Were We Belong Read online

  “Mom,” Junior said with an eye roll. “He meant by the authorities.”

  “Whoops,” she said. “My bad. But I’m quite serious about the puppy thing.”

  You could dress us up, but you still couldn’t take us anywhere.

  “So no one has an objection?” Preacher Moongie asked, getting the wedding back on track.

  No one said a word. Zeernebooch eyed the crowd menacingly, just in case anyone was dumb enough to protest. For an evil dude, he had a very soft spot for his boy.

  “Then I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom!”

  The crowd whistled and cheered as Dwayne and Belphegor kissed for the first time as husbands. It was all kinds of wonderful and every kind of right. There really was a happily ever after for everyone.

  “Let’s party!” Dwayne shouted as he came up for air and held his Demon close.

  And we did. Dima and Nicolai won the limbo contest and their adorable son, Daniel danced like a mad man with each of Dwayne’s Were Cow daughters. The Vampyre sons-in-law did indeed show their goodies, much to Dwayne’s displeasure, but he was having such a good time, he decided not to behead any of them.

  “This is waaay better than the baby shower,” Sandy said as she came up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. “Sadie didn’t serve poop.”

  “This is true,” I said with a giggle as I turned around and hugged her.

  She was just starting to show and she was gorgeous. “How are you feeling?” I asked, touching her small tummy.

  “Fantastic,” she said. “Do you want to know a secret?”

  “Will it make me puke?” I asked squinting at her.

  “Possibly,” she said with a laugh. “But it’s a really good one.”

  “Okay… hit me.”

  She whispered in my ear and my knees almost buckled. “Are you shitting me?” I demanded, feeling light-headed.

  “I shit you not,” she replied with a wide grin.

  Junior grabbed Sandy and pulled her away to dance. I was left standing on the sidelines with my mouth open.

  “You really should close your mouth,” my mom said as she and my dad danced happily by me. “You’ll catch flies.”

  Quickly I closed my mouth and searched the crowd for Hank. Where was he?

  “Hey friend,” Birdie called out as she and Chicken approached and hugged me warmly. “Love it down here in Georgia.”

  “And Georgia loves you as well,” I told her.

  Birdie and Chicken were dressed in the requisite red and white. They’d opted for coveralls. It was perfect.

  “So what’s the deal with you and Bob Hiram?” I asked because asking questions I didn’t want the answers to was one of my hobbies.

  “Awwww,” she said with a cute giggle. “Hiram and I go way back. He’s a real cutie, that one.”

  I simply nodded and tried not to puke in my mouth. The Bobs were anything but cute. They were here but had shown up not in line with the color scheme. Sadie had an absolute shit fit. The Bobs quickly gave in and donned the red suits she’d provided for them. They were ill-fitting but the Bobs didn’t utter a single complaint. Sadie was scary as Hell when pissed off. My mother-in-law was the first and only person I’d ever seen the Bobs terrified of. It was awesome.

  “We’re gonna dance,” Birdie said. “Do you want to join us?”

  “Save me one,” I said as I watched her pull a very uncomfortable Bob Hiram onto the dance floor.

  Chicken followed his sister onto the floor with his umpteenth partner of the evening. He was wildly popular with the single Werewolf gals and had been dancing up a storm. There was even a line of giggling Weres waiting their turn to dance with the Pigeon. His specialty? The Chicken Dance… I wanted to stay and watch Bob Hiram bust a move, but I needed to find Hank. Immediately.

  He was standing across the tent staring at me with such an expression of love and adoration on his face I almost couldn’t breathe. His smile melted my heart. I had to get to him.

  We met in the middle of the floor just as the music changed to a slow dance. Couples joined up and swayed to the music.

  “May I have this dance?” Hank asked.

  “Always,” I whispered as I fell into his strong arms and sighed with happiness. “I have a secret.”

  “I have one too,” he said as a smile of wonderment pulled at his lips.

