Woodland Creek – 30 standalone books, 30 authors, now available!!
On November 15, we released the shifters of Woodland Creek into the world. 30 standalone stories, 30 authors, all designed to keep you on the edge of your seat. Because things are never truly as they seem, are they?
An innovative and collaborative collection of Shifter stories set in one town, each with a guaranteed Happily Ever After. Look for the books here.
Read Crow’s Caw at Nightmoon Creek, an Amazon bestselling Hot New Release, and other Woodland Creek books and enter to win a $45 Amazon g/c!!
The crows surrounding the body suddenly take flight, alerted by sounds I can’t understand in my human form. A few minutes ago, I shifted back to human, figuring I could do better shooing away the others with flailing arms and colorful shouts and curses, than as a hysterical, wing flapping bird.
My body’s covered with gooseflesh. What seemed pleasant and soothing a few minutes ago, now feels like frigid fall. I lack the covering of feathers and the quick metabolism of my bird self. More to the point, I lack clothes.
“Is anyone there?” a husky male voice calls. “Hello?”
Shit. It sounds like Lennon Lusk. He’s got a voice that falls into the low registers of sexy. I’ve been mesmerized a time or two listening to it. Crap, crap, crap. In my current state, I’m not particularly mesmerized. More like alarmed. While he might not pay me any mind about town, he’s surely going to give me his attention—probably in the form of gawking laughter—in my current naked form.
I despise being laughed at. Hate to be the butt of a joke, ever since age thirteen when I was in the school play and I fell onstage. My costume tore down the front so when I got up, my budding breasts were revealed. I was already ashamed to be getting them. They got in the way of my activities, and boys stared at them. So onstage, I stood, frozen, while the audience roared with laughter. Never again.
Unable to think straight and shift back to crow, I scramble toward the water and fling myself into the yard deep liquid, assuming a crouch until I notice my wretched white breasts bobbing in the water like small soccer balls. Damn. On your tummy, girl.
“Hello? Who’s out here?” He steps into the small clearing, peering into the shadowy dark.
Can’t he see the body? Can’t he sense death before him? I realize it’s dimly lit out, but sheesh. There’s plenty of light from the waxing moon. Humans can be so dense.