oh! Right.” I shrugged a little sheepishly. “I think it’s okay. I heal fast, so I don’t think I need another cast.” Really, I hadn’t thought I needed the first one, but I decided not to say that.
We stood and stared at each other awkwardly for several minutes before Keeson finally held his hand out, waiting to see if I would place mine in it. “Antoine, I really think we need to talk.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Keeson
After my earlier oversharing had resulted in Antoine passing out, I was more than a little hesitant about how he was going to react to me. Then there was also the minor little detail that I had no idea how much Pete had actually revealed to him. By the time that I’d finished splinting Antoine’s arm, the pain of shifting with broken bones had caught up with Pete and he’d been all but incoherent during the ride to the hospital.
When you combined those concerns with Antoine’s skittish behavior in the Bunny Hutch – Pete’s name for the Easter shed, not mine – I wasn’t exactly feeling comfortable about where we stood.
Back in the living room, I seated the nervous Omega on the sofa and dropped my ass onto the coffee table in front of him, putting us knee to knee.
“We need to talk,” I repeated. Antoine had returned to the house with me willingly, but he hadn’t actually responded the first time.
“Okay.”
His small, uncertain voice made me frown. “You’re not scared of me, are you, baby?” Just the thought of that made my chest hurt.
“I don’t think so,” Antoine mumbled, rubbing his splint with his good hand. “I’m just confused.” He managed a small smile. “Really, really confused.”
I was so relieved that I almost couldn’t hold back my laugh, but, to my credit, I did. Instead, asking somberly. “What about?”
“Ah, well,” he started, blowing out a breath. “I mean, is he always a rabbit?”
“Pete?” Like he could be talking about anyone else.
Antoine nodded.
“No. Not always,” I said slowly. “I mean, he’s a shifter, but you knew that, right?” Antoine just stared at me. He hadn’t realized the bunny was a shifter? Huh. “Um, yeah, anyway, since he’s a shifter, he can take either human or rabbit form, but he usually prefers a partial shift, like today.”
“And he’s, uh, really…” Antoine trailed off. “You know.”
“The Easter Bunny?” I made myself not wince as I said it.
Antoine nodded.
“Well, he’s the head Easter ambassador,” I hedged and then sighed when Antoine cocked his head. “Yeah, technically, he’s the Easter Bunny.”
Antoine surprised me by laughing. “Why do you look like you’re about to gag on those words?”
“It’s kind of a sore point,” I admitted. “After the last Better Business Bureau complaint, he promised he’d ease out of the business; sell his interest and find something else.”
Antoine’s eyes widened. “Oh! So you two are…involved?”
“What? No!” I denied immediately. “He’s my brother!” I sighed. “But surely you can understand why it wouldn’t look good for the sheriff’s brother to be mixed up in a mess like Easter?”
“Not really, no,” Antoine said frankly. “And how can your brother be a rabbit shifter and your cousin be a human who didn’t know shifters exist?”
Right. I kept forgetting that he knew Alexi.
“Adoption,” I explained.
“Oh, I should have guessed.” Antoine relaxed against the cushions. “So, why is it a problem for him to be the Easter Bunny?” He laughed under his breath. “He brought me some great stuff when I was young.”
I snorted. “Actually, that was probably your local Easter ambassador,” I huffed, punctuating with air quotes. “When Peter signed up as a Basket Distribution Coordinator, the Easter Bunnies of America, or EBOA, had already chopped most of the Eastern United States into territories.”
From the look on Antoine’s face, I knew I wasn’t making sense.
“Okay, let me start from the beginning,” I suggested. “Years ago, the Head Bunny decided that Easter could be handled much more effectively if he delegated the basket preparation and distribution to assistants. Now, each state is separated into Basket Distribution Territories,” I explained. “Each territory is headed by an Independent Easter Ambassador, or IEB, who is responsible for ensuring that all of the good children receive their baskets, that the appropriate number of eggs are decorated and hidden for egg hunts, and so on.”