  “Who’d you hear your secret from?” I asked, reaching up and wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “Junior,” he said. “Who’d you hear yours from?”

  “Sandy,” I whispered. “Do you think it’s the same secret?”

  “I think it might be,” he said as his hands lowered to my stomach and he placed them protectively over it.

  “Do you think they’re right?” I asked, hoping so hard they were.

  “A pregnant Were can scent another pregnant Were,” he said, pressing his lips to mine.

  I was so excited I wanted to scream. Instead, I kissed my mate for all I was worth. I had a tiny baby in my belly—a baby that Hank and I made together with love. It was insane and fantastic and wonderful and scary. But most of all it was perfect.

  “One down. Nine to go,” Hank said with a laugh.

  “You’re crazy. You know that. Right?” I said as he scooped me up in his arms and headed for our car.

  “Let go celebrate.”

  “With sex?” I asked, snagging a whole pepperoni pizza from the table as we passed it.

  “Pizza then sex then pizza then sex and sex and sex,” he said as he grabbed a sausage pie to go.

  “Works for me.”

  And it did. Pizza and sex with my guy for the rest of time was a good life.

  We were Shifters. Shift happened all the time. Good shift and bad shift.

  But today? Today was a damned good shift.

  — THE END —

  Note From The Author

  If you enjoyed reading Were We Belong, please consider leaving a positive review or rating on the site where you purchased it. Reader reviews help my books continue to be valued by resellers and help new readers make decisions about reading them.

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  You are the reason I write these stories and I sincerely appreciate each of you!

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  Many thanks for your support,

  ~ Robyn Peterman

  Excerpt: His Runaway Lioness

  by Mina Carter

  Chapter One

  Was it still called paranoia if they really were out to get you?

  Renae Brogan studied the street carefully as she drove along, alert for the slightest change from the norm. Well, normal for Devil’s Gap, anyway. Since the town was a refuge for the weird and wonderful of the paranormal world, “norm” meant something very different from everywhere else on the planet.

  Here, outcasts from shifter clans lived side by side with half-breeds which all clans liked to pretend didn’t exist. She’d even heard there was a wererabbit in town. That had raised an eyebrow. Wererabbits didn’t hang out around predator types often, not unless they had a few screws loose, or a death wish.

  Shifters or not though, people were people.

  They got up in the morning, fetched the mail, drank too much coffee, and went to work like regular people. In the evening, they came home, cooked dinner, relaxed, fucked…all the normal sort of things. Unless they’d gone furry, in which case they headed off for a run in the wild or whatever else they liked to do when furred up. (She wasn’t adding fucking to that list because with some inter-species shifter relationships the mechanics were mind boggling.)

  Regardless, the point was shifters had routines like humans, and that was what Renae learned to watch for. She was always alert for any change in the routines of those who lived around her. Changes were dangerous, not because she was some freakazoid OCD type, but because the slightest deviation could mean her ex-husband had found her. Since he’d made it very clear the only way she was leaving him was in a coffin, she was eager to ensure he
didn’t find her.

  Like, ever.

  Slowing the car, she pretended to fiddle with the rearview mirror, using it to scan the street behind her in an extra check. Sometimes looking from a different angle revealed things her eye had slid past at first glance.

  Nothing. Everything looked normal.

  A small sigh of relief escaped her lips and she shared an amused glance with her own reflection as she turned the mirror back into position. The long blond hair was gone, cropped shorter and covered by a dark dye she meticulously maintained. She missed her hair, but liked breathing too much. Like, really way too much.

  Her eyes were the same green-gray, mainly because she couldn’t get on with the dark contacts she’d bought. Her inner lioness hated them and growled at the thought. Besides, she’d never figured out what to do with them in a shift, and the good ones she could just about tolerate were damn expensive. With the way her shifts could hit, often out of the blue, she couldn’t afford to ditch that many pairs.

