by Sophie Stern
I head into the kitchen and pour a glass of whiskey. I don’t bother with ice. Instead, I move back into the living room, grab a book, and settle down on the couch to read. The words on the page begin to blur, though, because all I can think of is her.
And I don’t know why.
There’s something sad and sort of magical about Cordelia. There’s something about her that calls to my inner shifter. I wonder what kind of creature she is. She’s something feminine and beautiful: that much is obvious. Could she tell I’m a shifter, too? Does she know what I am?
I sip the whiskey and wonder if I’ll ever tell her. Most people around here know I’m not human, but they don’t really know what that means because I’m private about it. I’m not a wild tiger or a giant lion. I’m not a fast cougar or a sleek panther. I’m none of those things and I never will be, but I’ve come to accept who I am.
When I first learned to shift, I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Everyone made fun of me because they were tigers and lions and bears. They were cats. They were wild, and me?
My friends told me I’d be more suited for a farm.
And that hurt.
As I grew, though, I began to understand my strengths. As a bird, I can do more than they ever can. I can fucking fly. Lions can’t fly. They’re too big and bulky. And lions can’t be sneaky. If someone sees a damn bird wandering around, they aren’t going to wonder if it’s a shifter. If you see a lion in the middle of the park, though, you’re going to fucking freak out.
No, being a bird means it’s easy to eavesdrop and find out what’s going on in the world around me. It means it’s easy to attack people from angles they aren’t expecting if I need to. It means I can protect myself. It means I can escape.
It means I have an advantage.
Not everyone sees it that way, though.
There’s a reason I’m single, and it’s not because I’m a bird shifter. It’s because right now, I think I’m better off alone. I’ve been in relationships with humans and relationships with shifters and anytime I’ve revealed my true self, it’s been met with disgust and disappointment. I don’t need to deal with that anymore. I don’t need to be with someone who’s going to think that I’m letting them down at every turn.
Cordelia wouldn’t be disappointed.
“We don’t know that,” I say aloud.
We don’t.
Maybe she’d find out and she’d laugh like all the rest of them. Maybe she’d be sad and let down. Maybe she’d run away. Maybe she’d try to hurt me. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I have a lovely book and a wonderful glass of whiskey, and tonight, those two things are all I need.
It won’t be enough forever, my shifter whispers to me.
“It’s enough for now.”
*
I’m busy with work for the next few days. Being a librarian isn’t the most romantic job in the world, but it’s fun as hell. I love burying myself in books, losing myself in them. Books never make fun of you. They never hurt you. They never do anything but offer you a chance to escape somewhere and sometimes, that’s all I need.
The branch I work at is remodeling the second floor, so all of the books are being moved, sorted, moved again, and resorted. It’s a time-consuming project, but I think that when it’s done, the space is going to look incredible.
Marcy, my boss, is an angel. She’s been at the library for nearly thirty years and she knows more about books than anyone I’ve ever met. This remodel is something she’s been hoping for and pushing for. She told me when I was first hired two years ago that she wanted to see the space changed, redone to make room for a more modern crown. Now it’s finally happening. We’re putting in new computers, work tables, and seating, along with bringing in more new releases and modern novels for today’s reader.
The project is worthwhile and important, but it’s also exhausting. After hours of moving, sorting, and cataloguing books, I get home and I’m ready to crash. No more watching the sunsets for me. After I eat dinner, I veg out with a novel, and then I pass out: usually on the couch.
I haven’t forgotten about my new neighbor, though. I see her at night sometimes in passing. She always looks at me, but never waves or smiles. Sometimes I see her leaving her house, but not often. For the most part, it seems, she stays indoors, and I wonder what she’s doing in there. It would be easy to think she’s remodeling her home. Just as I’m busy remodeling the library, she could be moving things around and fixing up her new house, but I don’t think that’s the case.
Cordelia seems like a woman who has the weight of the world on her shoulders. She seems like the type of girl who has dealt with something terrible and who needs space to sort through it. I think she’s looking for peace.
I hope she finds it.
A week passes, and I’ve come to the understanding that Cordelia isn’t interested in getting chatty or in being friends. It’s fine. I understand, but I do feel a strange protectiveness about her. Harold does, too, but his is a sort of grandfatherly kind of caring. My desire to protect Cordelia isn’t nearly as innocent as his. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and there’s something about her that makes me want to make sure she’s safe. Protected. Cherished.
She’s our mate.
My inner-shifter has been on this kick lately about mates. Maybe it’s because we’re getting close to thirty and unmated. Maybe it’s something else. I’m not sure. I don’t even know if I believe in mates, but I do believe in connections. Cordelia and I? We definitely have a connection.
