Catching Noble: Greyriver Shifters: Volume Two, #2

By Kristina Weaver

This is the second book of Greyriver Shifters Volume Two.

 

NOBLE

I left her after one explosive night, and I've wanted her ever since.

The one night I spent with Virtue 'Sunny' Grace was meant to be the beginning and end of a story that was never meant to be about love. I took what I wanted, gave her the night of her life, and moved on. She's too sweet, too human, too good for a male like me, yet when Sunny falls into trouble and turns pregnant, I can't resist another night of passion. This time though, I'm aiming for a lifetime. If she'll have me.

 

SUNNY

Noble Garrison is a liar, and I hate him.

He left me after one night of the most amazing pleasure I have ever had. He took my heart and left behind a little something that is turning out to be more than I can handle. When I find out I'm pregnant and that someone wants me dead, the only place I can turn to is Noble. I won't love him though. I can't. He's some sort of shifter, half man, half animal, and I should not want him. I need to come to my senses and go back to my life, but with the law on my trail, a hit squad licking at my heels, and a belly growing way too fast, I need him. I want him. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristina Weaver
• Release date: Oct 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386967941

Kristina Weaver

Immerse yourself in the world of romantic comedy with Kristina Weaver. Her stories feature strong male characters and witty female leads, creating laughter and chaos before delivering a happy ending. With the added bonus of paranormal elements, her books are perfect for those seeking adventure. Start with the first book in the Greyriver Shifters Volume One series and get ready to be swept away into a world of imagination. Keep an eye out for discounts and even FREE offers on this book because this is an experience you wouldn't want to miss! For more information: Books2read.com/KristinaWeaver KristinaWeaverAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

Chapter One

Virtue

You go on home now, child. Berg’s already cleaned off the cooker; the front tables are all wiped down; and I’ve already refilled the sugar shakers, so you got nothing to do here, Bernice says kindly, giving me a smile that makes the fourteen hours I’ve been up on my feet well worth it.

If I had struck out on tips, fallen down and broken my arm, or lost one of my favorite earrings, today would still have been worth it just to see this one smile.

Thanks Ber, I’ll see ya tomorrow.

No dice, little cub, you’re not on the schedule, she crows, grinning when I blink and look over to the board on the wall behind the counter, the old faux wood walls making the place look well-loved and warm, at least that’s what I tell myself most days when I come in here to work.

But I was....I was on there. I was standing right there with Jeb when he put me on for tomorrow afternoon.

Please, please, please let me be on tomorrow afternoon. I can’t afford not to be on, and besides, as long as my days are, I’d rather work till my feet bleed than stay at home. You know when a holiday’s coming up and other people think it’s great? Well, I hate it!

Holidays are awful for me, and the few times I’ve managed to pick up a job during a holiday, I’ve been so happy. Most people around these parts call me Sunny.

Apparently, I have the happiest, sunniest disposition this side of the Canadian border. Apparently, I’m sweet and funny and likeable. Apparently, this must mean I’m the happiest person alive.

I wish that were true. Mostly, I wish I could look everyone in the eyes and smile when they say this, and really, really do it with a sincerity that would be a match their compliments.

It’s not that I don’t try. I mean, I want to be the real Sunny. I want to be the girl everyone smiles at because I really am as joyful on the inside as I am on the outside.

Facts are, if my dad keeps on living for much longer, that won’t be true for a while.

Honey, we spoke about this, remember? You can’t work seven days a week, not with a second job under your belt and those classes you’re taking down at the community college. You’re gonna kill yourself, Ber mutters, her eyes going soft when I sigh and slump into a stool by the counter.

The tips are too good to pass up, and besides Ber, I like it here. I eat lunch, Rhoda gives me leftovers three nights a week and—

And it beats going home to your daddy, who’s one of the meanest coots I ever did come across. She snorts. Why don’t you take some of the money you’ve been squirreling away and get a place of your own?

Only for like a million reasons, the first being that my dad tends to get super clingy when I leave the nest, and by that, I mean he shows up on my doorstep looking for money, and in the long run paying rent and giving Dad money just isn’t viable. I make good money at my two jobs, and with the grant the state gave me for school, I have the basics covered.

