Page 7 of Granny’s Christmas Shifters

“Well?” Dragon snaps. “Are we turning her or not?”

Bear’s eyes narrow on me, like he’s willing to fight over the scrap of a granny in his arms.

I shrug. “I guess we could use a granny ’round here.”

Even as I say it, I already know I don’t see a grandmother when I look at her. Her hair may be gray, and her face may be wrinkled, but compared to us, she’s a baby. And the way my wolf wags his tail at the sight of her tells me he wants to fuck her, not ask her to make him hearty soup.

Not saying that all grandmothers do is make soup, just saying it’s the fondest memory I have of mine.

Dragon nods. “I’ll do it, then.”

“Like hell you will,” Bear growls. “I’ll turn her.”

Dragon lets out a roar so loud my ears hurt. Bear matches him, roar for roar. I join in, just for the hell of it, but instead of knocking it off, they roar louder.

The sound doesn’t disturb our new charge in the least. Her eyelids are still closed. She needs our immortality, and sooner rather than later, if she’s going to see the sun rise.

“Gentlemen, there is enough granny to go around,” I say, because the whole situation is ironic… or it will be, assuming she survives.

“I found her,” Dragon snaps. “So I get first dibs.”

“I claim her as my mate,” Bear snaps back. “So she’s mine.”

Well, that’s interesting. It also explains all the posturing and the pull I feel toward her.

Granny is our fated mate. As in all of ours. Bear’s, mine, and Dragon’s.

We are Pack. We choose as one.

“If you keep arguing,” I snap, “neither of you will get a chance to turn her.”

Dragon’s eyes narrow. “Are you volunteering, pup?”

Bear glares at me like he’s picturing all the ways to decapitate a wolf.

I roll my eyes, not bothered in the least. “I don’t want to get in the middle of your angry sandwich. Granny is already doing that. Literally and figuratively and every other -ly there is. And if one of you doesn’t turn her, yesterday, she’s going to croak.”

My wolf howls at the thought, but I stamp the feeling way down. Fear is no way to live.

Those used to be my father’s words. But over the years, they’ve become my own. Maybe not quite the way the vicious Alpha meant, but which one of us is still alive and kicking?

Hint: he’s staring at a Bear, Dragon, and Granny sandwich.

And speaking of the big, green monster—both the one rearing its ugly jealous head and the one with wings—Dragon narrows his eyes on Bear. “Just let me fucking turn her.”

“I’d let Wolf turn her sooner than I ever let you.”

Dragon nods. “Fine. Wolf, you do it.”

I think my jaw drops. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Turn her,” Bear snaps.

Dragon nods. “Someone has to.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, like they’re asking me for a huge favor. “Fine, but you both owe me.”

They instantly nod, and I wonder how I just became the lucky fuck who gets to turn his mate and claim some favors to boot. And I already know what I want. First turn at fucking our mate the moment she recovers.