Antoine seemed to be following along, so I continued. “Each IEB then recruits assistant ambassadors who contribute a dozen eggs and a basket to work under him. Then those AIEBs recruit their own AIEBs to work under them, and each of those recruits contributes two dozen eggs and two cases of candy, and so on.”
“But why?” Antoine finally spoke. “I mean, they give the stuff away, so why would anyone want to put that much effort into giving out free candy and eggs?”
“Endorsements, baby.” I shook my head. “Think about all those church Easter egg hunts, the community picnics, the prayer breakfasts.” I snorted. “Hell, even the White House has an Easter Egg Roll, right?”
Antoine nodded slowly.
“Well, years ago, EBOA very quietly trademarked the word Easter, so, now, to use it, they all have to pay an annual fee. The money adds up.”
“Holy crap,” Antoine whistled through his teeth. “Easter’s a freaking pyramid scheme?”
“Pretty much,” I agreed. “A legal one, but still. And, like all pyramid schemes, the guys at the bottom get screwed which makes for unhappy investors. That’s why I wanted Peter to get out of it.”
“That’s unreal,” Antoine gasped, obviously still stunned. “Why don’t they tell everyone? I can’t believe no one knows about this!”
“Ah, simple really. They can’t. Before a potential recruit can even apply to attend a sales pitch, they are sworn to silence and have to sign a bond-backed non-disclosure agreement. If any of them so much as whispered a word about it, they’d be up to their pink wiggly noses in trouble. Now you know why I insisted that Pete not use my property to run his warren of ambassadors.”
“If it’s so secret, how do you know so much about it?”
I just grinned and patted Antoine’s thigh. “I’ll never tell.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Antoine
As I sat and listened to the incredible tale that Keeson was spinning, I couldn't help but be self-conscious about the cell phone that was vibrating in my pocket at regular intervals. After all, if Keeson had told Pete that he wasn't supposed to be running his warren of ambassadors, as Keeson referred to it, from the property, I had to suspect that the cell phone was probably a tightly guarded secret.
“Are you okay?” Keeson asked suddenly, lifting his hand to stroke my cheek. “You’re a little pale.”
“What? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” I assured him, forcing mys
elf not to squirm. “It’s just a lot to take in, you know?”
Keeson laughed heartily. “Yeah, I actually do know.” He stood and stretched. “We should have about another hour or so before Pete is out of surgery. I’m starving and I still owe you a pizza.” He looked at me expectantly. “What do you say?”
“Oh. Sure,” I agreed quickly. Since I still had my boots on, I was ready. “Let’s go.”
With the storm finished and the plows fighting to clear the roads, it wasn’t long before Keeson and I was seated at a little bistro table next to a cheerfully crackling fire in a semi-private corner of a cute little pizzeria, complete with an immense open-air wood-fired pizza oven and old-fashioned red-checked café curtains at the windows.
“This is amazing.” I knew I was staring as I took in every little detail. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Honestly? Yes,” Keeson admitted with a grin. “It’s not usually worth the effort to cook for one.”
“For one? Pete doesn’t eat with you?”
Keeson snorted and shook his head. “No, he has a condo in town, but there isn’t room for all of his, ahem, hobby stuff.”
“So you let him keep it in the little house.”
Keeson nodded. “I wasn’t using it for anything, so it wasn’t a problem until complaints started to surface on the BBB site.”
Something occurred to me. “But I thought that there was a gag order or something to keep them from complaining?”
Keeson nodded. “It keeps them from going into detail about the organization,” he agreed. “But the complaints simply reference EBOA as a holiday supply organization. It’s a loophole.”
The waitress sashayed over to our table and the conversation turned back to the task at hand.
“What’ll it be, Sheriff?” A blue-eyed blond who couldn’t be a day over nineteen, she was absolutely adorable and I had to hold in my laugh when she batted her heavily made-up eyes at my date.