At least, at home with my father, I have a roof over my head, and all I have to do to keep him happy is pay the rent and utilities so he can buy booze. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best balance we’ve managed to achieve so far.

Besides, with everything that’s been going on with me lately I just feel as if I should lay low, keep busy, and not change too much in my life. Not until I figure out just what I’m gonna do.

I need to save money and figure out a way to make this work, and to do that I can’t be stuck at home with my father and his unexpected rages. Living with him is dangerous right now, and no matter what I tell myself I know that Ber is right, I just wish she wasn’t.

I have a lot more to think about than just myself or what’s convenient. Like finding Garrison and telling him the truth. Which is easier said than done since I only got one name, a name I can’t swear on the Bible was real, and even if it was, was it a first or last—

Honey, you know why I’m taking you off rotation even if you don’t want to admit it. You have money saved. Take the next week off, get in your piece of shit car, and go do what you gotta do. If things turn out shit, come on back to us, and old Bernice will help you sort it all out. Carol said she’s more’n happy for you to come and stay with us for however long you need to get back on your feet. Hell, I’m quite excited by the thought of you bringing a little one into the house since me and my boo couldn’t have any of our own.

And just like that she makes shit real, I think, sighing and slumping down with my elbows cradling my head.

This is bullshit, Ber! I had sex one time, one lousy freaking time, and it screws up everything! I was gonna keep saving, finish off my diploma, and then go into Helena to that employment agency Carol told me about. I had it all planned.

Aw baby, I know, but that’s just not gonna happen now, not if you’ve got a little baby to think about. You can still work here, finish off your diploma, and then maybe see about getting yourself a job down at the mill. I hear old man Jefferson’s still going through secretaries the way he goes through, well, not underpants. The man obviously doesn’t bathe all that often. She grunts, making me chuckle and look back up at her.

Darn it. I hate when she’s right and hate more that she’s sussed me out when I’ve been trying like hell not to show any symptoms of this pregnancy.

Four weeks. I am officially a month pregnant, and I already feel like shit, my boobs are massive lumps of useless flesh that hurt like the blazes, and my stomach looks like I swallowed a melon it’s already grown so much.

Crap, all I need is to find out I have more than one in there and I’ll have hit the lottery. Just my luck. And you know what, I’m okay with that. I mean, okay, it’s not great that I had one drunken night of sex with a complete stranger, and neither is it okay that I woke up in a motel the next morning alone and completely shattered by the desertion.

It was awful at first. I cried for like six hours straight, no fucking kidding. No, I’m serious, I cried for six hours and felt so broken it was like my whole body just didn’t wanna work.

I recovered some semblance of control around the time I dragged myself home and Dad greeted me with a side swipe and some awesomely unsavory hangover breath.

Not that it mattered, at least I didn’t have it in me to care at that point, so I didn’t fight back, yell, or react in any way. It turns out I learned a valuable lesson that day; my father doesn’t enjoy the confrontation unless you react.

I would have celebrated that victory in some way. I mean, twenty-five lousy years on this earth, and I only figure out now that I could have saved myself years of terror by not making a peep when Dad loses it and slaps me?

Well fuck.

I didn’t celebrate though because I just couldn’t. Instead, I went upstairs to my crappy room and fell onto the twin bed and hid under the blankets for the rest of the day just letting silent tears of grief overtake me.

Two weeks. It took me two weeks of out and out determination to get over whatever the hell it was that was wrong with me. I reasoned with myself until I was ready to scream, telling myself that I couldn’t possibly be mourning the loss of a man I hardly knew, unless you count the fact that I know his dick size intimately and still remember the exact way he smelled.

God have mercy on me, even thinking about it has my body going haywire and begging me to run, seek, find, so that I can jump on him and lick him all over and do things that no morally upright woman should do.

At least that’s what the preacher on the TV says, but I don’t really cotton to that since I’m almost positive I saw that man on the Most Wanted list like three months ago.

Sunny? Baby, are you listening to me? Ber asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I nod, flushing when her mouth twists and she leans over to grab two cups and the coffee thermos she brings to work so that we don’t have to drink the piss we serve to customers.

