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Silver Basilisk (Silver Shifters 4)

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She wiped her hand off on the Rolls Royce flying goddess hood ornament, then stalked away, boiling with righteous fury.

Chapter 2

RIGO

She was still beautiful.

The long, glossy black braid he remembered so well had gone snow white, which framed even more extravagantly those striking black eyes that could sparkle with fun one moment, then melt soft and tender in the next.

Right now those eyes, as well as the rest of her, were madder than a bag of rattlers. The more than sixty years since he’d lost her felt like sixty centuries, yet also like sixty seconds because damn, she could turn him inside out with half a glance, just as she had when they’d first met.

It was also clear as a summer river that more than half a century later after he’d made the dumbest, damndest mistake of his life, she had not forgiven him.

Chaos swirled around Rigo as he stood where he was, trying to figure out if he should roust these wild boys whooping it up or just go after Godiva.

Yeah, like there was any question. She would always come first. He started toward the door as a glop of something whizzed past him, missing him by half an inch.

“Hey, Tucker, this is what you should do for your birthday,” one of the boys panted. “Food fight! Be the most awesome party ever.”

“But not good foods,” another boy brayed. “Least, not till we get to eat it.”

“I’d totally bring my mom’s fruitcake. It’s disgusting. There isn’t even any booze in it!”

A gangling youth came out of the back of the bakery, carrying what appeared to be a fresh cherry pie. With the stealth of a ninja, he crept up behind the tallest boy, then whapped the entire pastry into his face. “Take that, Skyler Higgins. For messing up our—”

“STOP!” A woman’s voice cut through the hubbub, freezing everyone in place. “What the hell are you boys up to?”

The boy who’d offered fruitcake whined, “That old lady started it.”

“Hey,” Rigo said, scowling. “Show some respect.” Then he remembered that Godiva actually had started it—because he’d thought it was such a good idea to surprise her.

IDIOT, his basilisk commented.

Rigo suppressed a grimace. Yeah, he’d screwed up badly, all right. “How about I pay for the damage?” He took out his wallet.

The baker ignored him completely and turned to the teens, fists on her hips. “You boys had better have every crumb picked up before I finished pulling your parents’ names off the school directory. And you,” she turned on the boy who’d weaponized a fresh cherry pie, “will have the cost of that coming out of your allowance.” Her pointing finger took in the cherry filling falling to the floor in glops off the biggest boy.

“But she did start it,” the first boy muttered truculently.

“Yes, and I know she will offer to pay for the cleaning crew. Which I will accept. After you bunch get the worst of this mess picked up. Or shall I ask your parents for donations?”

The boys hastily began picking up bits of pastry and piling them on a tray.

The woman turned to Rigo with no friendly eye. “As for you, since you haven’t bought anything, may I ask you to step aside so they can get on with it?” Her voice was icily polite.

“Yes ma’am,” Rigo said, reaching from long habit to tip a cowboy hat he wasn’t actually wearing. He glanced at the men he’d met that morning. It was clear that his Shirley—that is, Godiva—had herself some firm allies in this town.

He’d been furnished with an introduction to Joey Hu from the shifters’ Guardian of the Midwest. Joey, and Nikos and Mikhail, the other two men he’d met just that morning, gave him a variety of apologetic looks as they filed out the door.

Rigo glanced from the lemon custard splat on the windshield of his car to the hardening glop on his hood ornament, then turned to Joey Hu, whose face was a study in deep regret.

“That went well,” Rigo said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

No one laughed. The austere one called Mikhail just looked back impassively, and Nikos eyed him like a sheriff back in the old days used to eye a gunslinger who just rode into town.

“So . . .” Joey Hu said in a tentative voice. “I take it that was not the happy reunion you were expecting, Rodrigo.”



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