Hot and Badgered (Honey Badger Chronicles, #1)

by Shelly Laurenston

A panicked, hysterical scream, followed by bear growls. Stevie ran into the living room and dove under one of the couches. Where she would stay for . . . most likely a while. “There are bears!” she screamed from under the couch. “There are bears in our house! Why are there bears in our house?” Charlie scratched her forehead and faced Max. “Any word on Dad?” “Not yet.” “Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” Max shrugged. “Because I probably am.” “Is what you’re hiding going to give me a migraine?” “Yes.” “Then keep it to yourself for now.” “That was my plan.” “Does no one care that there are bears in our house?” Stevie screeched. Max glanced out one of the windows; Berg walked by on the other side. “How long are we going to stay here anyway?” “Until we at least know what’s going on. Why? You don’t like it here?” Max shrugged. “I’d rather be in the city. This is . . . the ’burbs.” “It’ll be nice. We can live like normal people for once.” Stevie poked her head out. “Did you hear that? Chittering. There are squirrels in this neighborhood. Squirrels!” She went deeper under the couch. Max licked the back of her spoon. “Yep. Just like normal people.”

o0

You’re being overdramatic. Stop it.” “I will not stay out here!” Stevie screeched, legs and arms now swinging wildly. “I will not be eaten! My brain is too important for future societies to allow it to be eaten!” If Max noticed any of what was going on, she didn’t show it, focusing instead on her sandwich and the bag of honey barbecue chips she’d opened. But Berg and his siblings were fascinated. “Look,” Charlie ordered her sister, aiming the woman at the Dunns. “They already have food. There is no reason to eat you.” “Are you insane? They’re bears!” “J’accuse!” Max suddenly announced; then she laughed. Berg got the feeling she was having her own conversation in her head.

;)

Tiger and honey badger together? What did that mean about little Stevie? Frail-looking, easily panicked, but surprisingly sharp-eyed Stevie. “Want me to ladle out your food for you?” Max asked Stevie. “I can get my own food, thank you very much.” “You sure, sweetie?” Max gently patted her sister on the back and Berg could tell it did nothing but irritate Stevie. “I can spoon-feed you, if you’d like. Make plane sounds and everything!” “I have hated you since I met you!” Stevie screamed in her sister’s face. “You have no idea what true hate is!” While the pair screamed, Charlie took it upon herself to put small amounts of food on a paper plate and place it in front of Stevie. The youngest of the sisters began eating while still yelling at Max, unaware that Charlie had put together her meal for her.

Jeebus ... that poor girl ... and I mean the oldest one ...

Of course, that’s what Charlie always loved about Stevie. She might be one of the smartest humans in the known universe, but around “the normals” as Max called everyone else, she didn’t act superior. She seemed like anyone else who had a panic disorder and the occasional bout of deep depression that required additional medications. But Stevie hadn’t had a bout of that depression in quite a while. Thankfully.

0o

“I think of myself as kind of a liger,” Stevie explained. “Even though ligers are composed of two of the strongest apex predators in the world, they are surprisingly gentle and sweet natured. Despite their enormous size.” “So the badger and tiger cancel each other out?” “Mostly,” she replied, which made Max snort. Again, Charlie slapped her sister in the back of the head. “But not you?” Britta asked Charlie. “But not me what?” “Did your two sides cancel each other out?” “I wouldn’t say that. It’s more like they found a way to work together.” “Like uranium and Oppenheimer!” Max crowed.

Boom?

“He used my baby picture,” Max announced, “to sell nonexistent Asian babies to infertile couples desperate to adopt.” “Oh!” Britta’s expression became even more horrified. “Oh, my God!” “He’s the reason Max’s mom is in prison,” Charlie tossed in. Stevie took another sip of water. “As my legal guardian—” “Which he wasn’t,” Charlie added. “—he sold all the rights to my early music. Music that is now worth millions and millions of dollars. I haven’t seen a cent from any of it.” Max popped more peanuts into her mouth before noting, “You hear her music in expensive car commercials all the time.” “And he sold it for . . . what was it, Charlie?” “Fifty grand.” “Right. Fifty grand. Fifty grand that I never saw a cent from.” “Because he was going to pay it back to you after he got his business off the ground,” Charlie reminded her. “Oh, yes. The can’t-fail business that turned out to be a pyramid scheme that also bilked the elderly out of a few million.” “None of which he managed to make any money from,” Charlie added. “But he also managed not to get any prison time.” Max chuckled. “Everybody else went to jail but him.” “Yeah,” Britta finally agreed. “That is definitely the worst—” “And remember that time he ‘accidentally’”—Max asked her sisters, making air quotes with her fingers—“sold me into domestic slavery?”

