Page 2 of Shifter Mate Magic
Two men who looked enough alike to be brothers were arguing in front of the beer case. They wore loose, motorcycle-club leather vests over their dusty jeans and T-shirts and stank of stale sweat and belched beer.
The taller man pulled the six-pack of yellow cans out of the shorter man’s arms and shoved it back in the case. “No way am I drinking that swill.” He grabbed a carton of brown bottles and shoved it into the other man’s arms.
The shorter man shoved the carton back into the other’s hands and grabbed the cans again. “I’m not pissing Dad off. You can fucking buy your own.”
Jackie hesitated, then told herself just to get her milk and get out. She marched to the door, opened it, and grabbed the first chocolate milk carton she saw. Her baby picked that moment to kick hard and sharp. “Shouldn’t have watched that kung fu movie last week,” she muttered toward her belly.
“Hi, there, foxy lady. I’m Wiley.”
She flinched in surprise. Somehow, the shorter man with the dark eyes and thin mouth had snuck up on her and was standing close enough to grab her.
“Your face’d be prettier if you’d smile.” He was only a couple of inches taller than her five-foot-eight height. He scented the air like a dog. “Damn, woman. You smell fucking great.” His eyes narrowed, and his focus intensified.
She backed away, fear rising. Only shifters noticed her scent like that. She couldn’t help it that she smelled like a sexy baby factory to shifter males, even when she was pregnant. It was just her luck to run into shifters in an all-night truck stop. She’d had enough of the lazy, greedy breed to last a lifetime.
“Back off,” she said firmly, dropping her arm so her helmet’s strap slid down her forearm into her waiting hand.
The taller man came up behind Wiley. “How much for a BJ?”
It took her a moment to realize he thought she was a truck-stop prostitute. “Not for sale,” she snapped. She’d take time to be outraged later.
She backed up another step, but Wiley grabbed her arm. The movement knocked the milk carton out of her hand. The carton bounced once and began leaking.
The taller man eyed her stomach and sneered. “Everything’s for sale if the price is right. Fat girls like you oughta be grateful for what you can get.”
Her jaw dropped.Fat girl?
The taller man weaved a little and reeked of alcohol. It took pounding down a lot of hard liquor for a shifter to get drunk. He scented the air, and his smile turned feral. “We’ll show you a real good time.”
Her fear and anger spiked. “I said no!” She stomped hard on Wiley’s instep, then kneed him.
He buckled in pain. Not even shifters were immune to nut shots.
She pivoted and ran toward the bathrooms where she’d noticed a back door. Adrenaline gave her feet wings.
She heard curses behind her as she rounded the corner into the hallway. She hit the door’s exit bar at top speed and burst through it into the wide alley. The buildings cast darker shadows at dusk. She stumbled as she lost traction on the dirt and gravel, but recovered and took off to the left, away from the multiple trash bins and toward the well-lit asphalt parking lot. Maybe she could get help from some of the truckers.
She’d almost made it to the pavement when she heard pounding footsteps and growling behind her. Acting on instinct, she veered right, then used her momentum to spin around. She bashed the tall, drunk man on the head with her helmet.
He staggered and fell to one knee. “Fuck!”
She launched into a run, only to get jerked back when he grabbed the back hem of her jacket. She spun sideways, out of his grasp, and swung at him again with the helmet.
He blocked it with his forearm, then ripped the helmet from her grasp and threw it away.
She backed up.
He clambered to his feet and smiled. “Feisty! I like that.” He reached out long arms to corral her, but she dodged away.
She fumbled in the pocket of her cargo jeans and pulled out the slender, rusty pipe, then powered it.
From the back doorway, a big dog—no, a coyote burst out and landed. It trotted straight for her. The coyote was larger than its animal-world counterpart, as some shifters were.
The tall man grabbed for her again.
“No!” She thwacked his exposed wrist with her pipe. A blue spark flashed. He jerked back and howled in pain. She jabbed the pipe into his stomach.
He fell sideways and spasmed like he’d been hit with a cattle prod. Which he had, after a fashion, because that’s what the magic she’d stored in the tube did.
