Happy Friday! Note, this story is NOT polished. I will be posting a scene or chapter weekly. Expect an urban fantasy world. Romance and mystery. And magic, of course. Enjoy!
PART 5
A low growl rumbled from my left. A quiet warning, about me or something else, I didn’t know. But coming from this particular male, Josh drew back. He murmured a Gotta run, grabbed his to-go cup, and left his spot at the counter.
A waiting tourist took the seat, chattering about the mountains and the glorious view he’d captured on his new camera, continuing his conversation with the woman sitting on the other side of him.
After delivering the two orders Lobo had slammed on the counter, I made polite chitchat with the tourist, because yes, even though I’m barely housebroken, I excel at pretend manners. I took his order before turning to my maybe rescuer. Tension balled, and I had to force my heartbeat to remain steady.
Mason Strongheart. With a heroic name like that he should have been an actor or a legendary knight who’d fought with the shapeshifting King Arthur. A protector of some kind, not a strange, aggressive male who looked at everyone as if we were all the enemy.
I’d seen him in the diner before. Everyone in town knew Feeds was the place to eat. Lobo cooked like a dream, and his assistant, Andy, had insane pastry skills when he wasn’t trying to outdo the boss with new recipes.
“Hi.” I cleared my throat. “What can I get you?”
Mason sized me up, as he’d done the last time he’d come in. And the time before that. I caught the subtle flare of his nostrils and knew I’d been right. He had to be either a shifter or familiar, possessing some kind of animal magic.
Magic isn’t the correct term for those of us who have it. But I have no idea what else to call it. A particular energy? An ability to harness the earth’s power? Bad luck?
Whatever it was, this guy buzzed with it even more than Lobo did.
I expected a grunt and for him to point to what he wanted on the menu, like usual. Instead he said in a deep, gravelly voice, “I’ll have the special.” He stared at my face, frowning. “What are you?”
A sudden silence around us. A few people near him blinked in shock. Even the tourist gaped.
A rudeness to ask about one’s evolution, or lack thereof.
I forced a smile. “I’m a tired waitress who works for a bossy brute of a bear.”
“Hey.” Lobo growled again. The man did nothing but growl, but oddly I found the sound comforting.
“Sorry. But it’s driving me crazy.” The man didn’t look or sound sorry. He looked too interested for my peace of mind. My heartrate sped up, and he crooked his head, his eyes narrowing, hearing my racing pulse no doubt.
Stupid. Calm down. He’ll hear and know you’re scared, if he hasn’t already scented your fear. Dumb, really dumb.
I forced myself to walk slowly to the counter behind me and deliberately placed the order to Lobo. Then I returned with a pot of coffee. If I recalled, Mason drank his black.
“Coffee?”
He nodded, watching me like a hawk.
“So, what are you?” I asked bluntly and poured him a cup. Hey, if he could do it, so could I.
His eyes, a combination of gray and green, seemed to brighten as they stared into mine. It was the oddest thing, as if he looked into me and saw what I’d been trying to hide for so long. Which he couldn’t possibly…
“I’m a shapeshifter.”
No hesitation there. “What kind?” Was he a shifter or a familiar?
“Red, we don’t badger the customers,” Lobo chastised. “Unless they’ve earned it.” He chuckled. “Tell her what you are, Mason. Besides a pain in my ass, I mean.”
Mason shrugged, still watching me. I started to feel like a helpless deer, except I’m not that graceful or fast. More like an opossum staring at the threat of an oncoming Mac truck.
“Shifter,” he said and added, “Wolf.”
Meaning he shifted into a half-man, half-wolf beast at will. Shifters, unlike familiars, didn’t turn into a true animal. They had a man-form—a were-form. Familiars, on the other hand, turned into an actual approximation of their animal half, though usually much larger, and harvested magic for their partner witch.
I couldn’t see Mason ever partnering with anyone. He had an air of isolation about him. Large, like Lobo, but not as broad in the chest, Mason looked powerful and lean and hungry every time I’d seen him. He hadn’t said much on his previous visits, just grunted his orders, shoveled in his food, and stared at me while doing it, then left after leaving a so-so tip. I wondered if he normally didn’t speak much or if he’d just been waiting to slam me with twenty questions after lulling me with a false sense of security.
Before I could comment on Mason the bad-tipping werewolf, Lobo shouted for me to pick up two more orders.
“I’m right here,” I grumbled. “I’m not deaf.”
Lobo ignored me, yelling to his assistant, two feet away, “Andy, how we coming on those apple tarts?”
While Andy answered, I left the counter to pour coffee for anyone who wanted some, then followed on with water. While I worked, Mandy and Chris, the other two waitstaff, cleared tables and cashed out customers.
I swung back to the passthrough and picked up Mason’s order before Lobo could roar that it was ready. I put it in front of Mason, annoyed to see him still staring.
“What?”
He just glowered at me until I subtly glanced away. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed him finally look down at his plate and start eating.
I let out a little sigh of relief. Mason didn’t seem to like me, and he had power. Not a great combination.