Chasing The Night: Big Easy Shifters: Book Three

by Knox, Abby

  Chasing The Night

  Big Easy Shifters: Book Three

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2020 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  First edition published 2018

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Proofread by Kasi Alexander

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  This second edition re-release is dedicated The Hangover in general, and Zach Galifianakis specifically.

  Chasing The Night

  Part three of the Big Easy Shifters

  By Abby Knox

  The morning after …

  Chastity was on the prowl at her cousin’s bachelorette party, bound and determined to finally lose her virginity. Mission accomplished, probably, but she doesn’t remember much about the main event. Now, on the hunt for coffee and carbs, the de-flowered debutante’s walk of shame has her missing her mystery man at every turn.

  Gavin wakes up naked and alone in the woods, with vague clues and fuzzy memories of the one-night stand that unfolded after his best friend’s bachelor party. But this wolf does not do one-night stands. He’s determined to find this perfect woman who rocked his world, and claim her for his own.

  Chasing The Night is the third installment in the updated and revised Big Easy Shifters series (formerly titled Her Big Easy Wedding). These titles are fun, quick reads full of heat, obsessed mates, strong-willed debutants, rich daddies, claws, fangs, and happy endings!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Abby Knox

  Chapter One

  Chastity, 8:30 a.m.

  The bride’s cousin from Baton Rouge was having a rough morning.

  Chastity DuChamp opened one sleep-crusty eye. She shouldn’t have done that. The sunlight streaming through the blinds instantly seared right through her eyeballs and into the back of her skull.

  Whenever she visited her cousin Rosemary in New Orleans and slept overnight in one of the many guest rooms overlooking the lake, she always woke with a slight bit of confusion over where she was, at first. But that feeling would dissipate in a few seconds as wakefulness took hold. There was always the lovely four-poster bed and a huge window seat with plush pillows and blankets. She would often be awakened with the aroma of coffee and fresh beignets made by Aunt Betsy.

  This morning was not anything like that.

  This little room was not becoming more familiar to her the more she woke up. She peeked around for clues. The only thing 100 percent certain was that she was definitely not in her aunt and uncle’s mansion in the Garden District. This room had a popcorn ceiling, for starters. And these sheets were not Egyptian cotton.

  How she got here was another mystery. The only clear memory was that she had started the evening at Rosemary’s bachelorette party last night, which had begun at the mansion with a five-course dinner. Having been excited to get the party started as early as possible, Chastity had picked at her food and drunk mass quantities of champagne. The hours following that dinner were a haze of tipsy, silly giddiness. And then the bar-hopping started, at which point things got hazier, more silly, and possibly wandered into the territory of downright poor judgment. And what was a bachelorette party without some breathtakingly stupid choices? Chastity was sure there were plenty of other families’ bachelorette parties that were nothing more than tea and cake, but those people were not the kind to celebrate her cousin Rosemary.

  Rosemary, like Chastity, was a panther shifter and a constant source of headaches for the DuChamp clan. Unlike Chastity, Rosemary did things her own way and was not a panther who could be contained by her daddy or controlled by his grip on the family purse strings.

  Chastity, however, was not used to getting her way. Turns out, one night of sowing her wild oats was all it took to land Chastity in trouble.

  But not too much trouble. After all, she hadn’t woken up in jail, nor did she feel any sense of dread about anything that might have taken place. Judging from Chastity’s current state of not knowing where she was and feeling like a live jazz band was hoofing it through her skull at full volume, she’d say the party was a roaring success.

  Chastity gingerly rolled to one side, stood up, and realized she had fallen asleep in her party dress. She had a pattern of its sequins embedded into the skin of her arms. Those arms were now searing with the pins-and-needles sensation of having been slept on for a very long time. Shaking them awake, she thanked God her legs were working, if a bit wobbly, because she had the urge to pee more than she had ever had in her life. She looked around. There was a door to a small room in the corner. That had better be the bathroom, she thought, because either way, she was going to pee in it.

  It was indeed a bathroom, and after she had relieved herself, she checked her reflection in the shabby little wall mirror.

  This was the one day she was thankful for bad lighting. Never mind that she had skipped her nightly makeup-removal-and-moisturizing routine, because the real story here was the giant hickey peeking out of the neckline of her dress.

  She watched her eyes grow huge and fearful in the mirror.

  Had she been making out with a giant leech? Because that was the only level of suckage that might have produced such a bruise. No way that was going away before the wedding in two days. Shit. Forget about her mother killing her; that old lady would have to get in line behind the bride, Rosemary, and Aunt Betsy.

  Focus, Chas. Focus. Where are you? And who were you kissing last night? Chas closed her eyes, and then she sniffed. A man’s scent. All over her. Like, really all over her.