0o

“You poor thing.” Britta shook her head. “How long before someone got you?” “No one came to get me.” “Wait.” Charlie raised her hand. “Let’s be clear here . . . we didn’t have time to get you.” “That’s true,” Max admitted with a smile. “As soon as they handed me that iron, I beat the husband with it, and then proceeded to tear the wife’s face off with my claws. I left them crying, screaming, and bleeding with the kids trying to call the cops.” Berg and his siblings stared at Max until Berg asked, “How old were you?” “Twelve. Right?” “Eleven,” corrected Stevie, the keeper of all specifics. Not hard with her brain. “I went through puberty a little early,” Max added to explain an eleven-year-old shifter with claws.

0o

“Look,” Max said, “our sister has a lot going on. And that’s been her life since birth. She takes care of everybody. That’s what she does. But we want her to know what it’s like to be normal.” “Because she’s too involved in your lives?” “Oh, God no. We thank every deity that exists for each other. Charlie’s the reason I’m not doing hard time in a federal prison.” “And I’m not making meth because of her.” Berg looked up into the cabinet Stevie was still ensconced in, and she explained, “My father once sold me to a Peruvian drug lord because, and I’m quoting, ‘You’re good with science.’ But thankfully Charlie didn’t let that happen.” “And somewhere there’s a Peruvian drug lord who wishes he still had two hands,” Max muttered; then she laughed. When Berg didn’t join in, she went on. “We just want the best for our sister. She clearly likes you because she doesn’t want you cursed—” “There is no curse,” Berg said again. “And you seem refreshingly normal. You have siblings that haven’t actively tried to have you killed. Your sister complains about her mom in that cute, normal way. Without malice or the desire to track her down and kill her. You could be really good for her.” “And she’ll be the best thing that’s ever come into your life,” Stevie told him plainly. “But you guys make me sound so boring.” “Yes,” Max said flatly. “Very boring is a man who can shift to a fifteen-hundred-pound bear.” “It’s only a thousand pounds. Polar bears shift to fifteen hundred.” Max gazed at him a...

<3

Max gazed down at the kitchen table, which was covered in all sorts of baked goods. From simple sugar cookies to complicated breads and desserts. Her sister had been up all night making this food. Stevie tried meditation and yoga to relax. Max got into fights with bees. And Charlie baked. “What are we supposed to do with all this?” Max asked Stevie. “I mean, I can pack it away, but even I can’t eat this much before it all goes bad.” “I’m half Siberian tiger and I can’t eat all this.” “What would normal people do with this much food?” Stevie thought a moment. “Give it to friends and family.” “We don’t speak to our family and we have very few friends.”

Oh girls ... remember the bears ... ;p

“They’ll be coming for you,” Bernice told Charlie. “For what?” Charlie scoffed. “I don’t have a million pounds just lying around to fix my father’s fuckup. And Dad has never given a shit about his daughters, so threatening us won’t work either.” “But you’re the only one, Charlie, who has ever been able to manage the stupid fuck. The Scots know that. They’ll use it. They’ll use your sisters.” Charlie began to rub her forehead. “Can’t you talk to them?” she asked between clenched teeth. Charlie hated asking any of the family for anything. So she didn’t. Until now. “Me? That won’t help you. Will and I are not exactly close. But if I were in your shoes, I’d let Will and all your Scottish uncles know, in very clear terms, that you and your sisters are not to be put into the mix when it comes to dealing with your father.”

That's actually considered helpful for that family

“Of course you agree with Bernice. Because she said we should strike first.” “No, she said we should let Uncle Will and the others know that we’re not to be fucked with because of our father. I say we set up . . . an opportunity.” “An opportunity to what? Fuck us over?” “Can I make a suggestion?” Stevie asked. Charlie let out a long sigh, but it didn’t relieve the tension in her shoulders. The strain on her face. “Of course,” she said to Stevie. Their baby sister stood, smoothing down the front of her too-big sundress. “I say you call him up. Uncle Will. And tell him we want to talk to him. Some place private in the City.” “And then?” Charlie asked. Stevie shrugged her shoulders and lifted her hands, palms up. “If Uncle Will truly just wants to talk, then we talk, tell him we don’t know what Dad’s up to, and everybody goes their separate ways. But if Uncle Will intends to use us to get at Dad . . . then we do what we do. I mean, if they’re going to use us as an object lesson . . . maybe it’s time we make a lesson of them.” Charlie studied her sister a moment. “It’ll get messy.” “Anything involving Daddy gets messy. Call Uncle Will, Max,” she suggested while reaching into her oversized backpack, which was jammed with her notebooks, pencils, and pens. “Or his eldest son, Dougie. Pick an abandoned building and tell them we want to meet on Monday. Give it a sense of urgency so they don’t think we’re planning anything.” Stevie pulled out the SSRI antidepressants and antianxiety...

