Eve Langlais: Jealous Freakn’

Book Two in the Freakn’ Shifters Series

Copyright © November 2011, Eve Langlais

Excessive amounts of heat may be generated when reading this story. Do not sit or stand near flammable objects unless they happen to be your partner. Please note that while the heroes sustained injuries during the course of the story, Francine did eventually kiss them all better, naked of course. This is a ménage romance, with heavy emphasis on the romance. It does contain multi-partner, sexual situations that some people may find titillating. Reader discretion is advised.

Hubby, as usual, gets a thank you for being my inspiration and biggest fan. Love you, George.

I’d also like to extend a great, big thank you to Brandie Buckwine, a fellow author, who Beta read this piece for me. Not only did she spot some pesky typos, but with her advice, helped me make one scene super special. You rock!

Legs pumping wildly, he tore through the woods behind his house, unfortunately too far from the shelter of his room. Despite his speed, he knew his pursuer owned fleeter feet-and unwavering determination. If he were to survive, he needed to hide, and quickly. Panting, he stopped and perused the area. Eyes frantically scanning, he searched for somewhere to hide. He said a short prayer begging the ground to open up and swallow him. No such luck.

The rustling sound of his stalker approached, and panic gripped him. He couldn’t allow himself to get caught, not after what happened last time. He thought about wiggling his skinny body under the partially collapsed tree, however the idea of becoming trapped halted him. Perhaps he could climb a tree? Cover himself in leaves? Or…

Too late. A hundred pounds of persistence tackled him to the ground, knocking the breath from him. Before he could wiggle free, the bane of his existence grabbed his arms and pinned him.

“Gotcha!” Bright brown eyes set in a freckled face with a gap-toothed smile stared down at him.

Dammit, she’d caught him, again. At least this time his brothers and friends weren’t around to ridicule him.

“Francine,” he said, trying to sound stern like his mother, not an easy thing to do with a thirteen-year-old voice prone to cracking. “Let me go.”

“Not ‘til you say it,” she ordered with the command of a queen stifled in a ten-year-old’s body.

“No. I won’t.” To admit it would probably cause the end of the world, his world, not to mention make him a laughing stock.

“Oh yes you will,” she said with a grin, leaning close, the aroma of watermelon bubble gum wafting over him. “I’m not letting you go until you do.”

And she wouldn’t. Francine owned a few pounds on his yet to grow frame. This was one of the times his runt status sucked. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he warned, even if he didn’t actually mean it. His mother would kill him if he bent a hair on Francine’s head, his baby sister’s best friend and ultimate pain in his ass.

“Ha. I’d like to see you try. We both know I could kick your butt in a second. Now tell me.”

“No.”

She retaliated, her fingers letting go of him only to dig under his arms, going straight for his ticklish spots. Mitchell screamed and squirmed as she tortured him, but he couldn’t manage to push her off, no matter how much he tried.

“Say it!”

“Never!”

She gave him a purple nurple, twisting his nipple until he let out an ungodly squeal that no animal or boy should make.

“Say it,” she again ordered with all the pity of an axe murderer. None.

Mitchell knew what she wanted. Dreaded it, in fact. Never, ever would he say it. She could kill him first. He sealed his lips tight and glared at her defiantly.

Annoyance made her freckled button nose wrinkle. “Stop being so freakn’ stubborn. You know we’re meant to be together, so just admit it.” Such certainty from a ten-year-old girl who still played with dolls.

Looking into her familiar countenance surround by bobbing red pigtails, a well-known visage he’d encountered almost daily since she was a baby, he screwed up his face. “Eew, Francine. That’s just gross. You’re like a sister to me.”

His announcement, as expected, didn’t go over well. Her face tightened in irritation. “I am not your freakn’ sister,” she yelled as she sat up and placed her hands on her waist, the picture of thwarted indignation.

“Close enough,” he growled, suddenly rolling his body sideways, jolting her off of him. Free, he sprang to his feet and ran, fast as he could, but he still heard her holler.

“You might escape for now, Mitchell, but you can’t run forever. One day, you, you’ll come to your senses and admit you’re my mate.”

Like freakn’ hell.

Years later…

Figured her car would decide to die without warning, probably because the warranty on it ran out the week before.

“Stupid piece of crap.” Francine slapped the steering wheel and got out of her car. She glared at the offending piece of junk, wondering just how she would now make it to her best friend’s baby shower in time. Sure, she could have stripped and turned furry, running the rest of the way, but then how would she carry the damned present she bought for the occasion? Arriving empty handed seemed so gauche no matter the reason. And, given the awkward size of the gift, she couldn’t exactly carry it in her canine mouth.

Sighing, she yanked out her cell phone, only to curse at the black screen. She’d forgotten to charge it-again.

“Great, just freakn’ great. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?” Hands on her hips, she peered up and down the road, still at least three miles from where she needed to go. Just her luck, she didn’t spot hide nor hair of anything, not on this secluded stretch of road, part of the reason the little neighborhood at its end proved so popular with shifter families.

What to do? It occurred to her that other guests were expected, so perhaps if she started walking, one would happen to come along and give her a lift. Never mind the fact she ran late and was probably the last guest to arrive. Surely fate wouldn’t let her miss her BFF’s big moment?

Grabbing the present with its big yellow bow, Francine began walking in heels meant to look pretty and elongate her short legs. They lasted five minutes. The third time she stumbled in the gravel, she ripped them off her feet and threw them in the woods. Five minutes after that, she regretted her haste as the rough pavement underfoot didn’t exactly scream comfort.

Fifteen minutes into her walk, hot, annoyed, and her feet dirty, she plopped herself on top her present in the middle of the road, determined to wait for a vehicle even if it took all day. The box, of course, dented under her weight and she jumped off it with another curse. Great, just great. Could this day get any more annoying?

The attempt to straighten out the box ended up with it looking even more lopsided and she restrained an urge to kick it. Thankfully, luck finally came her way before she gave in to an urge to go psychotic on the gift. A rumble in the distance had her peering up the road. Waiting for fate to drop the other shoe, she didn’t move as the sound approached. But it didn’t start to rain, and the vehicle didn’t do a sudden u-turn to head in the other direction. She perked up when she noted the motorcycle coasting to a stop in front of her, then sighed. While guys who rode bikes were hot in her book, and any other time she would have jumped on the chance for a ride, unfortunately, given the mangled present she still needed to bring, he just wouldn’t do.