AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Several familiar faces from last night’s coup at the jail were hanging around. Many of them sported bruises and other injuries. Being shifters with fast-healing abilities, they’d already begun the recovery process, with most of their bruises at the yellow-green stage of recuperating. In just one more day, even those would be gone, leaving no trace behind.
There was no sign of Lola Kipling, resident psychiatrist and witch-in-training. Her office was closed. Perhaps she was at the hospital with Zander Elkins. Zander was an alpha shifter who’d been “cured” by a dark witch, Giselle. The witch worked with the man I had once called my father, and they were perfecting a technique to separate a shifter from their wolf. It had left Zander in a very sorry state. He’d been separated not only from his wolf, but his memories.
Worse, he was now showing the same symptoms as a feral shifter, except he no longer had his wolf. I hated to admit it, but we were losing him. His body was not equipped to deal with the physical extremes caused by the fracture to his psyche. He’d already flatlined once. However, Lola had amazed us all by channeling magic and restarting his heart. She was working tirelessly to learn more about his condition and how her magic might be the key to saving him.
I suspected Lola had more than a professional interest in the crippled shifter. I also suspected Zander reciprocated that interest.
Kyle was devastated when he’d discovered the implications of Zander’s condition. Before rejecting the hunters, he’d planned to have me cured so he could have his little sister back. He’d had no way of knowing the true cost of this fix—William hadn’t shared the results with him. By then, Giselle had already cured shifters and released them. With their memories lost, the shifters wouldn’t have remembered they were members of a pack or had loved ones looking for them. They would have died a cruel and vicious death. Their families were none the wiser, and that guilt plagued my brother now.
I shook myself out of the dark place my thoughts had taken me. As if he knew where my mind had gone, Ridge squeezed my hand, offering his silent support.
The bakery door swung open, and a man stepped out with a pastry box. The irresistible scent of freshly baked goods followed him. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that it had been too long since my last meal.
Ridge laughed. “Come on. We better get you fed before your stomach eats you from the inside out.”
He let go of my hand and walked ahead in order to open the door for me, always the gentleman. We entered the warm café, the rich, enticing scent of freshly brewed coffee and the mouthwatering aroma of home-cooked food enveloping us. Before we’d even made our way to an unoccupied booth, the owners and local gossip mongers—aka The Magpies—swooped down on us like vultures, their eyes shining with curiosity.
“Look who it is!” Maggie Hill exclaimed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “The happy couple. We were just discussing the two of you.”
“Really? What was it about us that you were talking about?” My voice was dry and tinged with skepticism. I glanced around the diner. Any conversation involving the Magpies was bound to be filled with gossip and half-truths. The air was thick with anticipation, and though there was the murmur of hushed conversations and the occasional clinking of cutlery, I was well-aware that everyone in the vicinity was listening.
Maggie Peters chimed in, “We were just discussing how you seem to have inspired the people to couple up, right, Mags? It’s quite something.”
“Tori, dear, you’re friends with Margo Bogford, aren’t you?” Maggie Hill asked. “Is everything okay with her? We’re worried about her. You may not know, but before he was murdered, Margo was with my nephew, Phil. They were such a striking pair. I believe he was going to propose before he died.”
Her nephew had been murdered by the librarian, Mrs. Marrow, who’d been working with the hunters. Maggie Hillproduced a tissue and proceeded to wipe her dry eyes. “He was such a good boy.”
Good boy? I nearly snorted. Who was she kidding? He was a two-timing, gaslighting idiot. You could take a turd and polish it—and yes, it’ll shine—but it’ll still be a turd. Phil Hill had been a shiny shit of the highest order. He was a bully who’d cheated on Margo and taken an instant dislike to me being her friend.
Maggie Peters carried on as her friend regained her composure. “We’re worried that Margo may be on the rebound and hurt the poor sheriff. She moved in with him quickly, didn’t she?”
They were fishing for gossip, their concern just a façade. It wasn’t appropriate for me to disclose to the Magpies that Margo and Clawson were fated mates. Engagements, whether long or short, were unnecessary in their case. Since high school, Clawson had known Margo was his, but for some reason, she’d held back, either unaware or unwilling to admit the truth. They were mated now, which, to a shifter, meant far more than a ring on a finger. Ridge was displaying his patience towards me by offering me an engagement and wedding without pressuring me for a mating bond, well-aware of my reservations. As I gazed at his handsome face, my heart nearly burst. Sensing the intensity of my gaze, he lowered his eyes and smiled at me.
Ridge answered, saving me. “I think they’re both very happy together, ladies. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
Maggie Hill, now composed, pocketed her tissue until she’d need it again. “Speaking of weddings, our invites to yours have yet to arrive. Of course, we understand it might have been an oversight, but we would be utterly devastated if our invites were lost in the mail. So we decided if we saw either of you, we’d let you know. It’d be such a scandal if we didn’t receive our invitations.”
The Magpies always seemed scandalized, so I wasn’t too worried. Yet, their sharp, condescending tone and passive-aggressive questioning was irritating and rude. I was struggling to stay polite.
Ridge, on the other hand, remained composed, his calm demeanor a refreshing contrast. He responded in his usual unflappable manner. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, ladies, that between rioting wolves and the threat of hunters, we’ve had other priorities.”
“Still no excuse for poor manners,” sniffed one of the Magpies, clearly unimpressed.
“Speaking of manners,” I interjected, my patience wearing thin, “don’t you think it’s rather rude to corner someone in a café and interrogate them about their personal life?”
“Interrogate?” Maggie Hill gasped, placing her hand on her chest. “We’re just expressing concern for our fellow townspeople,” she said with false sincerity.
“Of course you are.” Rolling my eyes, I turned to Ridge, deliberately ignoring the women. “Shall we order?”
“Please.” He gave me a knowing smile, his eyes fixed on the menu in front of him. “What are you having?”
The Magpies hovered nearby, throwing sidelong glances in our direction. Finally, they seated themselves in their usual booth—far enough away to not seem overly eager, yet close enough to hear anything worth repeating. Although their presence was like an annoying itch, I was determined not to let them spoil our lunch.
The young server approached our table, placing chilled glasses of water on the table, the ice cubes clinking against the sweating glasses. I thanked her, then glanced around the diner for Margo, hoping to see her friendly face and catch up with her. When I didn’t see her, I made a mental note to call her later.
We ordered and made small talk as we waited for our food. The server returned, balancing a vibrant Mexican quinoa bowl for Ridge and a chicken salad for me.
“Mayor, it’s good to see you.” A handsome couple I didn’t recognize approached the table, the man’s hand extended towards Ridge. They looked to be in their late sixties