<3 :(

Before Tiny could even flex his muscles, though, Dutch was next to him. Against him. He sniffed his way up Tiny’s chest, looked at him, then abruptly huffed. Twice. Shocked, Tiny took a startled step back and Dutch huffed again, moving closer. Huffed again, moved closer. Then he unleashed his fangs. Fangs that could crush nearly anything. The bear unleashed his claws, but Charlie quickly stepped between the two huffing males and snarled, “I am trying to be a good neighbor. I’m not sure how one does that, but I’m almost positive bloodshed is not involved!” She pointed her finger at Tiny. “So put those claws away.” She glared at Dutch. “And don’t you even think about doing anything involving your anal glands.” Dutch grinned, his fangs still out. “Sweet talker.” “Here, Tiny.” She handed Tiny the cake she’d been planning to give to the Dunns. “It’s honey-pineapple.” “Oh. Uh . . . thanks.” Tiny took the cake and turned to walk away, but he stopped, looked back at Dutch. “Honey badger?” he guessed. “Hardly,” Dutch said, his voice full of that ridiculous pride, his fang-filled grin widening even more. “Wolverine.” Frowning, Tiny focused on Charlie. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing wolverines here.” “Racist.”

o0

But if her sister had seen the dog in the yard, she wouldn’t have run out of the house, leaving the safety of closed doors. So Stevie had reacted to something inside the house. Charlie reached under the coffee table and grabbed the .45 Max had holstered under there, putting a round in the chamber. Berg’s “Whoa!” barely registered before she went through the house, her weapon clasped in both hands, her elbows out at her sides. She never held the gun far from her body. That would make it easy for someone to knock it out of her hands when she went around a blind corner. She stopped a few feet from the kitchen and glanced back at Berg. “What are those sounds?” He paused a moment, then rolled his eyes. He walked over to the swinging door and pushed it open. With the gun still in front of her, Charlie moved closer but immediately lowered the weapon when she saw a group of what she assumed were her neighbors sitting at her kitchen table or leaning against the counter and devouring her food. “I see your mistake,” Berg explained, moving into the kitchen. The neighbors barely noticed him. “You left the window open.” “We smelled all this a block away,” a sow said between bites of lemon cookies. “Did Tiny give you the right garbage cans?” a male bear asked, remnants of raspberry Danish in the corners of his mouth. “The right garbage cans?” “Yeah,” Berg explained. “Bear proof.” Charlie felt her left eye twitch. “I need bear-proof garbage cans?” “Some of us get hungry at night when we’r...

0o

“How can you”—she stepped back to allow a hysterically screaming Stevie to run past her; a snarling Max followed close behind with Berg’s ridiculously happy dog after both of them—“say that when there are bears in my kitchen?” Berg didn’t answer her right away. He was too busy watching Stevie leap up and over the two-car garage behind the house. Max and the dog, sadly, had to run around the garage to get to her. “Wow. She cleared that easy.” “Pay attention to me!” she ordered. And when she had his attention, she said again, “There are bears in my kitchen!” “Yeah . . . so?” She threw up her hands. “In what world is that safe?” “Let’s start with . . . how about no yelling? And you couldn’t be safer than with bears in your kitchen.” “Explain that to me,” she managed to say without raising her voice. “You’re worried about strange guys coming into your house, killing you and Max, and kidnapping Stevie, right?” “That would be the most likely scenario.” “How are they going to get past a bunch of hungry bears in your kitchen?” She opened her mouth to reply, closed it, opened it, then demanded, “What?”

:) Particularly ones that you bake for. :D

“They taught me and Max how to drive . . . of course, that was so we could chauffer Stevie around to all her college classes and private lessons.” “Oh.” “The shifter stuff they taught their pups, but they didn’t consider us their pups. They just made sure we were fed and kept alive. And my grandfather was busy running the Pack. I think he thought his Packmates were helping us more . . . but they really weren’t. Still, they didn’t try to kill us either or chase us off before we were eighteen, so I considered that a win.” “I guess. So, in other words, you don’t spend a lot of time around other shifters.” “I don’t. And Stevie doesn’t. Max has a bunch of friends through—” “The weasel?” She smirked. “He’s the brawniest member of the badger family. I would suggest you not fuck with him.” Berg suddenly heard crunching sounds behind him and turned to see that the weasel was standing behind him, biting off chunks of meat and bone from a frozen-solid leg of lamb.

0o ... I wonder if that's still brain freeze causing?

“So what’s up, Clark?” “Was wondering if this is yours?” “If what’s mine?” Clark turned around and showed them his back, where the quivering, sobbing mess that was Charlie’s baby sister had attached herself. She was still human, but claws on both her hands and feet were buried deep into poor Clark’s flesh. “Oh, shit!” Charlie immediately grabbed her sister around the waist. “Let him go!” “Safe bear,” Stevie said. “Safe bear. It petted dog. So he is safe bear.” Well . . . that was logic. Not necessarily good or sound logic though. Charlie attempted to drag her sister off Clark’s back but she simply dug her claws in deeper. Clark looked over his shoulder at Berg. “Could you get this mutt off me, please?” Berg almost thumped the polar in the back of the head. “Mutt” was a rude way to talk about hybrids, but Charlie didn’t seem to notice. Mostly, he was sure, because she was busy trying to deal with her sister. But also because she didn’t know better. She didn’t know she’d just been insulted. But he did. And it pissed him off for her. Pulling Charlie’s hands away from her sister, Berg said, “You know what? Let’s make this a learning opportunity.”

