CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories

by J. F. Posthumus

  “Gittem, boys!” Helen called.

  They all started to move along the core, catching chickens and leaving the squirming netted man behind them. Bas started to laugh.

  The last bag of chickens in his hand, Bas came back to the access tube. Everyone else was packed and gone, and only Gert still waited, holding her hands out for the sack of fowl.

  Bas put his feet down on the shell. “Hey, Gert?”

  She clipped the sack to the pulley and started it down. “Yes?”

  “Well, we’re going to be catching chickens and closing doors for weeks, I think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But, uh, would you like to do lunch some time again?”

  She started to giggle. “Without Lindsey or chickens, this time!”

  The End

  About the Author

  Cedar Sanderson hasn't always been a writer. But as far back as she can remember, there have been chickens. Chickens like strange fruit roosting in trees, chickens that laid a rainbow of eggs… Currently, she is lacking fowl, but has managed to write eight novels, uncounted short stories, and in some of them, there are chickens. But, mostly, the stories are fantasy and science fiction. She is also an artist who has a coloring book out, and another one on the way. Yes, there are chickens in there, too!

  You can find out more about Cedar at her website, www.cedarwrites.com: not only will there be writing updates, but photos of… you guessed it. Chickens.

  Chickening Out

  A Shifters United Story

  Margo Bond Collins

  Chickening Out

  Margo Bond Collins

  When Tori Lansing gets attacked by a chicken at a farmhouse, she’s pretty sure she’s had the worst day ever—but then she meets her sexy new neighbor, Niall Fillan, and things start looking up. Until she starts to change, and figures out that was no ordinary chicken…

  Chapter 1

  Tori

  I am in clucking hell.

  Literally.

  Tori aimed a second kick at the squawking chicken making a run at her. “Shoo! Get away from me.”

  The chicken backed off a little, turning its head from side to side, pointing its beady little eyes at her as if trying to decide where to hit her next.

  “Quit glaring at me, you stupid bird,” she muttered.

  I hate my job.

  Glancing down at the clipboard in her hand, she took another step toward the house. The chicken moved alongside her, almost as if it were pacing her.

  “I just need to talk to anyone inside.”

  Dammit. I’m talking to a chicken.

  Chickens weren’t predators. It couldn’t possibly be stalking her. Right?

  She spoke softly, making her voice as calm as possible. “I’m going to knock on the door and see if anyone’s home.”

  Carefully, she took another step. The bird watched her warily. A second step, then a third. “Almost to the door now.”

  But when she stepped up onto the bottom step, the chicken exploded into action in a flurry, all feathers and beak and screaming squawks.

  Stumbling back from the steps and windmilling her arms—either to keep her balance or repel the animal, even Tori wasn’t sure—she let out her own screech. But the chicken ignored her attempts to scare it away, aiming for her ankles.

  “Ow! Stop, stop, stop!” she shouted as it pecked at her. Without even thinking about it, she raced to the safety of her tiny gray Mazda. Opening the car door, she ducked behind it, using it as a shield while she clambered in. At the last instant, she thought to pull the door back enough to shove it hard into the attacking chicken, knocking the bird back a solid foot.

  Slamming the car door closed behind her, she leaned back into the driver’s seat. Then she pushed her hair back from her face, blew out a breath, and reached into the passenger seat for her phone, dropping her clipboard onto the passenger-side floorboard on the way.

  “Child Protective Services,” a familiar female voice answered.

  “Hey, Carrie. Is Davis still around?” Tori’s boss often left early, but he’d been complaining about paperwork, so maybe he would still be there.

  “Sure. I’ll transfer you.”

  “Hey, Tori,” Davis Lansing answered a few seconds later. “How did the inspection go?”

  She inhaled, preparing for his ire. “I didn’t even make it up to the house. They had an attack chicken in the yard.”

  Davis paused for so long that Tori almost asked if he was still there. “An attack… chicken?” Laughter underscored his voice.

  “Yes.” Tori scowled, reaching down to rub her ankle, then glanced at her hand. “Damned thing made me bleed.” She glanced up at the porch, where the chicken now stood triumphantly, still staring in her direction.

  “I see.”

  When Davis didn’t fill in the silence with anything else, Tori said, “If anyone was home—or willing to answer the door, anyway—I think the noise would have brought them out.”

  Silence.

  “So I’m going to come back out first thing Monday morning if that’s okay with you.”

  Davis’s sigh echoed in Tori’s ear. “Yeah, I guess so. It is late. But make sure they’re top of the list Monday.”

  “I’ll come by the office and do the paperwork for a failed visit,” she offered.

  “Nah. Don’t worry about it until next week. Go home and tend to your… chicken wounds.” His voice sounded a little strangled, as if he were trying not to laugh.

  “Thanks,” she said acerbically. “I will.”

  As she started the car and pulled out of the driveway, the chicken strutted down the porch steps and made its way to the edge of the property, watching her the whole time.

