Tarian Outcast (Page 5)

The old her would’ve felt guilty about all the vitriol aimed at Dayton in the comments of her relationship status change. She hadn’t mentioned him, but apparently the people in her life had been waiting for this. Maybe they’d been waiting to see any spark of strength, because Katy knew what she’d been. Weak for years. They’d been waiting to see a little backbone.

So, fuck it. She was leaving the status announcement up, and Dayton and his dumb friends could read it or not. It wasn’t her problem if they were still watching her. It was theirs.

Sorry, not sorry and all. Signed, The Whore.

Katy opened the picture that Kannon had taken of them. Honestly, she’d opened it up for an escape as she sat here in the quiet minivan, her head loud with that devastating word. She’d wanted an escape from the pain of that slap. Whore.

The picture of the kiss was clear and sharp. Their faces were bright from the high beams, his arm around the back of her neck like they were in the throes of a passionate kiss, and not just a surprise lip-lock. His grey beanie was pushed to his hairline, exposing just a little of his black hair, his cheekbones chiseled in the lighting. The corner of his lip was curved up like he was smiling. It was probably a wicked smile, but in the picture, he looked happy. And so did she. Her hair was flipped to the side and hung down her shoulders in shiny waves. She couldn’t have taken a better picture with a boy if they’d staged it. The spontaneity made it kind of beautiful.

Behind them, there were fireflies in the dark woods that lined the empty road. It was cold for fireflies, but okay. How pretty.

When she zoomed into the tiny gold lights, her smile fell from her face. The lights were all in pairs.

Those weren’t fireflies at all.

Chills rippled up her spine.

They were the glowing eyes of animals.

Katy huffed a breath and turned off her phone in a rush. They’d been surrounded by animals, and she hadn’t even realized it. Had Kannon? Was he okay? Were those just his friends? His Pride members? Or whatever they were called? What if he’d been attacked after she’d driven away? What if they were bears or wolverines or rabid beavers or something?

She twisted in the driver’s seat and her stunned attention landed on the suitcases, plural, because Kannon’s luggage was definitely still back here, resting right on top of hers.

Shit.

He’d forgotten his suitcase? Maybe the whole kiss incident had wiped his brain cells, too.

She hefted her suitcase out of the van, closed the door, locked it, and then dragged it into the hotel lobby. She checked in and made her way to the elevator to find her floor. Good, old room number 369. She smiled to herself as she made her way out of the elevator. Her room number really had 69 in it. Befitting of someone like her, hashtag she’sahooooooo. Katy belted out a single, echoing laugh and scared a man down the hallway who was trying to get into his room.

“Sorry,” she called. Oh! She tripped over the corner of the hallway rug and lurched forward, her hand slamming onto the door of her room. Whoa, that was close. Good hotel room door for catching her. She inserted the keycard, unlocked it, and let herself in.

There was a moment when she felt quite alone after she clicked on the light and stood in the empty room. It was two in the morning, but she wasn’t really tired. Her head was loud with that one-word insult and with the memory of Kannon’s lips moving against hers. Her mind was a tornado.

She unpacked her luggage and toiletries, all the while formulating a plan.

Social media stalk Kannon. Or was it spelled Canon? Cannon? She didn’t have a last name. She would search them both. Oh! Or she could search the shifter database. It was online and thorough. Shifters had to register and fill out information about themselves, their families, their lineage, their animals, their Prides or Crews, who their mate was… Oh, God, what if he had a mate? And now that she thought about the shifter registration, it was kind of messed up. Why should anyone be required to give personal information for the world to judge like that?

Sleep some and not have her weird recurring nightmare about being stuck on a bouncy castle, spilling a bottomless glass of red wine all over her white shirt and pants as her big-ass teets slapped her in the face because she hadn’t worn a bra to bouncy-castle day. Her dreams were stupid.

Try to find Kannon in the morning to return his suitcase and stare at his muscles and bat her eyelashes and silently hope he lost his mind and snarly-smooched her again.

Not respond to Dayton the Womanizing Bride Leaver

Crop out all the creepy animal eyes in her kiss-picture, put a cool image filter on it, and get it printed out like a psychopath so she could carry it around in her wallet and remember the one time a mother-freaking lion shifter kissed her on a dark road in the middle of the night. Her life had peeked, and she needed photo proof.

