Jane Davey’s Locket by Eve Langlais Page 0,11

name. Didn’t need one though since I had a scent to track her. What I also didn’t have was an answer to why I even wanted to. She’d made it clear that she didn’t like me. Her attitude bordered on mean-sarcastic with a hint of acerbic. Going for her? Good looks. However, pretty women weren’t uncommon, so why my interest?

Because she smells good.

My inner feline had a simple answer. At the same time, it was the only one.

A shifter tended to make many decisions based on scent alone. Hot, fresh chocolate chip cookies? The smell of them meant automatic, justified theft.

And Glinda smelled even better than dessert. My gut said to stick close to her. My dick thought we should get even closer.

Since my nudity distracted, mostly in the form of people who kept thinking I was looking for fun, I shifted, which caused another sort of distraction.

“Look at the size of that lion’s penis!”

“Imagine how much those furry balls would fetch on the black market,” said another.

Everyone wanted to bag the trophy. If it wouldn’t look dumb, I would have tucked my assets into some underpants; however, a mighty feline didn’t wear clothes in his majestic state.

I did snarl as people kept trying to touch, though. I also almost chewed off the face of the guy who muttered, “Someone forgot to neuter their cat.”

Touch my furry balls, asshole, and die.

A minute later, someone did die. By my paw, I must admit, mostly because I scented the witch on the fellow. Given she’d hung the miscreant on the railing, having magicked his clothes into rope, the dick deserved the swipe of my claws that sent him plummeting.

Good thing I’d signed the indemnity clause before boarding. What happened on the cruise stayed on the cruise.

My mother waylaid me next. “Ozzie, why aren’t you upstairs with the others partying?”

In her fifties and looking trim for her age, my mom arched a brow as she waited for a reply. A good one too, or she’d order me back upstairs.

Shifting, I was ready with an excuse. “I was tired. Thought I’d hit the sack early.”

“You can sleep in.”

“Not if I want to hit the gym before breakfast.”

“Since when are you that motivated in the morning?” Mom knew me so well. Then her expression went from suspicious to delighted. “Don’t tell me you’ve already set your sights on a woman.”

“You caught me.” I shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. No need to tell her the woman wasn’t mating material. My mother had a thing against witches.

“Who is she? Do I know her parents? Please don’t tell me she’s from that wolf pack on board. They’re Canadian and won’t shut up about their healthcare system. You know what,”—she waved a hand—“so what if she is. Fresh blood would do the pride some good.”

“She’s fresh, all right,” I replied. As in not even compatible. Something about the way witches’ magic wouldn’t work on us also caused problems with the whole procreation bit. Add to that a feud that went back centuries…

“Here I am, getting in your way, making you late for your tryst.” My mother shoved me. “Go. Have fun.”

Don’t mind if I do. I mean, a boy should never disobey his mother. Back on four feet, and getting tired of switching, I trotted after Glinda’s enticing scent, only to get stopped. Again. This time by an old woman wearing a strapless dress patterned in a bold clash of flowers, hanging low due to her gravitationally-challenged cleavage.

“And where do you think you’re going, giant feline?”

Another witch, I realized with a sniff. Her scent also hinted of the one I followed, making her most likely a family member. Perhaps she would help me. I returned to my man shape, feeling fatigue tug at all the rapidly-spaced changes.

The older lady perused me and smacked her lips. “If I were a few centuries younger…”

Knowing full well how to play this game, I winked. “Experience is golden.

“Flirt.” She smiled but wasn’t distracted. “What are you doing in this part of the ship?”

“Taking a stroll,” I offered her a shrug.

“There’s nothing down this hall for you to see.” She blocked me quite adeptly, especially since my mother had raised me to never lay a hand on a lady—or lose it. Happened to my cousin Horatio.

“Okay, you caught me.” Said in my best aw-shucks tone. “I was checking on a witch. A relation of yours, I believe. Sister maybe?” I queried, earning a titter.

“Why are you stalking Jane?”

Jane? Such a simple name for