  Tori heaved a sigh of equal parts relief and irritation. Then she headed home for a hot bath and some Band-Aids for her ankle.

  Worst. Friday. Ever.

  Chapter 2

  Niall

  Lifting the recliner out of the moving van, Niall Fillan glanced around.

  Nobody nearby. Excellent.

  At least he wouldn’t have to pretend to struggle with its weight in case any humans saw him.

  That was the last thing his alpha had said to him as they finished loading up the truck. “Don’t get caught doing anything that will give you away. There aren’t many shifters at all in that county. Not even a coyote shifter pack. Much less any other wolves.”

  Except the rogue wolf I’m supposed to track.

  Niall set the recliner next to the leather sofa he’d hauled in earlier. Then he moved to the open door and leaned against the frame as he stared out at the field directly across from his new apartment. Only a couple hours’ drive southwest of Dallas, and no shifters? Seemed like the land would be perfect for long pack runs—still some trees, but lots of open acres, too.

  And cows. So many cows.

  His mouth watered a little at the thought and he clamped down on his inner wolf, focusing on keeping his human self in control. After all, those cows belonged to someone. They weren’t like the cattle on the packlands north of Dallas, born and bred to feed a bunch of hungry werewolves.

  No. These cows were someone’s livelihood.

  Guess I’ll have to stick to buying steak at the grocery store. Not as much fun as letting his inner wolf out to hunt—but definitely necessary in this case.

  He pushed off the doorframe to get back to work, just as a small gray car pulled up in the spot next to the van.

  Crap. He’d have to limit how many boxes he stacked up for the next trip into the apartment. Not that he had that much left to unload. With a sigh, he climbed into the back and picked up just two boxes. A human could carry that much, right?

  As he stepped down to the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of a woman getting out of the car.

  Automatically, he took mental note of what he could see. Wavy red hair, business casual clothes, the pale skin of her hand as she pushed her hair behind her ear. A slight limp. The sorts of things any pack enforcer would take note of in a strange en
vironment.

  Then she turned to face him, flashing a slightly rueful smile. His breath froze in his chest.

  She’s amazing.

  He pushed the thought away, even as his mental list continued, albeit in a less perfunctory mode. Creamy skin. Lush figure. Perfect green eyes. Dazzling smile.

  Mine, his inner wolf growled.

  Shut up, he told himself.

  “Hello.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes as she passed him, and he fought back an urge to reach out and touch her cheek.

  “Hi,” he managed to say, his voice coming out sounding a little too rushed as he forced himself to start breathing again.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Moving in?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I just got to town a couple of hours ago.” Say something interesting, dumbass! But Niall’s mind went blank.

  “Well, welcome to the exciting metropolis of Walton Springs.” She grinned as she unlocked the door next to his.

  You’re about to lose her. Say something else.

  The thought sent him into action. Dropping his boxes with a thump just inside his door, he held out a hand. “I’m Niall Fillon. Nice to meet you.”

  She paused but took his hand after a second. “Tori Lansing.”

  Her words were lost in the rush of electricity he felt when she touched him, a zinging flash that went from his fingers and straight down to his stomach, then lower.

  Not now, he admonished himself. His wolf whined.

  He inhaled, and her scent washed over him. She smelled like vanilla ice cream, all soft and sugary.

  She smells like home.

  Mine, his wolf proclaimed again.

  And suddenly, he knew exactly what was happening. This woman wasn’t just his new neighbor.

  She was his fated mate.

  He’d almost lost hope of ever finding her. But here she was. And she lived right next door.

  Best. Friday. Ever.

  Chapter 3

  Tori

  I have to get away from this guy before I make a fool of myself.

  Grabbing her hand away from her new neighbor—my enormous, muscular, gorgeous, isn’t wearing a shirt, and oh my God he smells amazing new neighbor—would be rude.

  But he had stopped doing anything like a normal handshake and was rubbing his thumb gently against the skin on the back of her hand, all the while gazing at her face with an awestruck expression. Where his skin touched hers, tiny tingles of awareness sparked through her.

  She needed to add amazing ice-blue eyes and hot-as-hell touch to her list of his appealing attributes.

  After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze and dropped her hand. Or rather, lowered it gently, as if he were afraid she might break if he didn’t handle her carefully.

  A sudden vision of him running his hand over her naked hip flashed through her mind.

  Her cheeks heated up and she turned away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled as she pushed her apartment door wider.

  “Wait,” he said, his voice rumbling out from deep inside his bare—strong, wide, muscular, amazing—chest.

  She glanced back at him and her eyes dropped to the jeans he wore slung low on his hipbones.

  Eyes. Look at his eyes, Tori.

  Certain her whole face was flaming red by now, she met his gaze.

  “Would you go to dinner with me?”

  She blinked. Was he really asking her out on a date? She hesitated. What if he was a serial killer or something? She didn’t know the first thing about him.

