Page 1 of Colton’s Mate

Chapter 1

It was early evening, and Callie Haugan sat in a lawn chair outside her tiny bungalow next to her makeshift firepit, shotgun across her knees, drinking homemade margaritas right out of the pitcher and taking potshots at any crows who invaded her airspace.

Shifter crows. Regular crows. She didn’t care. She was pissed off at all of them.

And also, they weren’t showing proper respect for the scarecrow she’d erected in her front yard. Hah. Erected. Did that mean it was an erection?

Well, she’d made it by stuffing her ex’s biker leathers with straw, and he sure as hell had been a dick.

So she guessed that did make it an erection.

A crow flew overhead, squawking, and she shot in its general direction. Her aim was way off—it was out of range for a shotgun. But that was okay. She wasn’t really trying to kill it. Who wanted their yard littered with dead bodies?

She just wanted all the damn crows to know she’d gotten past “mad as hell” and moved on to “not gonna take it anymore.”

In fact, she and her tequila had decided she wasn’t going to take anybody’s shit anymore. She was tired of trying to please people and not make waves.

From now on, she was going to do whatever she wanted. And she was going to make waves. Hell, if she felt like it, she was going to make a fucking tsunami.

“So fuck off!” she yelled to the crow overhead, and shot off a shell with a satisfying bang.

She paused to take another slug of margarita and reload.

She also needed more salt for the edge of her pitcher, but she didn’t feel like getting up and going inside for more, so she didn’t.

She heard the sound of an approaching engine. A jacked-up pickup started to pull into her driveway, slid to a sudden stop when the driver caught sight of her shotgun, and then crept very slowly the rest of the way in.

The driver rolled down his window. It was Jason, who used to tend bar at the roadhouse she and her brother owned. Before her late unlamented ex, Caleb, burned it to the ground.

Jason was one of the good guys. He was also a friend, so she decided not to shoot him. Even if he was a crow.

He said, “Is it okay if I get out?”

“Sure.”

He climbed out of the truck just as two wild crows flew overhead. Callie pumped the shotgun and let off another shot.

Jason walked over to her. “Yeesh. Do you have to try to kill every garden-variety wild crow that comes near you?”

“I got a grudge,” Callie said. “So should you. They fought with the Black Talons and the Corsairs against us. You know. When we almost died?”

That was only about a month and a half ago. There had been a big battle, which the good guys won. Caleb and his evil friends had gotten what was coming to them. And she’d made some new friends—the Wild Blood Crew. But she still hated crows.

She held out the pitcher. “Want to share my margaritas?”

“No thanks.” Jason grabbed another lawn chair off the ground, unfolded it, and sat down. “But I’d take a beer, if there’s one in that cooler.”

Callie moved her feet off the cooler. “Check and see. Might get lucky.” Good girl Callie would have rushed to be a good hostess, running inside to get him a cold one. Drunk bad girl Callie didn’t give a shit. She hadn’t invited him.

And besides, she had to be careful how welcoming she was. Jason had made it clear he wanted them to be more than friends, and she’d never felt that way about him. She didn’t want him getting encouraged.

Jason grabbed a beer out of the cooler and shoved it back so she could put her feet back up. “You know, probably not every wild crow in the whole state of Kentucky was involved. These might be innocent.”

“Sucks for them,” she said. “They should respect the scarecrow. And the ‘Fuck Off’ sign I nailed to the roof. Big red letters.”

“Um, I don’t think they can read.” Jason uncapped his beer and took a drink.

“The Black Talons can,” Callie said. “And them I really will shoot.”