Book 1 <Owl Be Bear For You>
"Men don't make passes at girls who—"
Mara looked up and stared pointedly through her glasses over the long countertop covered with books. A very muscular, cocky guy who made her heart start pounding was staring at her. His half—smile was arrogant and self—assured. He knew he was getting to her.
And he was right.
But she wasn't about to let him know that.
"—who date asses," she muttered, finishing his sentence. She said it quietly, under her breath. Mara wasn't the type to challenge people directly. But she wasn't going to say nothing.
He cocked one eyebrow, the smile fading.
Game, set—and match. Mara returned her attention to the stack of books on the counter at the library's main desk. He was just some dude who wandered in, looking for his wife and kids, right? Or maybe he drove here with his grandma.
Worse—he might be visiting the police station next door, where ex—cons met their parole officers.
Mara sized him up. Tall—well over her own five—foot—ten body. Bulging biceps. Clean navy polo shirt with the hint of a tattoo poking out from under his right sleeve, just above the elbow. Dark brown hair, a little too long for him to be a businessman.
Nasty scar across one cheekbone. Twinkling grey eyes. If he took two steps back she'd be able to see his pants and shoes, but she didn't need to.
Dad. He was just a young dad—
"Aren't you a feisty little librarian. You that feisty in bed?" he growled. Growled. His pupils dilated and the irises went from grey to amber, his nose bridge broadening, hair turning a burnished gold. The skin on his forearms stretched as his muscles expanded, the bones lengthening, his body becoming bigger, as if he took a breath that never ended.
Mara hated July and August. Hated these months with a passion, and it was only August 2. It was peak brand new shapeshifter season. Sigh.
"Bet those sweet legs of yours would feel so fine wrapped around my waist. Or that ass, slapping up against my hips while I'm behind you and—" He made a primal sound from the back of his throat as he licked his lips and sized her up like a starving man who finds a bite to eat.
Oh, no.
He was definitely a shifter. Lion shifter, if his prodromal characteristics were any hint of what was to come.
She knew the type. This one was new to it
weren't they all if they couldn't control it?
, which meant he had to be between eighteen and twenty—five. Twenty—five was the oldest age you experienced The Morph. And it was always the new ones who hit on her right as they had their first shift.
Which meant she was right.
He was an ex—con and he had been visiting his parole officer next door when The Morph suddenly hit him.
And that meant she was in danger.
Big danger.
"Look," she said in a soothing voice, trying to distract him while she pressed the emergency button under the counter. Security should be here within a minute. Untrained shifters were a known public safety problem and this was why they did untrained shifter drills, like fire drills and tornado drills.
Another thing to be careful about, just in case...
"You seem like a nice enough guy," she continued. "Maybe I should have a drink with you. Go out. Have a nice time together." Keep him talking. Stall. Mara's eyes darted around the airy room, searching for vulnerable patrons. Kids and old people, mostly. She didn't see any.
Her stomach twisted into tiny little knots of rage and disgust, but she smiled anyhow. Pretending to flirt with him would buy her some time.
Buy the security team some time, hopefully. Where were they?
"Yeah," he said, the word slow and drawn out, filled with the obvious. Golden irises the color of tequila met her eyes, the bridge of his nose widening, fine layers of fur sprouting on his skin. He didn't want to go out for a drink. He wasn't asking her for a date.
He was ready to mate.
She was just a backside to him. A piece of ass. Nothing more. Instinct overrode everything when it came to shifters.
Which was why she couldn't stand them.
"I'm free in an hour. How about we go get a drink? What's your name?" she asked him. Repeating the same questions always helped. It calmed the new shifters. Gave the tiny portion of rational brain left in them something to try to think about.
If she leaned forward just a bit, he'd be fooled more. She could keep him talking. If she kept him talking in human form, she could buy time.
If not? She had thirty seconds. At best.
How did she know that?
Experience.
Bad experience.
Her fingers reached down and nervously touched the gouge on her hip. A bear shifter had done that to her two years ago.
Blood pumped through her faster than a crowd rushing into a Wal—Mart on Black Friday.
"Clint. I'm Clint," he said. "Rhymes with—"
Thwap!
The sound of the dart being fired filled the air as Mara dropped to the ground, half from panic and half from training. Clint roared and jumped over the counter, but his powerful legs just bent in half and he lost energy in mid—jump.
She looked up and saw his expression, eyes confused, as he went back to his human face.
And drooled all over her.
"Ewwwwwwwwww," she gasped, the soles of her shoes on the ground, knees pulled up to her chin as she rested with her back against the wall behind the counter. The security guards rushed the desk. It all happened so fast that patrons were only now gawking, realizing what was happening in real time. Whispers and cries of surprise echoed through the large foyer in front of her desk.
"Untrained shifter at the Lockington Library. Repeat, we have a sedated untrained shifter at the Lockington Library. Need transport," Jim, the head of security, barked into his walkie—talkie. Mara heard him huffing with the exertion of rushing to her aid.
Not bad. By her count, they got there in under sixty seconds.
Just in the nick of time.
Mara wiped the drool off her cheek and pushed herself into a full sitting position against the back wall. She hugged her knees and rested her forehead against the backs of her hands.
"You okay, Mara?" Jim shouted from above. Jim was a retired police chief from two towns over who was tall, lean, and had a kindly face like a farmer's. But he could bring a disoriented new shifter down in under a minute.
Age meant nothing when it came to safety.
"Yeah, Jim. I'll be fine. Just a little shaken." Her voice sounded tinny. Like she was talking through a paper towel tube.
And then suddenly, no one was talking at all as she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
Dr. Jack Karsten felt the emergency before the call even came in. Something primal inside him was on edge. Had been all night. Flexing his arms, tight then loose, made his joints ache with the need for release.
He'd seen it all that night, working third shift during his first year as a resident. Some guy had come in earlier with a glass soda bottle shoved up his ass, claiming he'd slipped on the floor and oops—bottle up the anus. Another man had swallowed his wife's vibrator.
While it was running.
The little seven year old with a marble stuck in his ear had been a welcome relief.
The full moon outside made Jack twitch. August 2. All of July and August were the peak months when people learned they were actually shifters. One and a half days down, too many more to go.
He wasn't a shifter, but he knew that the moon made so many of the shifters change. Most could control it, but the new ones going through The Morph would be out there tonight, unaware of how radically their lives were about to be altered. Add a new moon to shifter season and you got unrelenting chaos.