  “I don’t know much about the town,” he continued. “I’d love it if you’d show me around. Maybe somewhere on the downtown square?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.” He glanced over at the van and frowned, then ran one hand through his dark blond hair. “Well, I guess I need to finish unloading the van. But maybe tomorrow night?”

  Tori knew she probably should try to find some reason not to go. But another night spent drinking a glass of merlot while scrolling through social media suddenly seemed much less appealing.

  “Okay,” she decided. “Tomorrow. But not the square—let me show you my favorite restaurant in town.”

  “Six o’clock?” He was certainly determined to set this up now.

  “Sure.” She paused. “I’d offer to help you unpack, but…” She gestured down at her ankle. His eyes grew wide and darkened when he saw the streaks of blood around her ankle. For a second she was sure she heard a low growl coming from him.

  But that couldn’t be. It was just a scratch.

  “What happened?”

  Turning one hand out in a half-shrug, she shook her head. “It’s a long story. I’m going to go in and see if I can wash away any strange farm-animal germs. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  A frown wrinkled the space between his eyebrows, and she had to shove down an urge to reach up and smooth it away. But then the expression cleared, and he smiled. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Definitely. See you at six.”

  Tori managed a cheery, nonchalant wave and limped into her apartment—where she promptly shut the door and leaned back against it. “Wow,” she breathed out.

  I have a date with the hot new neighbor guy!

  Any other time, she would have danced around the apartment. But her ankle really did hurt. Not even its dull throb could dampen her spirits, though. Not tonight.

  She hugged herself tightly and fought the urge to laugh aloud.

  Then she headed to the bathroom to bathe away the remains of her battle with Chickenzilla.

  Late that night, Tori rolled over restlessly in her bed. Her ankle throbbed, her head hurt, and she felt… weird.

  Oh, no. Can chickens carry rabies?

  She knew she should probably check online to be sure. But she couldn’t seem to bring herself to get out of bed.

  Instead, she shook out her feathers and settled back down to sleep.

  Wait. What just happened?

  She opened one eye in the night. Somehow, the world seemed… larger.

  And darker, too.

  She tried to reach out to turn on her lamp, but instead, felt her wing stretch to one side.

  I’m dreaming. I have to be.

  But weren’t conscious dreams supposed to be controllable by the dreamer? Tori was certain she’d heard that before. Or read it somewhere. Probably during one of those wine-drinking social-media-scrolling nights.

  Wake up. Just sit up and shake this dream off.

  Maybe if she said it loudly enough, it would work? She opened her mouth.

  “Squawk!”

  The sound of the loud bird noise startled her.

  That couldn’t have come from me.

  I’m not a bird. I’m a person. I’m not a bird. I’m a person. Dammit, Tori, wake the hell up!

  A bone-deep tingle started in her shoulders and flashed down her entire body. A sudden glow lit up the room, and for just an instant, more color than she’d ever seen before flooded her eyes, so brightly that it burned. A painful stretching sensation suffused all her limbs for a heartbeat.

  With a start, she sat straight up in bed.

  Her hands flew to her face, touching it as if to be sure it was still there. “I’m okay,” she said aloud, testing her voice. “I’m okay. It was just a dream.”

  Still, she reached over to turn on the lamp, just to be sure. All four limbs were still there. Everything else seemed normal.

  “Just a dream,” she muttered.

  But as she reached over to turn off the lamp again, a single, tiny white feather fluttered down in front of her face and landed on the sheet beside her.

  She picked it up and stared at it accusingly.

  That’s from a pillow. It has to be.

  Still, it took her a long time to get back to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Niall

  How did I miss the blood?

  Niall unpacked his single box of dishes into the cabinet the next morning. If nothing e
lse, it gave him time to think about his latest obsession—his fated mate, separated from him by nothing but a wall.

  Wolves had superior senses of smell.

  So how had he not realized that his mate was injured and bleeding?

  That’s a bit of an overstatement, he reminded himself. She had a few scratches, that was all.

  I was distracted by meeting my fated mate for the first time.

  “That has to be it,” he said into the empty apartment. But it didn’t make him feel any better. He was supposed to be her strength, her protector. He was supposed to watch out for her. Failing to recognize the scent of her blood would not set a good precedent.

  I’ll apologize to her tonight over dinner.

  He hoped it would be enough to assuage his guilt. More than that, though, he hoped she would realize how sincere he was.

  With any luck, they could move forward a little more quickly after that.

  But not too quickly. He could almost hear his father’s voice. “Remember, Niall. Even fated mates like to be wooed.”

  What did that even mean, though? How was he supposed to woo her when it was all he could do to keep his hands off that lush body of hers?

  Wooing. Keep your thoughts on wooing.

  Flowers. Those were traditional woo-gifts, right?

  He shook his head and began breaking down the cardboard box he’d just finished unloading.

  Woo-gifts. I’m losing my mind.

  But he’d still bring her flowers when he showed up at her door at 6:00.

  Assuming he could figure out where to buy them in Walton Springs.

  At 6:00 exactly, Niall knocked on Tori’s door, a small bouquet of roses in his hand.