Running Free (Woodland Creek)(3)

I know the hand but more importantly, I know the scent. Earl reeks of cheap cologne and whiskey.

“If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you take it off my thigh,” I threaten, the bite in my voice harsh.

“Jesus, Frankie. You can’t wiggle that ass in front of the patrons and not expect a man to do a thing about it,” Earl grumbles but wisely removes his hand.

I cast a glare spiked with venom in his direction. The coward shrinks back and shakes his head at me. He’s a Fox shifter who’s been after my ass for years. Problem is, I know he’s crawling with more than just fleas in his pants and I won’t touch his nasty-ass with a ten-foot pole.

“You’re not a man, Earl. You’re a girl with a goatee,” I retort with a laugh and resume screwing the lightbulb into the fixture above the bar.

Climbing off when I finish, now that the yellow glow lights up this end of the room, I flit my eyes over the crowd. Tonight’s a Monday which means we’re littered with our usual customers. Earl has rejoined his buddies at the table and I hear my name grumbled, followed by laughing from his goons.

I roll my eyes and saunter over to Gordon. Old man Gordon is human but everyone thinks he’s crazy — always spouting about seeing “things” in the woods around Woodland Creek, Indiana. We shifters know he’s referring to our kind, but we never let on. In fact, we make him think he’s crazy by laughing off his stories. Sometimes I feel bad for the old man but then I remember I don’t care.

The only person I truly care for is Otis Brock. At seventeen, I landed in this blip on the map of a town without a dime to my name. Having spent five years trying to wrap my head around the fact that I sometimes turned into a f*cking dog, I was tired and ready to slit my wrists. This world was always more than I could handle — I was nothing more than a scrappy bottom feeder.

Otis Brock, however, disagreed.

One night, he found me prowling around his trashcans. Instead of running me off or attempting to capture me, he spoke to me. He could have feared me, being that in my shifted form I’m a badass Doberman, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked me my name.

I wasn’t used to humans speaking to me in my animal form — for they knew I couldn’t speak back. But Otis was asking me as if I would actually answer. My trust in anyone was non-existent, so I simply watched him with a guarded look and a growl rumbling in my throat. With a resonated sigh, I watched in awe as he gracefully transformed from that of a middle-aged man to a large owl with beautiful grey feathers. His clothes and glasses had fallen to a heap on the dirt beneath him and he stared at me with wide, knowing eyes.

I had never seen anyone like myself. There were a few dogs in the pound who watched me with human-like eyes, so I wondered if there were more like me. But not once had I met anyone else.

After Otis shifted back, he redressed and approached me. My tail wagged against my wishes and I was grateful when he scooped me into his arms. That night, he gave me a bath and fed me leftover roast. It wasn’t until later that night in his guest bedroom that I shifted back into my human form. Thankfully, knowing what I was, Otis had left me a pile of old clothes to change into.

He showed me kindness in a way no other person in this godforsaken world ever had before.

“You’ll never figure old Gordon out,” a voice chuckles, startling me from my thoughts of Otis.

Turning to the voice, I force a smile when I see my ex, Luca. Luca is like myself but he’s a Wolf shifter. He’s the alpha of his motorcycle gang pack, the Grey Lotharios, a mix of not just wolves but bears and tigers as well. The man is an animal in the sack but he couldn’t keep his dick out of the whores in this town long enough for us to have any hope of a real relationship. We’ve remained quasi-friends ever since.

“Poor guy,” I mutter as I make my way over to the tap to pour Luca’s favorite brew. “Have you seen Acey?”

Acey Larson is one of the nephews of a member of Luca’s pack — a Wolf shifter. His father was last seen with a female wizard and never returned, leaving the poor teenager to fend for himself. Even though he isn’t but sixteen, I told him he could wash dishes and clean tables for minimum wage. The kid has been fairly reliable and I’ve been poorly attempting to guide him through his shifting that he’s yet to find control of. His uncle, Pete Larson, is a sorry piece of shit who won’t explain a damn thing to him. What I can’t explain or help with, Otis steps in for.

“Naw, does he work tonight?”

I frown and slide over his beer to him. “He should have been here twenty minutes ago. You know how I worry about him.”

His grey eyes skim over my cleavage before he regards me with furrowed eyebrows. “Always were a softie behind that bitchy fa?ade,” he flirts and raises his hand to flick the metal heart hanging from my spiked collar around my neck.

Otis claims I’m rebellious but I say I’m owning up to who I truly am. And wearing a collar with a “bitch” tag seems fitting. Besides, when I’m wearing clothes, it matches. I have a thing for dark, edgy clothes. Tonight, I’m wearing cutoff jean shorts and a black Old Town Bar T-shirt that I cut to bits to show off my neon pink bra underneath.

“Bite me,” I huff and swat his hand away from me.

“Aww,” he says with a growl and raises a smug brow. “If I recall, you were the one who liked to bite.”

Before, Luca could say naughty things to me and I’d already be blowing him in the bathroom. That was back when I was na?ve and actually thought we could have something real. I’d been stupid and for once put my heart on the line. Luca crushed it and continues to act like it was no big deal. I’ll be friends with the hot Wolf shifter, but nothing more.