Page 13 of Cold Foot King
Katrina was staring at the fire. At his approach, she glanced his way, and then back to Wreck. There was no invitation in her stance, and he understood. Truly, he did. What had happened was…
He flinched away from the memory again, walked to the opposite side of the crowd, and stood on the edge near the guards.
“That’s close enough, buddy,” one of the females said.
“My apologies,” he rumbled, but his damn voice was more gorilla than man. “Shit.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry.” Still gorilla. His head was throbbing harder. “Must be the meds you gave us,” he gritted out.
He was a gentleman to women, and didn’t want her scared of him.
“We didn’t give you meds,” Owen offered.
Wreck was starting to address the others, but King was stuck on Owen’s words. “Wait, what?”
“The meds the prison gave you should be working their way out of you. Especially you, you big motherfucker. You Changed at the prison, remember? I shot you with like eight tranq darts, and then Wreck burned your gorilla to a piece of charcoal.”
“Geez, man, okay. I remember, mostly.” King swallowed bile at the vision of his body as a piece of charcoal. They weren’t suppressing the animals? If they weren’t suppressing the gorilla, who was volatile on a good day, they weren’t suppressing the others either. King scanned the crowd, but didn’t recognize any of the males. He was the only breeder here. He couldn’t tell any of their animals from smell.
The tall guy from the hallway with the oval pupils was staring back at him over the flickering light of the firepit. He was blocking his view of Katrina, until she stepped forward and held her hands out to the fire. She must’ve been cold.
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. She could have his flannel, but it would smell like him. She wouldn’t like that, he didn’t think.
“As you all know, with the help of the Fastlanders,” Wreck was saying as he gestured to the guards sitting along the stone wall, “we have broken you out of prison. For a lot of reasons,” Wreck said, looking at each of them. “Each of you, save a couple that weren’t on the original list,” he said, casting a steely glance at King, “have different qualities that I am told would be useful for my new Crew.”
“Wait, you’re starting a Crew?” one of the shifters asked. He was a barrel-chested man clad in only jeans, and his sweater with the sleeves rolled up.
“Yes,” Wreck said. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I don’t get cold,” the guy said.
“Yeti shifter,” someone said under their breath.
“I wish,” No Jacket muttered. “Yetis are escape artists. I wouldn’t be here with you dipshits.”
“Want to square up?” the other guy asked, puffing up.
“Who says ‘square up’ anymore?” No Jacket asked, standing to his full height. “No squaring, but I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out. We’ll see if Wreck’s pretty little mate can cure that for you—”
A fireball blasted from Wreck’s outstretched fingertips, and No Jacket was blasted backward. He hit the icy walkway hard and yelled in pain.
“Enough,” Wreck murmured, squatting down on the rock ledge, his narrowed eyes on No Jacket, who was writhing in pain. The burns on his arms looked awful. “Rule number one—mention my wife, and I’ll set you on fire. Rule number two—if you do something that drags the fire from me, you better take it well. I don’t want to hear anything about it hurting. Suck it up. Learn a lesson. Don’t get burned again.”
No Jacket was gritting his teeth now, eyes squeezed tightly closed, trying to be quiet about the pain.
“May I pack snow on his burns?” Katrina’s friend asked.
“Are you a healer?” Wreck asked.
“No. I’m a feeler. Don’t like when people hurt, is all.”
“He’ll be fine. You have an accent. Are you from down south?”
“Louisiana. Bayou country.” She said the last part with a little quirk to her lips.
“Well, Louisiana, why don’t you go first. Tell everyone here your name,” Wreck said. “And your shifter animal, if you’re comfortable sharing that information.”
The woman looked around at the others, and then cleared her throat delicately and lifted her voice. “Name is Raynah. I would say my shifter is none of y’all’s fuckin’ business, but half of y’all already know. Crocodile. I can snap a man in half, bones and all, just not right now on account of the…” She gestured to the small swell of belly that protruded from the open flaps of her pink-and-black flannel jacket. She shrugged. “Can’t Change until the baby is born, but you all know how that works. Don’t gotta explain.”
“How are you pregnant?” Owen asked. “You were in prison. I thought the males and females were separated.”