  Satisfied nothing was out of the ordinary and the street was clear, she pulled her car into the drive next to her house. A small two-bed rental on a corner plot, it was cute and homey. The kind of place she could see herself settling into long term. Despite its unusual nature, Devil’s Gap was a nice place to live; maybe bring up a family…

  She sighed and switched off the engine. She couldn’t afford such dangerous thoughts. There was no settling down for her, not unless Lance keeled over and died. Heart attack maybe… Actually, couldn’t people die of constipation? Her ex was so full of shit that would be a fitting end. Too quick for her liking though. She’d rather he get hit by a truck, dragged for miles before being struck by lightning. Oh, and after contracting something nasty from all the whores he slept with.

  I’m an alpha lion, baby. I gotta spread this goodness around, it’s natural.

  She heard his excuse in her head as clearly as if he sat in the car next to her, and her cat snarled in response. He’d always had an excuse; every time she challenged him about his sleeping around. Until he’d run out of excuses and gotten angry. Then he’d just used his fists.

  Pathetic. Can’t control your shifts. Weak. How did I ever find you attractive? You’re nothing without me. No one will want you. You should be grateful I look after you.

  Lance’s taunts and insults were etched into her soul so deeply, some days felt like she’d never be free of them. But she had managed it, she escaped. Sure, she was alone and in exile, but that was better than the alternative. Her lip quivered and she controlled it ruthlessly. She wasn’t pathetic or weak. She was a strong, independent—and yes, she told herself fiercely—a damn attractive woman.

  Now if she could make herself believe all that, she’d be golden.

  Dragging in a deep breath, she grabbed her camera bag and got out of the car. At least money wasn’t an issue. Since leaving her pride, she’d done something she always wanted and picked up a camera. Her wildlife shots were in demand and the pay was excellent. Thankfully enough to fund her careful fugitive lifestyle. After being treated as a burden for so long, standing on her own two feet was a source of immense pride and strength.

  More relaxed now, she reached the door and put her key in the lock. After a day out shooting, all she wanted to do was to open her laptop and upload her shots. After that she had plans for a long, hot bath. And ever the carnivore, she had a steak resting in the fridge and a nice bottle of wine to go with it. She might even push the boat out and finish off the half tub of rocky road, her deepest vice, while she edited the photos she’d taken today.

  Excitement filled her as she turned the key. Some were excellent, she’d felt it as soon as she’d taken them. The back of the camera view had confirmed that but she couldn’t wait to see them on a bigger screen to make sure. Photography was like that for her. A voyage of discovery each and every time. Some shots were obvious but some she hadn’t thought would work in the field surprised her, coming to life when she got them onto her laptop.

  Anticipating a pleasant evening, she pushed the door open and took a step inside.

  Hale Roark was the best tracker in the paranormal bounty hunting business. An experienced warlock with a weather specialty (hail, as it happened. The fates had a hell of a sense of humor) his reputation was built on delivering the goods fast.

  Well, that and he was a mean son of a bitch who could get the job done despite… opposition. It was cheaper for the client to send one man in rather than a team, so Hale got a lot of jobs that would otherwise go elsewhere. He didn’t care. All was fair in love and the tracking down people for money business.

  Plus, it kept him sharp. Something every warlock needed. A slow warlock was a dead one, if he was lucky. With the magic Hale wielded, there were much worse things than being dead. Being in a reality show for example. The shudder rolled through him before he could stop it. He couldn’t think of anything worse.

  Sitting in his current mark’s living room waiting for her to return, he looked around. Tracking Renae Brogan had been the easiest job he’d taken in a long time. Most para bounty hunters tended to be wolf shifters, something with a good sense of smell and innate tracking abilities. Hale wasn’t a shifter and his sense of smell was shit, so he used magic. Not just any magic either.

  High-level tracking spells took some serious magical mojo, the sort that usually required the blood of seventeen chickens and a virgin. The lore was a little hazy there. Hale had never been sure why seventeen chickens in particular, and whether one of them should be the virgin. That, of course, opened a whole new avenue of inquiry and it wasn’t like he could ask the chicken, now could he?

