Southern Wyoming
~ Summer 1993
Jackie nodded
and walked quickly, following the arrows. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait in
line or share the facilities. After the blessed relief of peeing, she used soap
and water from the sink to make herself look as presentable as possible under
the circumstances. Her light brown skin already made her stand out, because the
farther north she’d traveled, the fewer people she’d seen who looked like her.
She threw the soiled paper towels in the trash and eyed herself critically in
the mirror. At least now she didn’t look like a dangerous fugitive who’d
escaped a violent pack of leopard shifters who wanted her back alive or dead.
Despite the warmth of the restroom, she shivered.
“Get back to the
plan, Jackie,” she told her mirrored self. She couldn’t afford to fall apart,
or everything she was afraid of would come to pass. She bent over to drink
straight from the sink’s faucet, then wiped the water off her face. She
re-centered her her backpack and went out into the convenience store.
The smells of
warm bread and sizzling hamburgers drew her like a lodestone toward the
restaurant section, but she couldn’t afford to waste the time or the money. She
sternly made herself march into the back aisle and open the refrigerator door
for the lunch meats and cheeses.
She got a whiff
of a tantalizing scent as she pulled her selections off the hooks. Not food,
but something intensely interesting. Her sense of hearing and smell had
magnified with each passing week of her pregnancy. She wished she knew if that
was typical for a human woman carrying a shifter’s child but she had no one to
ask. Certainly not the lying son-of-a-bitch leopard who’d gotten her pregnant,
despite her precautions. She hoped he was roasting in hell, but he probably
wasn’t. Justice for the privileged rich, regardless of skin color or species,
had a whole different set of rules.
She let go of
the refrigerator door and turned toward the scent, only to run headlong into a
man who’d just turned down the aisle.
“Sorry,” she
said, even as he said the same word. She regained control of her suddenly
clumsy feet. She got the impression of chiseled cheekbones and a square jaw before
she dropped her gaze out of habit, one learned from living with volatile
shifters. His scent hit her like a freight train a moment later, all woodsy and
leathery and mouth-wateringly male.
No one, not even
the father of her baby, back when she’d thought she was in love with him and he
with her, had ever smelled that good. She took a step back, because if she
hadn’t, she’d have been tempted to stick her face in the vee of his
short-sleeved T-shirt and lick.
“My fault,” he
said. “Are you…” He trailed off and audibly swallowed.
She made the
mistake of looking up at him and confirmed that he was the sexiest man she’d
ever seen, even counting the handsome actors she’d thrilled over as a teenager.
His brown skin and features spoke of an ethnic heritage something like hers,
and his warm, coppery-brown eyes threatened to drown her on the spot. His wide
shoulders and arms looked strong enough to protect her from anything. The few
tight coils of hair on his muscled chest mirrored the close-cropped hair on his
head. His low-slung jeans and boots completed the mesmerizing package.
She swallowed
and took another step back, away from temptation. “I’m fine.”
Except she
wasn’t. She wanted to set fire to all her plans in favor of getting to know the
man standing in front of her. For his part, he looked stunned.
She shook
herself. Not, not, not happening. She was a pregnant fugitive with enough
secrets to write her own soap opera, and an implacable enemy on her tail. A
human, no matter how tall, broad-shouldered, and sexy, was no match for a
criminal cat-shifter pride with claws and teeth, and vengeance on their minds.
She clutched her
meat and cheese packages to her chest and turned away, even though her now
throbbing body and aching breasts begged her to get closer. She’d learned to
ride out the hormonal roller coaster of being pregnant, so she could damn well
ride this out, too.
Danielle K. Roux is a writer, teacher, and historian. Her first novel August Prather is Not Dead Yet is currently available in e-book and paperback through Parliament House Press (and soon will be available in hardcover and audio book). Danielle has always loved reading and telling stories – especially stories with adventure, mystery, humor, romance and at least a little bit of spookiness. Not Dead Yet has all this covered, with a story-within-a-story structure and a quest for immortality in the early twentieth century paired with a present-day road trip. There’s a lot of existential crisis and a male/male romance that is sweet and steamy.
Amy is a Canadian urban fantasy and horror author. Her work revolves around monsters, magic, mythology, and mayhem. She started writing in her early teens, and never stopped. She loves building unique worlds filled with fun characters and intense action.
