Moira Rogers: Moonshine

Claire knew she stuck out like a sore thumb from the moment she walked into the bar, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she looked like shit. Dos Culebras was not a bar women usually entered alone unless they were professionals. The few non-hookers in residence belonged to men frightening enough to convince the rest of the clients to leave them alone.

She was not a professional. Worse than that, she was a shapeshifter who challenged every man in the bar just by walking into it. Hell, she wanted to be a challenge. She needed to meet another shapeshifter tonight. Someone like her, who understood her strength. Who could handle her strength. Someone who wouldn't be afraid.

She heard her ex-boyfriend's voice as she took her beer to a small table in the corner. It's not you, Claire. You need someone...like you. Oh, he'd been full of false sympathy when he'd broken up with her. He'd pretended it wasn't because she'd proven herself to be stronger than he was—yet again.

Humans are fragile. A morbid thought, but so true. Humans were fragile, and she had to stop wanting to be with one. Over twenty years had passed since magic had first crashed into science and bled into everyday life. The terror had finally subsided, and lots of men now found it hip to have a supernatural girlfriend. At least until she embarrasses them in front of the boys by being stronger than they are.

Human men. Their egos were as fragile as their bodies.

She was halfway through her beer before she realized she had attracted a stranger’s attention. He sat across the bar from her, in a corner booth, with his back against the wall and one booted foot propped on the cracked vinyl in front of him. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, and a long-neck hung loosely from his fingers. Tattoos encircled his arms, tribal designs that stood out against his skin and disappeared beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt. He looked dangerous. Perfect .

Even at that distance, his eyes bored into hers. The intensity of his unwavering gaze made her uncomfortable. She had no problem recognizing another shapeshifter. Not a wolf, which she might have expected, but a coyote. Like me .

She met his gaze unflinchingly, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist the challenge of her presence.

You'll do, whoever you are.

After a moment he rose, one fluid motion bringing him out of the booth. He stalked towards her, his movements at once graceful and dangerous, and she couldn't take her eyes away from him. He stopped at the corner of the bar and slid onto a seat. For a minute, Claire thought he wouldn't speak. Then his icy blue eyes softened, and he said in a low voice, "You look like shit."

"Thank you. I feel like shit," she replied quietly. "That's why I have a beer."

He paused for a moment, then set down his bottle. "I know who you are, you know."

It figured. Coyotes weren't rare, but there were only ten female coyotes in town compared to the fifty or so males. She turned her eyes back to the man and ran them over him in an assessing manner that bordered on insulting. "Really? Haven't seen you in any of my classes. You don't look like the college type."

He just grinned, and the simple action transformed his face from broodingly dangerous to dangerously handsome. "Touchy bitch."

"Yeah, maybe." She finished the rest of her bottle and set it on the table. "My boyfriend just dumped my ass because I'm tougher than he is. I'm feeling a little touchy."

He stared at her for a second. "Beer ain't taking the edge off of that, doll. You do shots?"

She slanted him a look, wondering if he was the type of man who could find her something better than alcohol. Maybe the tricky little magical drug making the rounds now. Custom designed for shapeshifters, it provided the adrenaline rush of a shift, along with a healthy dose of desire. Right now, she wanted something to remind herself just how far she was from actually being human.

Of course, she wasn't exactly sure how to ask him if he happened to have a bottle of moonshine in his pocket. So instead, she settled for a vague reply. "If I wanted to do the stuff I usually do, I wouldn't be here."

He nodded. "Hey, Wanda. Give us a couple of shots of Johnnie Walker, yeah?"

Claire waited until the woman set a shot glass in front of her. Then she picked it up and tossed it back, coughing a little as the liquid burned its way down her throat.

When she managed to blink away the reflexive tears that sprang to her eyes, she found him watching her. "It's a long way from milk and cookies."

“Yeah.” He threw back his own shot without blinking. "I'm Lars."

"Lars." Claire dropped the shot glass back on to the bar. "Hi. I'm Claire."

Lars nodded to Wanda, and she brought over two more shots. He let his eyes roam over Claire again. Her baggy T-shirt and loose jeans hid her body, but he'd seen her before. Her innocent blue eyes and sweet, freckled face were completely at odds with her lush, voluptuous body. She was like a naughty librarian fantasy come to life, even dressed down with her auburn hair in a sloppy ponytail.

He slid one of the small glasses toward her. "Just how different do you want your night to be, doll?"

She didn't choke this time; just made a face and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before turning that haunted blue gaze back on him. "Really, really different."

He reached into his pocket, dragged out a small flask, and flipped its top open. The unmistakable scent of moonshine flooded the air between them. It was nearly scentless to a human, but a tantalizing aphrodisiac to any shapeshifter. "This different?"

She glanced at the flask and then back up at him, looking torn between nervousness and excitement. "I don't know how much to drink."

Lars pulled some money out of his pocket and threw it on the counter. "Come on outside. I'll show you."

She followed him, and he smelled the excitement on her, along with something more primal. Desire—or at least, lust. She wanted him.

The night was dark, but a harsh light buzzed in the alley behind the bar. Lars took another deep pull on his cigarette and eyed Claire. "Ready to try it?"

"Yeah." Her eyes on his hands, she fidgeted. "How fast does it work?"

"It'll hit you pretty much right away."

She nodded. "How much...?"

"Here." He twisted off the cover and filled the cap with the clear liquid. "You should watch it down here, you know. Guy dumps a splash of this into your drink, and you'll be fucking him in the alley before you know what happened."

Claire took the cap from him and studied it for a moment before looking up at him, her blue eyes flashing with a primal need he recognized all too easily. "Maybe I'd fuck him in the alley anyway," she replied in a soft voice, before tipping her head and draining the cap. "I'm not going to shift, am I?"

"No." Lars took the cap back from her. "Something in the moonshine suppresses it." He drank directly from the flask, taking more than she had. "Feel it yet?"

"I—Jesus Christ ." She slapped her palms against the wall and moaned low in her throat. "God, that's good."

He closed his eyes as the rush hit him, making every molecule in his body sing. He sucked in a deep breath and sagged against the wall. Even the slight pressure of the bricks through the weight of his clothes was like a caress.

Claire's hand knocked into him. Her fingers curled around the sleeve of his jacket in a desperate grip, and she whimpered.

"Just stay up," he whispered, his words not making sense even to him. He was alive, exhilarated. He wanted to hunt, to yip and howl at the moon, but his body wouldn't obey. Wouldn't change, wouldn't pierce through that wall of magic. "Just stay...up."