I mean he was doing well regarding the claws and everything until that comment ...

Had she lost her mind? She couldn’t be that clueless to the shifter life, could she? Then again, he and Dag had gotten in the middle of a badger fight—so who was he to talk? “Hey! Hey! Gentlemen!” She looked at both of them. “Stop it right now!” With her arms still outstretched, she pointed one finger at Berg. “And I don’t need you to protect me from big, slow-moving assholes.” “I’m not slow,” Clark said. And when they stared at him, he added, “Mind or body . . . owwwww!” Eyes wide, he stared at Charlie. “I think her claws are getting longer.” “They’re totally getting longer,” she said with no obvious sense of urgency. “In fact, they can get so long that they can sever your spine in at least ten places.” She stepped in close to Clark, gazing up at him without any fear. “Because me and my sister are mutts and that’s what we do. We are freaks of nature and we can erase you. So be nice to us . . . or I’ll show you exactly what I can do to you.” She stepped around him, stopping by his side, and adding, “And you won’t even have time to scream.” Moving away from the stunned polar, she barked, “Let him go, Stevie!” Stevie suddenly hit the ground, her ridiculously long claws covered in blood and gore. The poor girl was panting and sweating and completely freaked out.

o0

This was why she kept Dutch around. With all the shit that went on in her life, it was nice to have someone who saw the humor in goddamn everything. And she adored his family. They’d let her stay at their house any time she’d wanted. She’d hang with Dutch and his loud, ridiculous sisters, and their parents had been fine with it. Even Stevie would sometimes go to Dutch’s house and spend time with the wolverines. She never found them threatening for some reason. She didn’t jump into their hardcore play, but instead would sit somewhere, working in her notebooks and watching the family interactions. They didn’t pressure her to be part of anything, so she felt welcome and comfortable. There had been only one problem over the years . . . “So Charlie still hates me.” “Yes,” both Max and Stevie said together. “Why?” Dutch asked. “I’m charming. Adorable. Everybody loves me.” Stevie swallowed her ice cream before replying. “She thinks you’re a bad influence on Max.” Max and Dutch laughed at that . . . but they stopped when Stevie continued to eat her banana split and stare at them. “You’re serious?” Dutch asked.

0o ...

“I was under a lot of stress. And his tone, when he was telling me something about some tests we had run, bothered me. So, you know . . . fountain pen.” Dutch started to ask more questions about what Max knew he’d now call “the fountain pen incident,” but she bumped his elbow with her own. She knew that Stevie would never be able to explain her reaction to Dutch’s satisfaction. In those nice, straight lines of everyday storytelling. Her mind didn’t work that way when she had her “moments.” Instead, Max and Charlie tried to keep Stevie out of those situations where she might feel overwhelmed. She could handle a lot more than normal people, but when she did crack . . . she cracked big.

0o

Are you asking me if I have an eating disorder?” “Yes.” “No. I don’t have an eating disorder. I have a panic disorder and bouts of depression. I do worry I might start hoarding at some point, but it hasn’t happened yet. And, of course, when one needs a sense of control in one’s life it can definitely lead to an eating disorder or hoarding. But, personally, I’m more worried about the hoarding. Mostly because I do enjoy food and I don’t enjoy vomiting. Now if you’re wondering why I’m so thin these days, it’s because my metabolism has kicked up again. I’ve had to adjust my meds accordingly, taking them four times a day, which is unpleasant, but necessary because my system grinds through them so quickly. Thankfully, my doctors have really been on it, but they’re in Germany, so I guess I need doctors here. At least until we can head back. Not that I necessarily want to go back. I mean, don’t get me wrong, working at CERN has been amazing, but I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s still right for me but I could just be under a lot of stress right now and it’s probably not a good time to make those kinds of decisions.” She glanced off, looked back at Max and Dutch. “Does it seem like I’m talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot. I can’t wait to get back on my meds. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

o0

“Why were you never afraid of me?” Dutch suddenly asked. “Pardon?” “You were completely freaked out by those bears—and we won’t discuss why you ladies are currently living in an all-bear neighborhood—but you’ve never been afraid of me or my family.” “Bears eat people,” she said plainly. “Their paws can crush heads like I can crush a cracker in my fist.” “But I’m a wolverine,” he announced, as if that explained . . . everything. Stevie reached across the table and pinched his cheek. “And such a cute little wolverine you are too!” He gazed at her. “The worst part of that statement was your weird little girl voice.” “If it makes you feel better, I have always worried that one day I would have to testify in court because someone was rude to me and my sisters in front of you. ‘No, your honor, I have no idea how that man’s head got separated from his body. I blacked out. Dutch wasn’t even there. I have mental issues, you know.’ ” She grinned and Dutch laughed.