  So, he went old school and used blood magic. His own. He drew the line at sacrifice. Besides, he didn’t need it. From a long line of witches and warlocks, he had enough of the good stuff coursing through his veins to power some seriously nasty casting.

  He wasn’t a pure-blooded warlock though, so he was looked down upon in magical circles. Thanks to some randy ancestor who couldn’t keep it in their pants, Hale had been saddled with a little something extra, something feral hidden within him that made him yearn for the wilderness and to run. To feel the wind through a mane he didn’t have and the dirt beneath paws he’d never walked on.

  He wasn’t a shifter. The thing within wasn’t that developed, but it was powerful. Powerful enough to juice up a tracking spell and bring him right to Renae Brogan. He rubbed his thumb over the photo in his hand, the silver of his thumb ring glinting in the low light.

  The casting had been easier than he’d expected. Almost like the spell knew the woman and where to find her.

  That bothered him.

  Magic should not be easy. As a rule it was damn difficult to perform even the simplest of spells. As it should be, or all those human idiots trying to summon things they couldn’t control would have brought down the apocalypse. No, to perform magic, a caster needed patience, training, and a shitload of strength.

  And a familiar… A little voice in the back of his head added.

  Hale ignored it. He always did. He didn’t have a familiar because unlike every other freaking warlock on the planet, he couldn’t bond to one. He’d tried; really he did. Cats, dogs (and he was so not a dog person), rats…hell, he’d even tried toads and snakes, but nothing doing. All that happened was the beast that lived in his blood stirred, yawned, and broke the connection. It didn’t matter though. He was powerful enough not to need a familiar.

  Diverting his train of thought to the job in hand, he looked at the photo. It was old, showing a young woman. Masses of tawny blond hair fell to shoulders bared by a strappy top, surrounding a face with delicate features. Obviously a candid photo, she looked away from the camera with a smile, but the warmth in her feline-tilted eyes said she shared a joke with someone she loved.

  A pang of… something speared Hale’s chest. Rubbing a hand across his breastbone, he concentrated on the image, feeling the tug of the spell. She was close by, but not here yet. Perhaps a few minutes
more.

  He relaxed minutely, his gaze still on the girl in the photo. What would she look like now? Brogan had said his ex-wife was a lying harpy who’d caused so much damage in his pride that he had to bring her back and make an example of her to the people she’d hurt. That Hale could understand.

  Shifter rules were near primal and absolutely brutal. To fuck with the group was to fuck with every member and they dealt with issues in-house. If this woman had hurt kids, as Brogan had intimated, then she deserved everything she got. Nothing to do with Hale, even though by serving her up to her pride there was a good chance he’d be sentencing her to death.

  Not his circus, not his monkeys.

  So why couldn’t he take his eyes off the photo? Why did the more primal instincts inside him want to snarl and reject everything Brogan had said? The guy was an asshole, yes, and he’d all but announced that Hale could “have a little fun” with his target, but did that mean he was wrong about the woman in the photo? Hale frowned again, the prickles of unease about this job dancing along his spine. Perhaps before he handed the girl over to Brogan, he’d check in with his side-job peeps. The PPA were a good bunch from what he could see and he did occasional jobs for them, but they were a little too squeaky clean for him to go full time, even though they’d asked him plenty enough times.

  The sound of the key in the lock brought Hale’s head up.

  Time to find out if Brogan was on the level or not…

  Shit. There was someone in her house.

  Renae froze on the doorstep, her lioness on alert and all her senses extended. The house was silent, but it wasn’t a welcoming, comfortable silence. Instead, it was an absence of sound that told her someone inside listened as well.

  She took a deep breath and the scent of virile male hit her hard and fast, wrapping around her. The moan welled in her throat as her body responded, heating instantly. Need surged through her, her limbs weak, and a quivery feeling in her stomach she’d never felt before.