  She did not hate this scent, whoever it was. Too bad he wasn’t here so she could interrogate him about this giant hickey.

  She stumbled back to the bed to look for her phone. The maps apps and GPS could tell her where she was and how to get back to the mansion. She could probably enlist some of the other bridesmaids to help her sort her evening out. She didn’t want to bother Rosemary with any of this.

  As she dug through the mess of sheets and blankets, Chastity got her biggest clue about the night’s events. There, in the middle of the bed, was a small spot of blood. Her mind raced.

  On one hand…dammit, I missed the whole thing. And then, there was the issue of an oath. A magical pact with her overbearing father. If the thing happened that she thought happened last night, her father would already know, and he’d be hunting down the man who had deflowered his Chastity.

  Now she was desperate to find her partner in last night’s crimes. She looked around the room for clues, but all she found were her pashmina and her shoes. There was something else, too: a soreness on her butt.

  What in the world?


  She lifted her dress and twisted her torso enough to see what it was. A bandage. She lifted the tape around the bandage to reveal a tattoo of a Valentine heart that looked like it had been clawed by a wild animal. On the heart was a letter “G” written in elaborate calligraphy.

  G? What—or who—is G?

  She needed to find her phone immediately.

  Oh man, she also needed water. And coffee. And a large JB Chicken crispy breakfast biscuit slathered in butter and ghost pepper jelly. And ibuprofen, stat. But first, her phone.

  Ignoring the little blood stain on the bed that most likely represented the end of her innocence, she kept rifling through the sheets, pillows, and blankets. Finally, she found her clutch purse under the bed.

  She opened it and breathed a sigh of relief as she plopped onto the floor. A few undamaged brain cells must have started working again, because she suddenly had the brilliant idea of looking at her photos. Yes! Of course! Surely there would be photo evidence of what had happened last night.

  She ignored the little red dot that indicated she had several unopened text messages — she had resolved not to keep her parents’ up to speed on her first night of true freedom, so no doubt they’d been texting her for updates — and tapped the photo icon on her phone screen. Up popped an album marked “G.”

  Because, of course. Drunk Chastity had gone to the trouble of creating a whole separate photo album. But Drunk Chastity could not be bothered to do any favors for future Sober Chastity by fully naming the dude who presumably had “taken her flower.” That would be her mother’s phrase for it. Her mother, the sweetest and most clueless of all the panther shifters, liked to assign cute names to everything. Virginity was a Flower. Vagina was a Whoo-hoo. Pussy in general was the Lady Garden. Testicles were dingleberries, and the penis was, unfortunately, spoken in a whisper as the “wiener.” All of this would have been funny if used ironically. But her mother was not in any way, shape, or form ironic.

  Chastity held her breath and clicked on the album marked “G.”

  What opened before her was a series of images that would make any brothel madam blush. Good lord! Who was this acrobatic, tanned, muscular specimen with six-pack abs hard enough to bounce a quarter off of? She swiped through and felt the heat rising to her face. She got a glimpse of long, wavy brown hair. Nice. A shoulder with a Jolly Roger tattoo.

  Really, dude?

  There was a hip tattoo on him that matched hers, only with the letter C. “Oh, God,” she groaned. What tattoo artist in his or her right mind would allow a pair of drunks to get inked?

  She saw a face in the thumbnails. Her heart skipped a beat, and she was about to click it when another one distracted her. A pretty shocking one.

  Oh my. Was that his…it was. Oh, god. Yeah, she clicked. Who could resist?

  Wow.

  Well.

  Was she grinning at a dick pic right now?

  Well, it wasn’t exactly an unsolicited dick pic. I mean, I probably was the one who took the photo. And no wonder.

  The size of it, in relation to the size of what she could see of the rest of his body in the photo, might explain why she was finding it hard to walk this morning.

  True, size isn’t everything. But the size of that might also explain why she’d agreed to matching tattoos, because damn. Who wouldn’t want to commemorate a night of thorough rutting with—whoever that is?

  Enough, Chas. Get to the face. We need to identify this bad boy.

  She swiped through and finally came to a face. It wasn’t a full face, so she kept swiping, but there was even less of him visible in the rest of the photos. More than anything, his identity was blocked out by her own smiling, drunk-ass face.

  The only parts of his face she could make out were one brown eye, sun-kissed skin, long, wavy hair. Did he have a beard? She could not tell.

  Nothing to indicate a name, though.

  Shit.

  And who was she, exactly? Five years ago, at the age of 17, she was Miss Junior Baton Rouge 2012, cutting the ribbon on the new YMCA splash park, smiling wide for the newspaper photographer. Now she was on the floor of a weird apartment, in the dress she’d worn the night before, desperately searching for clues about the man who had most likely taken her virginity. Or, more accurately, the person to whom she’d given her virginity.