0o

Stevie shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “But Charlie’s not going to like it.” “Crazy.” He suddenly looked at her. “But you like me, right?” “I tolerate you.” “Which for you is good.” “It’s very good. Although the guy I went after with a fountain pen . . . I tolerated him, too.” “Good to know.”

0o

He reached down and took the plastic knife from the small hand gripping it. “We have had this discussion,” he told Dee-Ann and the ball of energy glaring at him. He cleared his throat. “Knives are not toys or weapons. They are for cooking and eating.” “That’s not what granddaddy says.” Ulrich Van Holtz sighed and tossed the plastic blade into the recycle bin. “We’ve got to stop sending you to Tennessee every summer.” “Do that and I’ll walk there on my own.” Lizzy-Ann Van Holtz Smith stared up at her father a few seconds to get her point across before turning and walking away from him. Ric glared down at Dee-Ann. “What are you lookin’ at me like that for?” “You know why.” He pointed at their six-year-old daughter and whispered, “She’s your fault.” “I was never that arrogant. That’s a Van Holtz trait.”

;)

Lizzy held her hand out. “Knife, Daddy.” “Nope.” He went to one of the drawers and pulled out a cake server, placing the handle in his daughter’s pudgy hand. “This will do to cut a cake.” Lizzy stared at the cake cutter and back at her father. “You don’t think I could use this as a weapon?” Ric went pale and Crush’s mouth dropped open, but Malone’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter and failing.

:)

Because, honestly, it wasn’t like Dee-Ann hadn’t warned him before she’d gotten pregnant. Then Lizzy’s lineage had been confirmed when the first thing their daughter did, her second day on this earth, was to bite down on the doctor’s hand. The shifter doctor didn’t even try to pretend that what Lizzy was doing was remotely normal. Especially when she stared at him with those intense blue eyes while she bit down harder. It was all gum and terror. Of course, the situation didn’t improve when Dee-Ann’s daddy took the baby from the doctor and said, “She don’t like you, cat . . . get out.”

:D

“It’s whom. ‘Report to whom?’ Not who.” It took Dee-Ann a few seconds to realize her six-year-old was correcting her grammar. She handled that with a smirk and a sharp, “Shut up.” “Dee!” Ric chastised, shocked. Malone, however, burst out laughing, unable to hold it in anymore. And Crushek just ate his cake. “It’s all right, Daddy,” Lizzy replied, pushing a plate toward her father. “She just knows I’m right.” Dee-Ann reached over and took the plate of cake Lizzy had cut for her father, knowing full well it would annoy the hell out of her. “I still say we drop her off at the pound,” Dee-Ann told her mate after a few bites of her cake. Again, just to annoy her child. “She’s still small. Someone will take her.” “Yeah,” Crush said around his own cake, “but they’ll only bring her back.” Lizzy narrowed her blue eyes on Crush and, staring at him, reached over and placed one pudgy forefinger on his cake plate. Then, without breaking eye contact, pulled the plate away from him. At that point, Malone ran from the room, her laughter filling the apartment. And Dee-Ann followed, because she couldn’t stop laughing either.

<3

“I’m sorry about your head.” “I’m sorry I thought that little bear was you.” “You have so much to learn, my child,” he teased, pleased to hear her chuckle. “Do your sisters know you’ve got a migraine?” “No. And please don’t tell them. They worry about me and when they’re worried about me, they argue more.” Now Berg chuckled. “That’s Dag and Britta. And me and Dag when we’re worried about Britta. And Britta and me when we’re worried about Dag. So I get it.” “You do get it, don’t you? It makes talking to you easier.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve been with a few people—friends, boyfriends—who don’t quite understand why I drop everything to rush to Stevie’s side. Or why I can’t go on a last minute getaway because the money I have is set aside in case I have to bail Max out of jail or, if she’s in prison, bribe gang members not to kill her. If you don’t have the kind of relationship I have with my sisters, you don’t understand. But you seem to get it.” “I was trapped in a very tight space with two other people for nine months. When that nightmare is over, you either love each other or hate each other. We’re lucky. We actually get along. We protected a set of quadruplets once who were actively trying to kill each other. Now they all have restraining orders, which just seems sad.”

o0

Dougie rolled his eyes. “You haven’t changed, Maxine.” “It’s Max. Just Max.” Once a small pile of knives of varying sizes sat on a lab table, Dougie continued explaining the “lovely deal” his father and uncles had come up with for Freddy MacKilligan’s girls. “Now, we know you lot have no say in the shite your father does. And we also know that threatening any of you with death . . . well, to be honest . . .” “He’s not going to care,” Charlie reminded him. Dougie smiled. “Exactly. But, dear cousin Charlie, we know how persuasive you can be with your father. So this is the deal. These gentlemen will take your baby sister”—one of the men grabbed Stevie’s arm and pulled her close; all the men in the room ignoring how Stevie’s eyes widened and her body went completely rigid—“but, and this is an important ‘but,’ they’re not going to kill you and they will never hurt her. In fact, you’ll even be able to get her back.” His eyes locked on Charlie’s. “Once me Da gets his money and she helps out our associate.” He spread his arms, palms up, smile wide. “That seems fair, don’t you think?” “You really think you can trust these men?” Charlie asked, a little disgusted by her cousin. “They want one thing. They want Stevie.”

