Page 22 of Wynter

“Just pretend I worked for the CIA. It’s sort of like that—like a bounty hunter for a CIA that doesn’t exist. I got recruited when I was a kid. Trained for it all my life. But I didn’t like the person I was. Or the people I worked with. So the minute I saw a way out, I quit. Came here. Got a job at the Cleanly Den. And this is what I want. A simple life. In a small town. Working as a maid. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”

She goes quiet, and I shift back and skate next to her.

“I’m glad you moved here,” I tell her. “And that you found a job that you love. That’s the reason I play.”

Afterwards, we skate for hours, just talking. Nothing serious this time. Favorite food. Movies. Books. Wynter tells me a bit about her friends and her favorite places in town. Jewels Cafe. Spell Library. Club Vee. And Yes Now, Bob, the diner on the edge of town.

We’re both cold and exhausted by the time we step off the ice. We unlace our skates, and I dump mine in my bag while she has to return hers. She tells me a bit about her job while we make our way to the skate rental shack, and once she locks up, we dump my gear in my locker and head to the parking lot.

“So what do you want to do now?” she asks.

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are twinkling under the moonlight. I want to strip her and take her in the back of her car. Scratch that, van. Because this girl has a fucking van.

I shift into a reindeer right then and there. Goddamn Dulka—lucky number 7. More lucky on the ice than off. The man plays defense and pulls off antler checks that put shoulder checks to shame. Then walks away when puck bunnies ask to check out his antlers.

“Reindeer are such majestic creatures.” Wynter reaches one gloved hand toward said antlers. They really are chick magnets. And suddenly, all I can think about is drawing my girl to me and stripping off each layer of clothes, one by one.

I haven’t gotten so much as a glimpse beneath her coat. Jeans peek out from under the hem, but is she wearing a sweater? A low cut top? Whatever it is, I want to peel it off her. With my teeth. Slowly. Until she squirms.

How in the chameleon do I resist that? Resist her when the back of her van is just steps away? Two minutes, and I could have her flat on her back. Naked. Screaming my name loud enough that you’d hear it all the way back at the rink. So if some other bastard decided to get in a late-night skate, he’ll know this girl is mine.

“I’ve never ridden a reindeer,” Wynter says. “Do you think you could support my weight?”

My third antler jumps to attention. Because the riding I’m thinking about doesn’t have her on my back, it has me on mine. And it has her naked on my cock and—fuck! Because I’m the one who’s naked, which means my reindeer hard-on is hanging out there for all the world to see. And this is not the sort of seduction my girl deserves.

I race around the van before she can find out first-hand if “hung like a horse” translates to reindeer. And if lucky number 7 should take on a whole new meaning.

“Leaf?” Wynter calls out, and hell if the way she pronounces my name doesn’t just turn me on more.

Snow crunches underneath her booted feet, and I have to get out of here. Now. Because if I stick around, I’m going to end up fucking her, reindeer or not. And then she’ll be just one more puck bunny on a long list of—

I shift again. Into a bee.

At least bees can’t fuck. There’s that. Maybe if I stay in bee form, I can get to know her. That’s assuming I can find a way to communicate.

Wynter rounds the van, and I shift again. Into Johansen. Bear shifter Johansen. Who’s been growing his beard for three years and is built like a log.

I can fuck Wynter when I’m built like a log. I can spin her around, push her against the van and drive my—

I shift into Rodriguez. Who’s our centerman. Woman. Centerwoman. Because supe teams don’t discriminate. And that woman can skate. Uses magic to shrink the opponent’s goalie right before she scores.

Fuck, I want to score. My eyes narrow on the sexy brunette in front of me. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before. And I can’t plow anything into her when I’m Rodriguez, but I sure as hell can kiss her. And as soon as I do, I can work out all this pent up sexual frustration, shift back to myself, pull down her pants and—

Fuck!

I need to get out of here. Before I screw this up, and screw it up good. I need to go back to the Royal Inn and take a cold shower. And I don’t mean literally. Because rolling around in the fucking snow isn’t going to be enough. I need a date with my left hand—scratch that, a lot of dates, in a lot of forms—before I can get the urge to fuck my girl under control.

I don’t have a choice. Not if I want her to fall for me the way I’m already falling for her.

There’s something special about Wynter. She deserves romance. Flowers. Dinners. Dancing. And I’m not going to risk fucking her and leaving her feeling like a one-night stand. Not when she deserves more, and I’m definitely not in any shape to give her more tonight.

So I do the one thing I can do. The one thing I have to do. I transform into a pigeon shifter and fly away.

Chapter Eight

Zoe

I get home in a bit of a daze. First, Ghost abandoned me and now Leith—my mate, the man I’m meant to be with—left me high and dry.