  She pressed the “home” button to go back to her text messages for more clues. But as soon as she did that, everything went black.

  Wait, what?

  Oh no. Oh, shit.

  Her phone was dead.

  And she was pretty sure she did not have a phone charger. Sure, hell-bent on losing her virginity last night, she’d remembered to tuck a condom (still there, oops) a passport (she didn’t drive, so no license), and her daddy’s platinum card into her clutch. But a firewire? Why on earth would that be necessary?

  There was also a bigger problem here. Not only did she not know who G was, where she was, or where her fellow bridesmaids might be, she also did not know if she’d messed up the whole encounter by not only forgetting to use a condom but by shifting into a panther last night.

  That last detail was pretty important, too, because it could have meant the difference between her supposed partner being alive and walking around with the glow of a freshly laid man or being in hiding and scared to death.

  Or worse—actually, very literally dead.

  Chapter Two

  Gavin

  8:30 a.m.

  Oh shit. Am I dead?

  Because that would really, really suck. Nobody wants to wake up dead after the first time they ever have sex. Or at least I think that’s what happened last night.

  Because, as it turns out? All the fuss, all the songs, all the heartache, all the drama? It happens for a very good reason. He wasn’t sure what all happened, but upon waking up, Gavin was feeling good.

  Better than good. Pretty fucking great.

  Now, if only he could remember who she was and how it all started.

  Gavin opened his eyes, desperately hoping that the warm, fuzzy feelings wouldn’t all disappear like an amazing dream. The sun was still mercifully obscured by the trees.

  The cozy feelings did not disappear like an amazing dream that he wanted to close his eyes and get back to. Things had happened. Sublime things.

  It was all real. At the nearly freakishly old age (according to teen movies, anyway) of 25, Gavin had finally lost his virginity. Probably. All of his buddies at Ashton Boudreaux’s bachelor party would be very happy for him when he told them what he was pretty sure had happened.

  Except, Gavin’s pack mates were not there right now. And neither was the mystery woman. Whoever she was.

  Curious.

  Even more curious was the fact that he was lying on the grass in the woods. Naked. Alone.

  And his belly was full.

  He had the taste of fresh blood in his mouth.

  So he had shifted to the wolf last night. How in the hell did that happen? It wasn’t a full moon. Besides, no pack of wolves like Ash, Bobby, and Vann would ever plan a bachelor party on the night of a full moon. Not unless they all wanted to end up dead or in prison or both. Alcohol and full moons do not mix. Especially not when it comes to shapeshifters.

  Sure, he wasn’t always the best at keeping track of his moon cycles, but that’s pack mentality. You depend on each other.

  But where was his pack now?

  He went through the list. Ash was probably at Rosemary’s flat, sleeping it off. Vann West, their boy who was now a celebrity chef, had just last night come home from some far-flung international TV shoot for the week of wedding festivities. He was probably off boning his new girl GiGi, whom he hadn’t seen since March.

  Focus, man. Focus.

  Where was Bobby? Bobby was known to get melancholy toward the end of the night whenever the pack partied together. Gavin wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with all that shit that went down when they were kids growing up together. It was so long ago. Everyo
ne had processed what happened. Ash’s dad, JB of JB Chicken fame, had taken all the young pups into his care and helped them navigate their new lives. Once each of them found out they carried the wolf gene, JB taught them how to control their emotions, keep everything inside them calm, and save their magical energies for the full moon nights, when they would hunt together and satisfy the beasts inside.

  JB had taught them well, but Bobby would carry the burden of guilt to his grave over what happened before he had control of the wolf instincts. Poor guy. Gavin hoped sincerely that his friend would one day be able to get his mind off of it. Of course, Gavin and Ash and Vann knew exactly who could help Bobby with all of that. The only one who could not see that was Bobby.

  Look at yourself, Gavin. Lying naked on the ground in the pre-dawn hours and all you can think about is your friend’s happiness? No wonder you were a virgin until last night.

  Get it together. Find your clothes. And then find the girl.

  Gavin carefully sat upright. He looked to his left. There was the lake. He and the boys had probably gone for a dip to sober up at some point. Had he brought the girl with him for that? Was she still here?

  The next second, the only thought he had was about the annoying pain in his hip. What the…

  And then he turned and looked down and saw the bandage. Oh no.

  It was exactly the kind of bandage he used at his tattoo parlor to help his customers protect fresh tattoos. But Gavin didn’t have a fresh tattoo on his hip, because that would be ridiculous. Right?