jeebus that extended family >< assholes

Charlie smirked. “Do you really want to play it this way, gentlemen?” “Charlie,” her cousin said, his voice calm. “Don’t do this.” He stepped closer and whispered, “These men may be full-human but even a honey badger can’t handle a shot to the head. And once they get over the shock of your shifting . . . that’s exactly what they’ll do. Shoot you in the head—and they’ll still take your sister.” “I don’t shift,” Charlie whispered to her cousin before moving away and saying loudly, “But I will say that my sweet baby sister has been off her meds for almost . . . twenty-four hours now.” Unable to help herself, Charlie smiled. “And. Stevie. Is. Anxious.”

*evil smile*

Stevie skittered across the ceiling until she reached the man who’d given the order. She landed on him, grabbing the wailing man in her maw and dragging him off to the far corner of the lab, ignoring the bullets and screams of the other men. And while Stevie had their full attention, her sisters, without shifting or unleashing their claws, went around killing. Max stuck with the blade, but now she had two. One in each hand. She moved fast and quiet. With no mercy she killed. Her sister stayed with the .45, moving through the remaining men with the weapon held in both hands, raised to eye level, but held close to her body. Each of her victims got a head shot unless the male tried to move on her first, in which case she shot twice in the chest and then in the head. As for Stevie . . . all Dougie could hear were screams. All he could see was her back arching each time she pulled more flesh from bone. Some men managed to make it out the door, climbing over each other. No longer were they a smart, elite unit of killers. Not after meeting the MacKilligan sisters.

0o

She found that they hadn’t made it to the back of the building yet, so she motioned her sisters over. “Go,” she ordered Stevie. “Have you lost your mind?” Stevie asked, already beginning the panic process all over again. “When you consider the physics of—” Pressing her hand against Stevie’s chest, Max shoved her sister off the roof. Screaming, Stevie fell but as she neared the ground, she suddenly turned over and landed on all fours.

:D

“Which means a .45 isn’t going to do anything to me except piss me off.” “What about bear spray? Does bear spray work?” “Why are you asking?” “Why aren’t you telling?” Dag ran into the house, a giant metal white box gripped in his big hands. He froze when he saw Charlie. “Oh, my God!” he gasped. “You’re dying!” Charlie’s eyes crossed. “Can we all calm down? There’s no need to be hysterical.” “How are we hysterical?” Berg asked. “By running in, assuming I’m dying—” “You are drenched in blood,” Berg reminded her. “And your shoulder looks really weird,” Dag flatly added. “That just needs to be yanked back into place.” She scratched her chin. “And a little duct tape on the gunshot wounds will stop the bleeding.” “You’re not a headlight on an old Chevy,” Berg told her. She rolled her eyes but before she said anything, she suddenly sniffed the air. “I got a pie in the oven. Wait here.” Charlie walked away and Berg looked at his brother. Together, they headed toward the kitchen behind Charlie, but Berg’s dog ran in first, his sister’s towel still caught in his mouth. He stopped in front of Berg and stood there. Being annoying. “You are killing me.”

o0

Ignoring the excruciating pain in her shoulder, Charlie quickly put her glasses back on before she bent down and, with oven mitts on, pulled the lemon custard pie out of the oven and placed it on the counter to cool. She smiled at its perfection. “Bear in the kitchen,” Max said and Charlie turned around expecting to see the Dunn brothers behind her. But no. It was that dog. “He’s going to eat my pie, isn’t he?” she asked Max. “If you leave it on that counter, he will.” Charlie moved the pie to the open window, pretty sure the dog couldn’t lean that far over to reach it. But that’s when Max reminded her, “You’re gonna attract bears again.” “Dammit!” Holding the pie in her hands, she studied the kitchen. Max looked up from the newspaper she was weirdly reading. Weirdly, because it was an actual newspaper. Made of actual paper. Charlie had only seen her use her phone the last ten years to read anything. Books. Magazines. Anything. Charlie didn’t even know where her sister had found a newspaper. “You could just get rid of the dog,” Max said. “I’m not killing a dog.”

