Page 5 of Remington’s Mate

She shut down the dating app. Maybe she should just forget that for a while, and concentrate on being a kickass executive bitch.

She put one more thing on the bottom of her survival list: vibrator batteries.

Okay. She was ready.

Chapter 3

It was Sunday morning in Farville, Kentucky, at the partially renovated mansion that was home to the Wild Blood Crew.

The place was currently half brand-spanking-new and sexy as fuck—and half hot mess with too many jagged edges.

Kind of like the crew, come to think about it.

Remington McCall—snowy owl shifter, sometimes snow leopard shifter, and all-the-time fucked-up mess—was in the middle of trying to figure out how to secretly kill a six-foot-ten-inch polar bear shifter and hide the body where no one would notice it.

Which would be easier than getting the giant furry disaster a date, which was what Remy was not-so-secretly trying to do.

Like every Sunday morning, their alpha, Brandon Fierro, was making pancakes for crew brunch. Since Brandon was in a good mood, he’d made the pancakes in the shapes of animals, instead of middle fingers, dicks, or weirdly deformed lady parts. Only the occasional F-U pancakes had appeared, just in case anyone should mistakenly think Brandon was mellowing.

Not a chance.

Brandon’s mate, Kitty Jameson, was sitting on the end of the kitchen island, feet dangling, wearing ninja unicorn pajamas and goofy sheep slippers. She was drinking coffee and eating a Hostess cupcake while waiting for a third pancake.

Nothing like keeping your blood sugar level at a nice, even, off-the-charts high.

They were all being extra loud and boisterous, because of how empty the kitchen felt. Remy’s twin brother Colton and his mate, Callie Haugan, were currently on vacation in some miniscule town in the Colorado mountains.

Colt was the real snow leopard shifter, with a side of owl on bad days, and Callie was a lynx. Apparently their cats thought romping in the snow was romantic or some shit. It was only a two-week trip, but the Wild Bloods’ new crew bond was tight, so it felt weird and wrong for a third of them to be gone.

Weirdest for Remy. Before this, he and Colt had literally never been apart longer than a day. Of course, neither of them had had a serious relationship before, either. They’d planned to save that until they were stupid old, like thirty-eight and a half. Maybe forty.

Then—boom. Callie.

Remy liked Callie—it wasn’t that. If he were picking a mate, he wouldn’t mind one kind of like her—cool and badass, and brave and funny and loyal and…

Anyway.

It wasn’t even that he begrudged his brother his blissed-out happiness and innumerable perfect, happily-ever-after boink-a-thons.

Well, yeah, he did, but he was trying not to act like a dick about it.

The thing was, Callie was only one woman, with no handy identical twin sister. So Remy was on his own, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do about that, because for twenty-five years he and his brother had been an unstoppable team.

Needing no one but each other.

Well, now it was fucking different, and there was nothing he could do about it but up his dating game to its former levels so he could at least get laid and not think about what he was missing.

Unfortunately, Colt had always been his wingman—and substitutes were in pathetically short supply.

For a while he’d at least had Jason the crow to go to bars with, even though Jason was grumpy as fuck and not much use as a wingman despite having actual wings. But Jason had gone off about a month ago, and no one knew if he was coming back.

So that left Remy with two choices: Phantom Nick, the crew’s resident shifter ghost, who never left his panther form and was also, you know. Dead.

Or Squatch, the giant hermit polar bear shifter. Who was really named Titan, but looked like a fucking Sasquatch. Remy was trying ease him into dating with an online app. But how the hell did you sell a Sasquatch look-alike on a dating site, except maybe in the fucking Yukon?

Remy couldn’t even get a decent profile picture of him. His long silver hair and eerie colorless eyes were not appealing on camera.

“We really need to get you a shirt,” Remy said, flicking through reject photos while Titan continued filling out his online profile. “Maybe two shirts. You know, for when one’s in the wash? And also, pants.”