But I didn't expect a stranger to know that at a glance. It was easier to let people think what they wanted instead of explaining the truth. Especially since, in our society, humans and shifters lived together. Often I didn't know whether the strangers next to me in public were human or not. I'd rather cut off my nose than explain my whole life story to a human:Yes, I'm an omega, not an alpha. Yes, I know I'm bigger than most omegas you know. Yes, it's because I'm actually a tiger. No, I don't react to catnip...
That wasn't true. But humans didn't need to know that.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my broad nose. What was I doing again?
Right. My fabrics. I was in the section of blue cottons, figuring out a pattern for my new quilting project. I'd felt close to a breakthrough when that woman asked for my input, so now I had to think it through all over again.
I ran my hand absentmindedly over the bolts of blue fabric. They were all gorgeous, like the sky or ocean. But they didn't really shine beneath the fluorescent lighting in the shop. I'd need to buy them and take them home to my little sewing room to see their true beauty. It was a cramped room in my small apartment, but it was where the magic happened. And it wasmine.
"Royal blue next to cobalt blue," I murmured. "Maybe with a baby blue for the binding..."
"Blue this, blue that. How 'boutred?"
Another interruption shattered my concentration, but this time it was gratingly familiar. I'd recognize Muzo's voice anywhere.
Before I could turn to look at him, he grunted and dropped a big bolt of red fabric on top of all the blues.
"Geez, that's freakin' heavy!" Muzo grumbled. "How do all the little old ladies shop here?"
I gently pinched his small bicep. "They're all stronger than you, apparently."
"Ouch! Hey, knock it off, I'm not that weak!" Muzo pouted and put his hands on his hips.
Muzo was an omega shifter, too. His animal form was a black-backed jackal, which meant his human form was lithe and wiry—andmuchsmaller than me. He looked like a typical omega standing at a cute five-foot-five with narrow hips and a slight frame. But he made up for his size with his obnoxious personality and loud mouth.
"So?" Muzo prompted. "Red? We're going with red, right?"
"Weare not going with anything. In case you forgot, I'm the one who quilts, not you."
Muzo shrugged. "Meh. How hard could it be?"
"Try it and then we'll talk," I mumbled.
He ignored me and pushed the red bolt of fabric closer to me with an expectant look.
"I'm not using that," I told him bluntly.
"What? Why not? It's a nice fabric. And look, it's red. Don't youlovered? Doesn't it remind you of the blood of your prey?" Muzo teased.
"Keep your voice down," I growled.
Shifters and humans may have lived together in relative harmony, but that didn't mean it was a utopia. I was conscious of the fact that some humans didn't understand shifters—and when humans didn't understand something, that feeling could easily warp into fear or hatred. Especially of predator species like ours.
"Yeah, yeah," Muzo said, waving me off. "So you don't like it?"
"Red is garish. Put it back."
"Pfft.Garish... Such a drama queen."
I stared at him, pointedly raising my eyebrow.
Muzo relented. "Fine, suit yourself. Makin' me carry this heavy thing all the way... Oh gods, my back..."
It was ironic that he calledmea drama queen when he was the most over-the-top creature I'd ever met in my life. He made a big, pathetic display of trying to pick up the bolt. It was so pathetic that I sighed and took over.
As I hauled the bolt over my shoulder, Muzo grinned. "Aw, thanks, bud! You're a lifesaver. Now if you don't mind, this store is boring me to tears, so I'm gonna check out the cafe next door. Meet me later, okay? See ya!"
I sighed in relief as Muzo darted out the door. Now that he was out of my hair, I could finally look at the damn fabrics in peace. I hadn't even invited Muzo to go shopping with me today. It was like he had a sixth sense for knowing where his friends were so he could annoy them. I wished he had morefriends so it wouldn't constantly beme.