0o

“Pie!” she announced, shoving it under their noses. “Lemon custard. Bet you two like that! Want it? You can have it! Take it!” Berg gazed at the pie and then her before asking, “So how many people did you kill?” Charlie cringed. They should have locked Stevie in her room, but she could claw her way out if she was anxious enough. “It’s not what you think,” she promised. “So, you didn’t kill a bunch of people?” “Not like that. Like we went on a murder spree. They were trying to take our sister. And they weren’t afraid to get rid of me and Max to make it happen. What did you want us to do?” “It’s not what you did, Charlie. I don’t know what you did or why you did it. What I do know is that you’ve probably attracted a new problem to you and your sisters.” “A new problem? What kind of new problem?” The two look-alike males simultaneously blew out a breath and looked away from her gaze . . . “All right, bitches! We have a problem!” she yelled toward the kitchen. “I thought we killed our problem!” Max yelled back. “Apparently that wasn’t effective.” “Is it Stevie’s fault?” Charlie frowned at Max’s question. “No.” “So I can’t hit her? Because I feel like hitting her.”

chaos

“All they said was, ‘A Smith,’ which I found quite vague.” “There are two sets of Smiths in this world,” Max said. Charlie frowned. “I’m sure there are more than two—” “One set are wolverines,” she went on, “but they’d never come after us because of Dutch. And then there’s the Smith Pack that, I believe, is crazy enough to come after us.” “Smith Pack?” Charlie thought for a moment. “Didn’t Gramps mention them once?” Max nodded. “He said we were never to date or have pups with them or he would, without a doubt, disown us.” “Disown us from what? He got nothin’.” “Just his love.”

0o

Stevie, her backpack securely on, her eyes wide, pointed at the window behind Charlie. “Someone just took your pie.” Charlie glanced back and saw that, yeah. Her pie was gone. “The dog?” she asked. “Nah.” Max pointed. “He’s under the table. After he opened the fridge, took out leftover steaks from yesterday, and dragged the entire pan under the table to eat.” Berg crouched and snarled, “Get home!” The entire table moved a few feet when the dog stood up while still under it, lifting it off the ground with his back. Stevie grabbed and held it, allowing the dog to keep going.

0o

The sisters suddenly walked back in, Charlie still leading the way. “Car just pulled up in front of the house,” Charlie said. “Dutch is gone. We’ll need to steal a car.” “I can do that,” Max announced, marching by. Berg grabbed the shotgun she still held, quickly aiming it toward the ceiling. Once he was sure no one would accidentally get shot, he calmly asked, “Can you grab something a little less . . . conspicuous?” “Oh sure!” she said with a big, friendly smile. She released her grip on the shotgun and moved to the kitchen table. She reached under and came out with a .45. “A Desert Eagle is less conspicuous?” “Than a shotgun? Yeah!” Berg continued to stare at her until she rolled her eyes and said, “Fine.” She dropped the gun on the table and went to the cabinet under the sink. She pulled out a strap with several holsters on it. Each holster held a knife. Stevie lifted up her sister’s T-shirt and Max strapped the knives around her torso. Then she tacked a few more holstered knives to her jeans and Stevie let the T-shirt drop. “Okay!” Max said with that pretty smile. “Let’s go! I’ve got a car to steal.”

<3 Honestly adore her happy 'can do' plus violence mindset.

Malone grinned. “You’re gonna love this.” She suddenly tipped the kitchen table onto its side. Holstered guns and knives were duct taped to the underside. “That seems like . . . a lot.” “Ya think?” Malone laughed. “These are your kind of girls, Smith. They’ve got weapons”—she raised her hands, forefingers up, and made a circle in the air—“all over this house. In cabinets, behind doors, under beds, next to beds . . . in beds. I’m trying to figure out where they got all this shit.”

:D

Charlie opened the back door and climbed out of the enormous vehicle. Of course, after seeing the “elderly” sow who owned this behemoth, she understood why the woman needed it. She had to be nearly seven feet tall. Charlie had made the assumption she was a lonely old maid, but nope. She was a widow whose polar bear husband had been nearly eight feet tall, and together they’d had six giant children who were scattered all over the world trying to help with global warming to assist the full-blood polar bears trapped on melting ice caps. She was really starting to find this shifter life interesting. Living with a Pack that barely noticed her, was terrified by Max, and a little freaked-out by Stevie hadn’t really shown Charlie the entire shifter world that existed out there. All this was new to her.

:)

“Why would there be a morgue in a sports center?” Charlie asked. “Because Soylent Green is people?” “I am so sorry I let you see that movie,” Charlie sighed. “Come on, come on.” Max started down the stairs and they followed.

o0

“The point is,” Stevie cut in, “that you already have a tall guy who thinks you’re beautiful.” Then she smiled. Weirdly. Charlie stared at her baby sister. “What are you talking about?” “You know.” Stevie fluttered her eyes . . . which was, again, weird. “Sweetie, you don’t do coquettish well, so stop that.”

poor oblivious Charlie

They’d wandered off as she’d known they would. Like two exploring bear cubs wandering away from the mama bear. She expected no different from Max, but she often forgot Stevie’s problems with crowds . . . in that she had no problems with crowds. Her panic disorder reared up when she felt trapped and alone. But Stevie didn’t feel alone in crowds. In her mind, she could call for help and someone would come running to her aid.