You shouldn’t be drinking this, and normally I’d slap you silly, but just for now I want to talk and that requires coffee or whiskey. Since you’re knocked up, coffee it is. Now tell me, what happened and what are you thinking?

I was thinking...I don’t know, I admit, scowling when she smiles.

I love Ber. She’s a blonde with light brown eyes, around thirty-nine years of age, and she happens to be a lesbian, a fact that tickled me pink when I found out because my bucket list is now one item down—i.e. be best friends with an intelligent woman.

She also happens to have a great wife, who does ridiculously nice things like make us coffee in the morning and drop by to make sure I get to eat non-greasy foods about three times a week.

Not that I’m complaining about the diner food. I mean, I really am not. It’s better than starving, and I am eternally grateful. It’s just that Carol is right, grease makes your skin dull, and besides, I like kale.

I think.

I’m still at the stage where I’m telling myself its good, and pretty soon I’ll be at the stage where I really believe it. Maybe. Who knows? Anything can happen. Just look at me right now. I told myself ages ago that I don’t want children and that I was gonna finish up school, hit the road to the city, and forget that I ever had a father.

Now I have fifteen hundred bucks in my savings account, two jobs, two lesbian friends, and a baby on the way. And I still don’t know what the heck I’m going to do because—to be brutally honest—I was just planning to forget it for like the next four months or so until I was ready to deal with it.

Well, lucky for you, you have two women who do know. Starting with the obvious. You need to get your ass down to the county office and ask Cherry Flemming to run the license plate number I took down when tall, hot, and definitely worth doing walked in here.

I gape, giggling when Ber mock swoons and her eyes go glassy.

I thought you don’t eat those kindsa meals, I tease, making her laugh and shake her head.

Honey, for that man, I’d gorge myself and let Carol stew with envy. Just kidding. A little. Anyway, like I said, I told you I took his license plate when he decided to stare holes into you a month ago.

Yeah but, I mean, isn’t running his plate like stalking? I ask, mumbling when she smiles and nods.

Think it’s a crime to use Cherry to run it for you to, but since we live in what those yuppy city slickers call the edge of nowhere, and since the sheriff is my father-in-law, I’m thinking I don’t really give a shit. You have to find this man and tell him you’re gonna have his baby, Sun, and then...

What if he gets mad? I ask, chewing my lip nervously.

It’s a habit I picked up a long time ago, and the reason the left side of my bottom lip is slightly pinker than the rest of my mouth. Ber hates it, and I moan when she slaps my mouth lightly and almost rips my lip prying my lip from my teeth.

Then he gets mad, but at least you can say you did the right thing and gave him a chance to know his kid. If that’s the case, if that man ain’t worth the spit we drool when looking at his fine ass, then you come on home to me and Car, and we’ll figure the rest out as we go, she says simply.

Ber, I-I mean...I don’t...I’m not ready for a baby, I whisper, my eyes going hot with the tears I’ve refused to shed since I took the test that confirmed my worst nightmare.

Not that I don’t want the baby. I...it’s like...I was shit scared the first few days and angry, and all these emotions just seemed to bubble forth out of nowhere lately, but after a few days, I got used to the idea. Now, I’m...well, not excited exactly, but I’m not unhappy either. I love my baby already, and God help me, I can’t imagine not having him or her inside me now that I feel this way.

I’m just not ready to really think about it though, and even less ready to hunt down a man who screwed me all night, as if I was his everything and then pulled a runner the next morning.

What, is breakfast and conversation too much to ask for the gift of my virginity? I don’t think so! Bastard.

I...shit, Ber, I really don’t want to see him again, I admit, gulping down tepid coffee with a groan when she shoves her hands on her ample hips and shakes her head sternly.

Honey pie, you shoulda thought of that before you let him do you without protection.

Crap. That is true.

It was just one time! I didn’t even remember it until I found out I was pregnant, and besides, we did it standing up that time! I thought it was okay since all the, ahem, stuff ran out, I mumble, blushing furiously when she snorts and starts laughing.

