1
THORIN
Seattle sucked for a lot of reasons, but at least there was decent coffee. When I moved to Bee Cave, Texas—a tiny shifter town right outside of Austin—I was told it has several excellent coffee shops. I have remained skeptical because the first two were a bust, and I refuse on principal to go to the national chain.
The third shop is already on shaky ground because it’s a rock emporium-slash-coffee shop. No good comes from a place with a slash in its description.
The prospects dim even further when I walk in and realize, from the sparkly display shelves, that the place is run by an avian shifter. A crow, by the scent of things, because the universe hates me. It’s also early in the morning and the shop is nearly empty. Yet another bad sign.
Just as I’m about to nope the fuck out of here, a guy pops his head through a beaded curtain, tilting to the right and left as if to get a better view of me.
Oh. He’s pretty.
Stop it, Thorin. You’ve already been down this path before.
The strikingly beautiful man—definitely an avian shifter—sports a fashionably messy faux hawk, his hair the shiniest, most beautiful black I’ve ever seen. His long, thick lashes highlight sharp icy turquoise eyes, and his thin, slightly hooked nose over pale, plush lips give him that artist-slash-musician vibe.
Okay, fine. Some things with a slash in the title are actually pretty good.
As a wolf shifter, I appreciate a nose with personality. I also happen to appreciate the way his tight jeans and sparkly T-shirt hug his wiry body.
Not that it matters because, as I mentioned before, he’s an avian shifter.
I shudder. Definitely not going there.
But he smells so good.
Absolutely not.
“Hey! Sorry, running a little late this morning,” he says, his voice high with an alluring bit of a rasp to it.
I check my watch. Six-oh-three.
“No worries. I work from home.”
He disappears behind the beaded curtain and then reappears with a flourish, flitting over to the espresso machine, getting things fired up as he hums something classical to himself.
“I’ll be with you in two shakes,” he calls out, disappearing once again behind the beaded curtain.
Cute ass.
Ignoring whatever my wolf side is doing, I take asecond look around. The tables for the café are set in the middle of the space, which is framed out in glass shelving which boasts polished agate, local fossils in a light, chalky rock, and jewelry made from all manner of precious stones. Not nearly as tacky as I’ve seen in some avian establishments, I’ll give him that.
Unsurprisingly, everything in the store is placed to catch the sun, and I can admit the sparkly effect is quite lovely. Testing out a theory, I take a bit of amethyst and angle it just out of the sun. A few seconds later, my avian friend peers through the beaded entryway, sending me a brilliant smile.
Save your smiles, buddy. I’m not fooled by pearly teeth.
His eyes cant off to the side and he dips his head sharply. “Do you like amethyst?” he asks.
“Yes. How did you know?” I ask innocently.
“The amethyst is in a slightly different location.”
The shifter brushes past me to adjust its position back into the light.
“Do you remember where everything goes in your shop?”
He taps his temple with an elegant finger. “Mind like a steel trap.”
