Chasing The Night: Big Easy Shifters: Book Three Knox, Abby (popular books of all time .txt) 📖

and a motorcycle vest. He had two full sleeves of tattoos with ferocious-looking creatures, all canine, morphing into humans.

“Interesting tattoos,” she said, pointing to his arm that was nearest to her.

“Thanks,” the man said gruffly.

She waited for the guy to ask if she needed help with something, but that bit of politeness never came. She cleared her throat and tried to turn on the charm, which was getting increasingly difficult the longer she went without coffee, water, or a hangover remedy. “I’m looking for someone. But can I ask you about those dogs all over your arms?”

He stared at her. “You can ask. I probably won’t answer.”

Wow. Nice place, she thought. “Are those shapeshifters or werewolves on your arms?”

The man squinted at her. “What do you know about any of those things?”

“Uh, research,” she replied.

“You a journalist?”

She shook her head.

“Cop? Wildlife Service? Forest Service? Game warden?”

She cocked her head and gestured down at her sequined dress. “That also depends. Do you see a badge and khakis anywhere?”

Mustache Man’s question would be seriously bizarre…to someone who was not a shapeshifter or familiar with shapeshifters.

“I do not. I still don’t know you.”

She sighed. “Fine.” And then she narrowed her eyes and let the panther inside her growl, deeply, from the back of her throat, just loud enough for the man to hear it. Calling up her magic when she hadn’t been feeling it, when she was already sapped of energy, drained her all the more. But it worked. The man backed down.

His eyes grew wide, and he put up his hands. “Are you nuts? You can’t do that shit in here. What are you, a witch or something?”

“I’m whatever scares you the most,” she said, hoping this cryptic answer was spooky enough for him to let her chill out here for a while.

He sniffed the air. “The DuChamp clan, I gather.”

Her eyes widened. “Holy shit, how did you know that?”

“My business. I make it my business to know all of the enemies of our kind in this city. I also know your kitty-cat kin is marrying into the wolf clan. It’s kind of a big deal.”

Her stomach dropped. “You know about us? About Rosemary? That she’s…that we are…”

He rolled his eyes and tried not to raise his voice, even though he was clearly growing frustrated with the hungover party girl in front of him. “Yes, yes, that y’all are a bunch of fuckin’ panthers, creeping in and destroying our wolf bloodline. But that’s what your people do, isn’t it? Take what you think is yours?”

Chastity batted her eyes, not out of flirtation or an attempt to get her way, but to take a moment to clear her head. She told herself she did not need to respond to these strange and frankly kind of racist ideas about bloodlines. Instead, she focused on all this new information. Strangers know about us, she thought, and more importantly…

“First of all,” she said, a little too loudly, pointing a finger in Fu Manchu’s face, “I am from Baton Rouge, and we Baton Rouge DuChamps are not interested in messing with your precious bloodline. And second of all, I am severely hungover, dying for some coffee, and I’m looking for someone named G.”

“You looking for Gavin?”

“Is that his name?”

“That’s the owner’s name. You know him?”

She drew G’s—or possibly Gavin’s—scent into her nostrils again. It was comforting in this exhausting and stressful moment, and it was coming at her from all over this place.

“I might,” she said. “But first I need to confirm something. Do you have a towel or a cape I can use to cover myself while I show you my ass?”

Mustache Man got up and grabbed a large bath sheet for her to wrap around herself and cover up her goodies while she lifted her dress.

Mustache Man took one look at her ass and started to laugh. “That right there is the handiwork of our owner. And you lied to me. You are mixed up with the wolf.”

Now she was really confused. “Gavin’s a wolf?”

He crossed his arms. “Lady, if you don’t even know, then why do you, prissy little kitty cat that you are, have his first initial, in his style, on your ass?”

She huffed in frustration and dropped her dress back down over her goodies and folded the bath sheet. “I’m guessing he’s not here. Would you mind if I hung around so I could talk to him when he comes back?”

“He was here just a little bit ago.”

“Really? Oh my God! Which way did he go?”

“Fuck if I know. Probably home to sleep it off. Looked like he had a rough night.”

She gulped. “I was just there, he’s not home. I don’t suppose you have a phone charger I could use for a minute?”

He apologized. “Unless you’re a paying customer, I can’t let you use the place like your own personal internet café.”

“Come on, man.”

“Sorry, I ain’t the boss.”

“Not even for a girl having a rough morning? Who has your boss’s first initial tattooed on her ass?”

“Listen,” he said. “I know you’re used to getting your way, judging by who you are and who your family is. But I can’t just bend the rules because you’re a pretty party girl who can’t remember what happened last night.”

She nodded sadly and pulled herself together. She was not going to cry in front of this tough guy.

“I am throwing myself on your mercy. I know what this looks like: a walk of shame. But let me tell you something. I woke up hungover, in a strange apartment, not knowing where I was, unable to call an Uber, with only this tattoo and a corner of his face in a photo. My credit card isn’t working, I have no way to get where I need to go, and I am desperate to find this Gavin person. Can you please call him, or may I please use somebody’s firewire for just a minute?”

Mustache Man stared at her for a second. Then shook his head and said,