Well, obviously not all of his...stuff...ran out, and ahem, something took root. Something he has a right to know about.

But Ber! He left. He skipped out the next morning before we could talk, and now, I just, I don’t think he’d want to know! I mean, it was one night of meaningless sex.

So meaningless you moped around here and cried on your lunchbreak? Pull the other one, baby, this leg’s all yanked out, she says and snorts.

I scowl, hating that she’s right and mortified at the thought of everyone seeing my pathetic decline into lovesick fool territory. What happened to the woman who would slap a man if he so much as looked at me with too much intent?

Apparently, she skipped town the minute I laid eyes on Garrison and hasn’t been back since he whammied me with his smoking hot sex and dreamy smile.

Crap.

Don’t be mean, Ber.

I’m not trying to be mean, baby, just honest. Friends tell each other the truth, even when it sucks, and I am telling you that you fell hard for that man, and it hurt when he left you behind. You have an excuse to see him again and—

And make a fool of myself when he tells me he wasn’t planning a reunion or that he isn’t ready to be a dad or—

Or he could be thrilled to see you and be shocked but happy about the baby, she cuts in, giving me a look that makes my stomach cramp.

I’ve known Ber for just about five years now, and I know that look. That look says that she won’t stop until I do what she wants me to do. I’ve come up against her before this, and I caved like a pile of sand meeting the ocean tide.

And that was just about taking the damn classes. This...this is so freaking serious, and I know she won’t give up till she gets what she wants.

I sure hope so, Ber, because sure as shit I do not wanna find this guy and get my ass rejected again.

Are you sure he rejected you, baby?

Bernice, I woke up and he was gone.

Honey, you woke up in a motel two towns over, saw an empty bed, and hit the road. You don’t know if he left a note, came back, or if he was buying breakfast. Be honest, you ran because you freaked out.

Brother. I hate it when she’s sensible and reasonable. That means I’m wrong and being wrong I don’t really have much room to move here.

Fiiine, but I swear, Ber, if this ends up going bad, I am so killing you.

My father-in-law may have something to say about that, girl. My wife loves me, and I bake like a boss. Now go on, get outta here, and I don’t want to hear from you for the next week. Go see Cherry in the morning, she’s expecting you, and don’t worry about trouble, my old lady’s sheriff father is more than willing to smooth things over.

I leave with a lip curled with both humor and pure terror and get into my old VW Beetle with my stomach twisting into knots.

Well kid, it looks like all the talking we’ve been doing doesn’t mean jack, I murmur as I pull out of the parking lot.

Maybe talking to a baby that can’t be any bigger than a handful of cells isn’t sane, or healthy, but like I said, I’ve accepted this...sort of, and we’re already on the road to a great relationship.

For instance, we both agreed that we’d give the whole stress thing a rest for a few months, and it’s an unspoken agreement that we’re not even thinking about Garrison.

Sure, I know that I can’t not think about him, I mean half his chromosomes are growing inside me right now. I was just sorta hoping I wouldn’t have to confront him this soon after waking up alone.

Ber may be right that I jumped the gun, but hey I could be right and the ratfink left me alone in that room after getting what he wanted.

This is gonna suck so bad, kid. You gonna be okay in there if we have to split this town for a few days? I ask, contemplating the debilitating morning sickness that plagues me the moment my eyes pop open.

How do I cope while working at the diner you ask? I don’t. I just keep swallowing until my diaphragm gets with the drill. Even now I feel as if a donkey shit down my throat and it’s bubbling up. I’m tired; I look and feel like that toxic crap has infected my body; and the kicker, the part I love the most, is eating rare meat because apparently now I’m a carnivore.

The baby doesn’t answer this time, and I snort as I pull into the driveway and let my car cough to a stop. The lights are all blazing, and I can hear the TV as I make my way up the porch and unlock the door.

I don’t expect the fist I get the moment I walk in the door, and I fall with a wince when he stands over me and sneers, his breath so vile I can smell the fumes from my prone position on the floor.

Where have you been?

Work?

With that trash-talking lesbian? I told you I needed you to be here today to let Jimbo in, he says and snarls, pulling his foot back.