Meet up with Drea at noon tomorrow for mimosas at some place called the Swampy Frog Saloon.

Mental checklist finalized, she brushed her teeth and slipped into her most hideous oversize, threadbare T-shirt, made an extravagant nest of pillows, and proceeded to look up the shifter registration site.

As a teenager, she’d gone through a shifter phase when she’d been super curious about them, and she would peruse the site when she couldn’t sleep. It was like a bedtime story, reading about all these fantastical beast-people that she couldn’t actually believe existed because she’d never seen one in real life. They were like unicorns.

It had been so long since she’d searched the website, she had to click a few links before she found the official government run registration site.

Okay, so she had a first name to work with. And that he was part of a Pride, not a Crew. A lion Pride. Feeling detectivey AF, she poked in the information she had in the search section, and it came up with a response right away.

Kannon Haid Killian, age thirty-five, height six-foot-one. No registered mate—

Katy dislodged one of her pillows with a whoop and fist pump. Clearing her throat, she looked at the phone again but then dropped it on her face, squawked in shock and pain, rubbed the bridge of her throbbing nose, located the phone that had bounced onto the bed upside down, and then began to read again.

War lion for the New Tarian Pride, Alpha is Ronin Alder, no set ranking, parents: deceased, one surviving sister and a brother-in-law. Police record: public endangerment, Changing in public, killing but not eating an entire stock of champion rabbits, six bar fights, and public indecency. Works at Cosmo’s Garage on Lange Street in Telluride, Colorado.

Next was a family tree and lineage outline. Holy goodness, these registrations were really thorough. She felt kind of bad reading this. She skimmed to the bottom of the report.

Notes from the registered shifter: “Fuck you, you fucking fuck. You are a fecal-filled twaffle cone with toe-flavored ice cream and toot sprinkles on top. Get a life and actually read something interesting. I did your mom. Hate Always, Kannon.”

Her giggle echoed through the room. Okay then.

She took a screen shot of his work address and snuggled down under the covers better, sighed, and gave a happy smile.

She, Katy Craigson, had a crush on a man who had actually typed out the word combination toot sprinkles.

Chapter Six

“Give it to Kannon. He’s the best at stripped bolts.”

Kannon paused on removing the skid plate of a pickup truck and stood, the drill falling to his side. “You do it, Dillon,” he said to his co-worker. That lazy asshole always gave him the shit jobs. “Just get the bolt extractor. I’m busy on this one.”

Dillon pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and hooked his hands on his hips. “I don’t have that super human shifter strength, freak. You can get the stripped bolts off like they’re nothing.”

“Look, I don’t care who does it,” the customer said, frowning deeply at Dillon. “My kid drank too much last night and tried to change a flat himself and stripped them all. I’m missing work to clean this up. Just let me know what I owe you for the new tire, and let’s get on with it.”

“You’re gonna need new sockets, too,” Kannon called, narrowing his eyes at the massacred flat tire. If he ever had a son who brought his truck back in this condition, Kannon would kick his ass.

“Great, just rack up the bill!” the customer yelled, his face going red. He stomped into the door that led to the waiting area, and Dillon arched his eyebrows at Kannon like he was the one in the wrong.

First off, he didn’t fuckin’ strip the lug nuts, and second off, this was a ridiculously fair garage. They didn’t even screw old ladies who knew nothing about cars into buying services they didn’t need. Kannon made sure of it. Head mechanic had its perks. He got to secretly be the super hero that fifty percent of the clients yelled at all day and no one appreciated.

Good thing he had thick skin. The knowledge that he could turn lion and kill all these entitled pricks was a bonus, too.

“Hot chick, ten o’clock,” Dillon called. “Dark hair, fantastic tits, curves for days, long legs. Oh, Lord, she just almost tripped on nothing…”

Wait a minute. Kannon put the drill on the counter and started to make his way around the car.

“Driving a minivan so she’s definitely a mom. Doesn’t have a wedding ring. I bet she’s looking for a new step-daddy for her little—”