And they were human. They didn’t have an animal to call on when they were defensive. Not like her. She was the wussiest shifter that had ever been born.
Pouting out her lip, Nevada closed her eyes and counted to five, then forced herself to push open the door. Essie’s Pantry was the only grocery store within thirty miles open this late, and it was closing in an hour. She needed to get this over with.
Focus on one step in front of the other. Don’t be weird if someone says hi. People do that out of politeness, not rudeness. Good grief, where was her animal? Right now, she couldn’t even feel it. The little critter had holed up deep inside of her, terrified as usual, curled into such a tight little ball she felt non-existent.
The car beeped when she locked it with her key. She gathered her purse close to her like a shield and made her way across the small two lanes between the parking lot and Essie’s. Eyes on the sliding glass doors, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a truck locked up their brakes and skidded to a stop right next to her. Nevada lurched back and screamed in terror as the rusty, old red and silver Dodge Ram rocked to a stop.
“What the fuck, lady?” the guy behind the wheel yelled out his open window. “Watch where I’m driving!”
Nevada stood frozen in the middle of the road, trapped in the man’s furious, piercing blue gaze, her thighs only inches from the front bumper of the truck. Oh, he was mean. So mean she couldn’t make herself move if she tried. His beard was thick and covered the bottom half of his face, but his blond hair was cut short on the sides and grown out longer on top. He looked like a Viking. Even from here, she could see his muscular shoulders pressing against the plaid material of his shirt. His size made him even more intimidating, but it was the direct way he held her gaze that scared her the most.
“Hellooo?” he asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
No response from her. She might as well have been a popsicle right now. A terrified popsicle.
The man sighed loudly, and then it tapered into something horrifying. A loud, snarling rumble emanated from the truck as he clenched his bright white teeth around the sound. He narrowed his eyes and dragged his attention to her tits, then back up to her eyes. “Kindly, get out of the way,” he gritted out.
He’d been the one who almost hit her! She was on the crosswalk and had the right of way. “You’re really mean,” she whispered in a shaking breath.
The man looked taken aback, and some of the anger faded from his face. “Thank…you.”
“Okay then,” she murmured with a nod. He was a weird one, clearly, and she was also a weird one, and this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere productive. She ducked her head and made her way into the store in quick, jerky steps at a speed walk her trainer would be proud of.
She wished she could go right back to her car, drive out of here, and survive on air for dinner, but she didn’t want to give that animal the satisfaction of watching her run away like the little chicken she was. That’s what she should’ve been—a chicken shifter. Bock, bock.
Cheeks on fire, she shook her head and tried to stop herself from replaying how awkward she’d been with that man. She always did that—went over and over how strange she was in conversations—and it never solved anything. It just made her feel bad about herself.
With trembling hands, she pulled her list out of her purse, along with a purple pen, and then made a beeline for the produce, determined to stock up on everything so she didn’t have to shop for another two weeks.
She scrambled around, speed-shopping, but as she was shoving nectarines into a plastic bag, a low catcall whistle sounded. Mortified, she looked up, expecting it to be the strange man who had almost squashed her on the pavement like a bug under a boot. It wasn’t, though. It was one of the guys in the workout clothes she’d seen earlier. The dark-haired one was nodding and looking at her like she was a piece of steak, and the other was staring directly at her tits with a gross, predatory smile that gave her chills across her forearms. Great. The exact kind of attention she hated. She didn’t recognize them, and the town was basically a village. She’d grown up in Foxburg and knew everyone. These guys were probably tourists.
She jerked her attention away from them and scurried to the next aisle. So she was a few nectarines short—better to be safe than sorry. An older man was there, staring at the frozen vegetables behind the glass freezer doors. When he looked at her and offered a friendly smile, she fought the urge to turn around and find somewhere unoccupied.
“Good evening,” he said, shoving his glasses farther up his nose.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Oh my gosh, what was that? Embarrassed, she grabbed a loaf of bread and plopped it in her basket without even checking the expiration date.
Motoring her legs, she booked it to the Pop Tarts, but those guys were there. She skidded to a stop at the entrance and backed out slowly. Only the guys followed, casting each other glances, laughing. Messing with her. Jerks.
She whipped the cart around and made her way to the back. Milk and eggs. And some oxygen because she couldn’t breathe right now. Her chest was so tight she was on the verge of panicking. She’d done that before too, walked out of a store and left all her groceries in the basket just because she couldn’t handle the crowd.
“What’s your name?” the dark-haired guy asked.
Chills, chills, chills everywhere, and this wasn’t just social anxiety anymore. Her inner fox had woken up and was growling. There was something wrong with these men. They prickled her instincts and made her want to run, or fight, or maybe both.
Fast as she could, Nevada yanked a gallon of one-percent milk from the fridge and then shoved her cart toward the eggs.
“Come on, don’t play hard to get. I’m only asking your name.” He was moving toward her slowly, flanked by his friend.
Can’t breathe.
Freak the eggs, she couldn’t stay here. Nevada pushed her cart around a fridge full of bacon and slice-and-bake cookies. But when she tried to maneuver into a new aisle, the dark-haired man was there, hands out in placation, an empty smile on his face.
“It was just a question, and you’re running like I’m after you. Chill. I’m just talking.”
Nevada was trapped between the center aisle fridges unless she backed up, but when she went to turn her cart, the other guy was behind her with a feral smile. When the dark-haired man approached, she abandoned the cart, ready to jump over one of the fridges to get away from them. The other guy was closing in, and she really couldn’t draw a breath into her lungs right now. Tears burned her eyes. Weak. She had a knife in her purse. Why would a shifter ever have to carry a knife when they had teeth and claws? Because her animal was no help. Never had been. She might as well have been human.
She fumbled for the knife, but it wasn’t in the pocket where she usually kept it, and both of them were too close. Too close!