“I don’t like it,” Harold says one night. He’s on my porch again, sipping his iced tea and sitting on my swing.
“Why are you here, old man?” I ask, but not unkindly. “Don’t you have your own porch to sit on?”
“Watch yourself,” he warns me. “I might be twice your age, but I’m fast.”
“Is that right?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, but he just chuckles and leans back. He stares out at the sunset, and I press him. “What don’t you like?”
“I don’t like her being in that house all by herself. It’s not normal.”
“None of us are normal, Harold. I hate to be the one to tell you, but being a shifter isn’t exactly the default setting of people in the world. Being human is.”
“Well, she’s not human, either, is she? She’s a shifter, and she should be with her own kind.”
“Give her a break,” I tell him. I don’t like Harold being critical of Cordelia. She’s not bothering anyone. Yeah, she’s a bit anti-social, but who cares? Really, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little bit of isolation, of needing that solitude.
Harold shoots me a sideways glance, and then he starts to chuckle.
“I’m not sure how I missed it,” he says, laughing. “Isn’t that just the best?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why, she’s your mate, of course. I can see it in your eyes. Why are you over here instead of snuggled up in her bed?” He asks. “Or haven’t you realized it yet?”
“She’s not my mate,” I lie. We both know I’m in denial.
“Suit yourself,” Harold says.
He doesn’t push me. He just sips his tea. After awhile, he gets up and goes home, but I stay on the porch long after the sun has set, thinking about what he said.
Mates.
Could Harold be right? I try to think of the stories my parents used to tell me when I was little. All shifter children have heard them, but not all of us believe them. Harold is one of those people who believe the tales. Then again, he was married for many years to a bear shifter from beautiful Honeypot, Colorado. I know because he tells me the story of how they met every chance he gets.
When she died, a part of him died, too. That’s what he always tells me. Maybe I should listen to Harold. Maybe he knows what he’s talking about better than I think he does. Maybe his understanding of mates isn’t off. It’s possible that I’m the one who’s crazy and uninformed in this situation.
<
br /> I don’t need love right now, though.
That’s the whole problem.
I don’t need someone distracting me, bothering me. I don’t need someone taking up my time. I could be spending that time at work, or drinking whiskey, or thinking
Chapter Four
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Chapter Five
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Chapter Six
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Chapter Seven
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Chapter Eight
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Chapter Nine
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Chapter Ten
Cordelia
“Fuck you,” I say to the old house.
Epilogue
Peggy
The smell of muffins wakes me from my slumber, and I roll noiselessly out of bed and pad quietly down the stairs.
Fablestone behind many year ago.
I’m going to have to find Donald.
THE END
Author
Sophie Stern loves cowboys, soldiers, and shifters. When she’s not busy writing, she’s got her nose buried in a book. Sophie lives with her husband and two little boys who are always keeping her on her toes.
You can connect with Sophie through her website or on Facebook.
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Readers!
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More shifters!
Need more dragons? Bears? Wolves? Check out one of my other shifter stories.
Dragon Isle
Stepdragon (Dragon Isle)
My Lord and Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 1)
The Dragon Fighter (Dragon Isle Book 2)
A Dragon's Bite (Dragon Isle Book 3)
Lost to the Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 4)
Beware of Dragons (Dragon Isle Book 5)
Catching the Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 6)
Cowboy Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 7)
Dark Heart of the Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 8)
Once Upon a Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 9)
Polar Bears of the Air Force
Staff Sergeant Polar Bear (Polar Bears of the Air Force Book 1)
Master Sergeant Polar Bear (Polar Bears of the Air Force Book 2)
Airman Polar Bear (Polar Bears of the Air Force Book 3)
Senior Airman Polar Bear (Polar Bears of the Air Force Book 4)
Red (Wolf-Shifter Romance)
Red: Into the Dark
Red: Through the Dark
Red: Beyond the Dark
Honeypot Darlings
The Bear's Virgin Darling (Honeypot Darlings Book 1)
The Bear's Virgin Mate (Honeypot Darlings Book 2)
The Bear's Virgin Bride (Honeypot Darlings Book 3)
Honeypot Babies
The Polar Bear's Baby (Honeypot Babies Book 1)
The Jaguar's Baby (Honeypot Babies Book 2)
The Tiger's Baby (Honeypot Babies Book 3)
The Wolfe City Pack
The Wolf's Darling (The Wolfe City Pack Book 1)
The Wolf's Mate (The Wolfe City Pack Book 2)
The Wolf's Bride (The Wolfe City Pack Book 3)
Thank you for reading!
Honeypot Darlings
Want more paranormal romance?