0o ...

Once, Charlie and her sisters had been separated at a peace rally in England that turned violent. When the three sisters met again, Max had a bruised face and swollen knuckles. Charlie had a bruised throat and broken ribs. And Stevie was singing “Give peace a chance” with a bunch of hippies. Untouched. Unbruised. Happy as hell. But one bear in the yard and Stevie was up a tree, screaming, and unable to breathe. Weird.

true

“You really don’t have to do anything,” Charlie explained while the doctor stared. Or gawked. “It’ll work itself out.” “My dear girl, this is not going to work itself out.” “Actually, it will. You just have to wait a little bit. It’s in the final stages.” “The final stages before your death?” That made Charlie chuckle. “As if my life could ever be that simple.” She looked around the room. “Got a magazine I can look at while we’re waiting?”

0o

Livy rested her hands on her hips. “I thought we talked about that sort of thing, Blayne.” “Okay, this looks bad,” the woman called Blayne said, skating forward, focused on Livy. “But I thought it was you.” Max stepped up beside her cousin. “Is that your excuse? That we all look alike?” “What?” Blayne’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Of course not!” “Really, Blayne?” Livy asked. “Because it sounds like you’re saying we all look alike.” Of course, they were cousins and Blayne hadn’t actually seen Max from the front. She was just going on body size and the short hair. But that didn’t matter . . . because this chick was just too easy to fuck with. Hell! Max could do this all day! “Because we’re Asian?” Max asked. “Of course not! I mean, my husb—” “What?” Max pushed. “You about to tell me that some of your best friends are Asian?” “Actually, my best friend is . . . um . . . look, I’m just saying that . . . um . . .” Her brown eyes narrowed. “You two are fucking with me, aren’t you?” Max started laughing. She couldn’t help it. Who was this little weirdo?

:D

Max shrugged. “I have no idea where they are. Go find them.” “Max—” “Yeah,” Blayne’s husband said, “go find them.” He reached out and grabbed Max’s wrist. “She’ll be at the training rink.” “I can’t believe this!” Blayne nearly shouted. “She tried to kill me and now you’re going to test her out to be your enforcer?” Her big brown eyes welled with tears. “I am the mother of your children.” He faced her, but still didn’t release Max. “I don’t understand the connection.” “I should be more important to you than hockey.” He looked off, blew out a breath. “You should . . .” Max bit the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing.

0o

“Yeah. I definitely think they’re cursed. It’s their father’s fault, though. I think he pissed off a witch or something.” “You don’t believe in ghosts . . . but you believe in witches?” “Witches exist.” Berg nodded. “Okay. I’m walking away now.” He did, and Dag followed behind him. “If I were you,” Livy called out, “I’d find the little sister before you go looking for the big one. If you don’t have the little one, the big one is going to flip the fuck out.” Berg stopped walking and let out a sigh. “Livy’s right, isn’t she?” Dag asked. “Yeah.” “But Stevie could be anywhere here.” “Well . . . let’s try to think like her.” Dag folded his arms over his chest and said in all seriousness, “So where would a former child prodigy and genius with an extreme panic disorder who is being hunted by all sorts of people go when in a shifter-filled sports center?”

Hmmm

The thing was . . . life wasn’t exactly great now. They were being hunted. So what made Stevie feel comfortable bringing music back into her life? Why did she feel calmer than she had in a long while? It could have been shifting to her animal form earlier in the day. She didn’t do that often, which wasn’t surprising. She kind of terrified everyone when she became a giant, tiger-striped honey badger bigger than even the polar bears and grizzlies. Yet Stevie was starting to think it was being around her sisters that was doing her the most good. Yeah, Charlie’s anxiety and obsessive baking could be trying, and Max never stopped fucking with Stevie, no matter how many times Stevie punched her in the throat. But at the end of the day, knowing they were there for her . . .

<3

“Oh, my God! Kyle!” Stevie ran into the open arms of Kyle Jean-Louis Parker, hugging him tightly. Behind her, she heard, “Him, you remember?” “Of course, I remember Kyle,” she said, keeping one arm around his waist while Kyle’s arm curled around her shoulder. “He’s Kyle.” Kyle nodded. “Exactly. But you do remember these guys, Stevie.” He pointed at Cooper. “Mr. Needy.” Cherise. “Pathologically shy.” He gestured to the young woman walking up behind them. “Genetic freak.” “Ohhhhh! Of course! Your siblings!” “Seriously?” Cooper demanded.

:D

“I was not kicked out,” Kyle argued. “I was asked to leave because some people can’t handle criticism. Or the suggestion that they might have a borderline personality disorder that should get treated.” “Borderline or bipolar?” Stevie asked. “People often get those two confused.” “Definitely borderline. She came at me with a knife. Nearly took my eye out.” “That actually could have been anybody, with or without a disorder,” Cooper muttered.

um .. also chatting with the 'fountain pen incident' girl ...