Page 3 of Savoring Her Snake

“This has been fun,” I say roughly, shrugging Rylee’s elbow off. “I have things to do.”

“What things?” Rylee asks.

“Anything,” I exhale harshly.

“Rude.” Rylee moves away and closer to Sally.

“Are you staying the night?” I ask Sally.

“We planned to stay a few days.” She smiles.

“Great.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Not yet. It wasn’t planned. I thought we’d find something after the fight.”

I call Bane. “Get the ladies a room. Pay for it. Make sure they are taken care of; everything is on me.”

“How long?” Bane asks.

“How many days?” I ask them.

“Five days,” Roxanne says.

“Hear that?”

“Yes.”

“Escort them to the hotel.”

“Done,” Bane says. I end the call and ignore their soft expressions.

“Go. Have fun.” I turn the doorknob. “Don’t get in trouble.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Sally asks.

“None at all,” Rylee smirks. “I’m coming with. I want a drink.”

“Shit.” I glare at her. “I’m not bailing you out,” I threaten.

“You will.” She moves to me, kisses my cheek, and then loops her arm through Sally’s. “He will—don’t worry. Night, bro.” She urges the ladies to move, and I watch them disappear into the crowd.

“Fuck.” I escape through the door and make sure to lock it. I prowl deeper into the dark, unlocking the next door and entering the code to ensure no one can follow. When I come to the last door, my shoulders relax. Beyond the steel is my sanctuary. I exhale once I’m on the other side and enter a long hallway.

When I bought the building, I also purchased the land around it. At the time, the basement was small and used for storage. Now, it has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, and an empty room. At the end of the hallway, there is a second exit. I try to always be prepared. I would hate to be trapped with only one way out.

I walk to the last door on the left and enter my bedroom. I stop at the end of the bed and reach for the buttons of my shirt. My usual apparel is dark and covers me from neck to feet. Everything in my closet is black or blue, or variations of each. I have never welcomed anyone in my room. If I’m with a woman, it is usually fast, in the dark, and at a hotel. I don’t do relationships.

I shrug off my shirt and fold it neatly, placing it on the black comforter and unbuttoning my pants. I put my phone, keys, and wallet on the table beside the bed and strip to my skin. My body is covered with tattoos. When I am with a woman, I dim the color; otherwise, the bright colors would blind them. It takes energy, and I don’t want to waste it, making them look normal for long periods. Most are electric blue, like my animal. I didn’t have anyone put them on my body. As the years pass, new ones show up. I can’t explain why or how the images were chosen.

I am a three-hundred-year-old snake shifter and have lived most of those years alone, without a family or a community of shifters like me. My face, hands, and neck are the only body parts without ink. I believe more appear as I gain power, but I fear that if I don’t find a mate, more will show up, and when I have no more room, I die.

There was never a handbook on how to be a snake shifter. I wish there was.

Picking up my clothes, I put them in the laundry basket and move to the bed, sliding the covers down. My phone buzzes as I sit, and Micah’s name flashes on the screen.

“Did you know Sally was coming?” I ask as I answer.

“Of course. We’re best friends,” he says, and I drop to my back.

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