I have a series called Honeypot Darlings featuring three sexy shifter brothers.
Wyatt, Carter, and Micah are all different in their own ways, but they each share one very important similarity: they’re all bear shifters!
In The Bear’s Virgin Darling, Hope moves to Honeypot for a fresh start. She doesn’t expect anything, but a paycheck. Then she meets Wyatt and everything changes.
Here you can read the first three chapters of this book for free! If you prefer to jump right into the novel, you can get your own copy on Amazon here.
***
Chapter 1
Hope
Hope.
That’s my name.
My parents struggled for years to have a baby and then finally, they had me. They named me Hope to remind themselves that things can always get better. No matter how tough life gets, there’s always a way to make things better.
Always.
It doesn’t matter if you’re old or young or skilled or uneducated. No matter what you’re going through, you can get through it.
As I grip the steering wheel of my beat-up Saturn so hard I think my hands might bleed, their words run through my mind.
“Sorry, Mama,” I whisper. “There’s no hope this time.”
The highway is empty and I’ve been driving for hours. I still have at least two to go until I reach beautiful, isolated, far-from-home Honeypot, Colorado.
I don’t know a damn thing about the town except that it’s a 12-hour drive from my rink-a-dink hometown in Missouri and that I have a job interview with some ranch.
Like I know anything about ranching.
That doesn’t matter though. I learned this great skill in drama class called “fake it ‘til you make it,” and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Holbrook can kiss my ass and so can Jacob Clint. Did he really think I wouldn’t find out he was fucking my best friend?
Did she?
It’s been a month since I caught them fooling around, but the pain hasn’t dimmed. It took me a whole month to sell my stuff, give my landlord ample notice I was leaving, and set up this damn job interview.
I applied for a few gigs closer to home, but when I saw the posting for a ranch hand in Colorado, I couldn’t resist applying. I’m still shocked they liked my application. I’m still shocked they called me.
Granted, I could show up tomorrow and they might tell me to get lost, but it’s something new, something different, something brave.
It’s something to keep my mind off how badly my heart hurts.
I hope Jacob and Margaret are very happy together in hell.
I press the gas pedal a little bit harder.
I can’t wait to get to Nowhere, Colorado. Not too much further now. I blast my music and stare out the window, driving with one hand down the highway. My car is loaded with my life’s belongings. I sure as hell hope I get the job because if I don’t, I’m going to be stuck in Colorado with no house, no job, and no boyfriend.
Soon my stomach growls and I stop for a quick burger at a fast food place just off the highway. The only two things at the exit are a gas station and a fast food chain, so I eat my run-of-the-mill burger in silence, stretch my legs, and fill up the tank. My thoughts alternate between being horrified Jacob was the best I could do and being horrified that I won’t get the job.
I need the job.
Unfortunately, my thoughts are so focused that I don’t realize when the speed limit drops from 75 to 55 just outside of Honeypot. The sirens in the rearview mirror give me the notice and I growl in frustration as I pull over.
Dammit.
A ticket is not what I need right now. I barely have enough money saved for a hotel room while I’m in Honeypot. If I don’t get the job, or if I have a bunch of unexpected expenses, I will definitely be living out of my car.
This is a problem because my car is full of clothes, books, and trinkets I couldn’t leave behind.
Taking a deep breath, I place my hands on the steering wheel and wait for the officer to run my plates. I’ve never had a ticket before, but I’ve been pulled over, and I remember the cop explaining that he had to cal
l in the license plate before he even came to speak with me.
After a few minutes, my heart finally begins to slow, and I realize that this was just an honest mistake. Besides, getting a ticket isn’t the worst thing that could happen to a girl like me. By the time the officer gets out of his car and walks toward mine, I’ve convinced myself that I’ll handle this like an adult.
I definitely will not cry in front of this stranger. Maybe I’ve been through a lot, but crying in front of strangers is definitely a hard limit for me. Unfortunately, as I begin to roll my window down – yes, my car is so old that I have to roll the window down – I catch a glimpse of the cop and he’s no tubby police officer.
No, this guy is tall, cut, and fit to be tied.
Dammit.
My mouth goes dry when he approaches and I’m very aware of the fact that I’ve been in a car all day and probably smell like stale French fries.
“Hello, ma’am,” the officer greets me, standing outside my window. He places one hand on top of my car and peers in the window at me. I swallow loudly as I stare at his aviators.
He’s so tall he almost has to bend in half to peek into my car. Suddenly, I wish I was wearing a low-cut shirt to give him a show. He smiles brightly, his perfectly white teeth shining in the evening sunset. And oh, is he filling out that uniform in all the right places.