Etienne (The Shifters of Shotgun Row Book 1)
Ever Coming
Etienne
Deep in the heart of the Louisiana bayou lurks danger … and love.
Welcome to Shotgun Row, far away from Mardi Gras and the French Quarter. Down here, gators aren’t the most terrifying thing to prowl the shadows, hunting their next prey.
And some of them turn back to humans when the tourists aren’t looking.
None of them have found a mate. Their beasts are too fierce. Their manners too gnarly. Their rush to violence too vengeful and swift.
Then Tansy moves into town, taking over her grandmother’s bakery. Etienne knows there’s something special about this latest addition to the motley crew of Shotgun Row. And he’s determined to learn everything he can about her, no matter what it takes.
This gator-shifter might have just found his match.
Shotgun Row
Etienne
There’s nothing like waking up pissed off. Really. I mean there’s nothing like it. It gives me a boost coffee just can’t handle. Coming out of my cold sleep wasn’t easy, but anger did me just fine.
I stepped out of my shotgun shack on stilts onto a porch over the swamp and took in a deep breath through my nose. Nothing smelled off, except Justice’s idea of breakfast roasting over the fire near the common place. From the stench, he must’ve caught a coon the night before. Nasty-tasting things. Didn’t smell like he took the time to remove the fur, either—the beast.
The murky water was still beneath my walkway that led to the land. All was well in my little corner of Shotgun Row.
My stomach grumbled under my tan button-down shirt as my feet hit the muddy bank. The polyester always felt like a foreign skin. I reveled in the moment I got home and could take it off. It itched the fuck out of me.
“Come on, Roy. Let’s get to work.” I jumped into my old truck and flipped on Roy Orbison on the radio. Food was on my mind as I waved at the boys on my way out of the bayou and into Juneau. I was right. Justice didn’t remove the fur. As I passed, I saw him in the distance, digging into the damned carcass like Smeagol—looked like the som-bitch was still squirming.
It took me a half hour to get to town. Nothing was the same since Marie passed. Nothing. The air smelled different. The cars drove a little slower. There was no red neon sign as I entered town, telling me there were hot donuts.
“What the fuck?” I turned down ole Roy, not wanting him to distract me as I came out of the row of trees and onto Goliath Street. Up ahead, a red siren sign was lit. The words ‘Hot Fresh Donuts’ flashed, calling me in. No matter who you were, fresh hot donuts were everyone’s crack.
I looked around for the crowd of people in shock. What if Marie had come back from the dead? Wouldn’t be so strange around here. Maybe the woman had some Voodoo tricks up her sleeve.
Rocks and dirt flew up as I parked in front like I owned the place.
“Hey!” A woman came out from the front door with fury on her face. “You mind? I’ve got customers who want to taste breakfast, not dirt. Got it?” Her hands were on a pair of curvy hips I bet led to an equally grab-worthy ass. Her Yankee accent hurt my ears. I reached up to them and then checked my fingers for blood. She spoke nasally as fuck.
Hoity Toity as fuck, too.
“You sound like her,” I said, shutting the door to my truck and walking toward her, ignoring her little temper tantrum. She obviously didn’t know who she was speaking to. “The words, not the accent. Marie was Coonass as grits.”
“I bet so. She raised me after my mom died. You coming in for breakfast, or you just here to make a ruckus?”
A ruckus. No one around here said ruckus, and her shrill tone made me grind my jaw back and forth.
I doubted very seriously Marie had raised this girl. If she had, she would’ve taught her a few manners.
“I’m here for breakfast if anything’s edible.” I muttered the last part under my breath. No need in making enemies just because she was being a pain in my ass.
“Come on in, then. I’m waiting for someone.”
I attempted to go in after her, to hold the door open like a good man should, but she insisted on me going in first.
Yeah, she definitely wasn’t from around here.
“Morning, Etienne,” the whole place seemed to say in unison.
“Morning, everyone. Any good?” I asked, sparing a glance at the new person in Marie’s bakery who was pushing her fiery-red curls from her face as she came back in from trying to scold me outside.
I didn’t care who was making the donuts; the place would always be Marie’s.
They all “mmed” and nodded with their mouths stuffed. I was usually the first, or one of the first, to know when a newcomer came to town. Why was this one kept a secret?
“I’ll have a plain glazed. Cup of coffee. Please, ma’am.”
The little spitfire, no taller than five foot was in front of me now, leaning over the counter, giving me a good look at all her pastries.
“You have two different colored eyes,” the woman said out of nowhere. I still didn’t fucking know her name, which was a real problem. My gator growled inside me. The rat bastard wanted to know her name, too—and a whole lot more about her. Inhaling deeply, I took in her scent. Mostly because she was a newcomer and I needed to memorize her scent, and a little because I wanted to know what she smelled like beneath the sugar and the cinnamon—except all I smelled was more sugar, cinnamon, and a hint of vanilla. She smelled like a cozy winter or her grandmother’s cookies.