I can’t let this happen; I just can’t. A punch is bad enough. My cheek is throbbing; my stomach is tense with fear; and my head is fuzzy where I bumped it against the door handle when I fell. I can handle all of that, it’s nothing new for me, but what I won’t allow is for my baby to have to handle it too.

So instead of just not reacting I leap to my feet, blinking dizzily and do something I haven’t done, ever, I yank one of the few vases that are still intact from the little hallway table and slam it into his face with everything I have in me.

He falls, blood spurting from his face, but this time I don’t get scared for him or because I care about him. I run because I am not willing to be here, at his mercy, or leave my baby at his mercy .

It takes me less than five minutes to shove all of my stuff into black bags and load the car, and then I’m on the road and headed for...somewhere. I don’t know where I’m heading, but right now, considering I think I just killed my father, somewhere else is better than locked up.

Chapter Two

Noble

Two more and your set is done.

I grunt at Lync, still not quite used to the new and improved version of him, even if I’ve been praying for this for years. Right here and now, without all the hair, the rage and the feral moments, he’s the same male I knew all my life, the same male I loved, and the same male I came to see as a parental figure instead of my older brother.

He’s...Lync again, thanks to Mercy and her unfailing conviction to save him from himself, and though I love it, it’s still so new that most days I still expect him to lose his shit and bust out with the hair and rage.

It sounds stupid, I know this, but I’ve lived with my brother being insane for so long that having him back is like waiting for the other shoe to drop, and as a result, I am constantly tense and just waiting for it to happen.

Right now, I’m lifting about six hundred pounds of pure bone crushing weight with Lync spotting me, and to say I’m nervous is an understatement. I keep expecting him to go nuts and leave me crushed under the weight.

Christ, would you stop looking at me like I’m about to go crazy and kill you with the fucking weight. I’m solid, okay? Solid. He snarls, growling when Blain Seers grunts from where he’s using a dumbbell to curl his triceps.

Dude, the only way you’d be solid is if you finally proposed to your Fated. Christ, what’s with you males nowadays. You Fate, you mate, and you start filling the house with twenty sons, he says and grunts, smiling when Lync’s eyes narrow, and I try to suppress laughter.

It’s killing Lync that Mercy refuses to mate him until he finishes his sessions with the shrink Nick hired two months ago. Not to underrate those folks because I am a big believer in mental health and the work they do, but I would also be going crazy if some chick sat on her ass asking me questions for an hour.

To start with, Lync isn’t exactly chatty, and chances are he never will be. To make it worse, the male hates talking about feelings, which yeah, I get it because that’s just fucking lame.

What kinda pussy needs to sit on a couch and cry for an hour about how he feels? We’re males. We think about shit, quietly, privately, and as soon as we figure out how to murder someone without getting caught and executed, that’s what we do.

Like Blain here. He’s still tripping about the Banes family, even though they moved out of town—ahem, ran more like it—so what does he do, he hires mercenaries, and last I heard that family was at least four more short.

Simple.

Poor Lync though, he gets to talk and talk and talk just so that Mercy won’t harass him. Not that it’s not working because, duh, the male is no longer feral or obsessed with murdering an entire pack of shifters, but come on. Feelings suck unless they come in the form of lust, or my personal favorite, white-hot rage.

Oh and humor! I can’t forget humor since it has become my new hobby to laugh my ass off at Lync every time he gets his ass whipped by his tiny mate. Hopefully, she mates him. God please let her mate him before he goes feral again.

And that’s two. Stop now! he says and snarls, throwing Blain a vicious look without bothering to engage the male.

Aaah, another of his therapies. Avoiding unnecessary conflict. I’d fucking off myself with a rusty spoon before I let some skirt tell me that any kind of conflict is unnecessary, let me tell you.

We’re shifters, males, enforcers, and that means we run on testosterone, the thrill of the hunt, and more importantly...balls. Those balls mean

Reviews for Catching Noble

[Bobbie Mancell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Awesomely hilarious !!!!!!!!!!!
Funny Funny Funny story!!!!The Best!!!!!
Have the next one already..
???????