Chapter FOUR-MAX

“Next!” I shouted from the trailer I had set up all the way at the far side of a series of dilapidated goat pens.

For some reason, three dozen Shifters had showed up on my doorstep at the ass crack of dawn the day after I moved into this hellhole.

The roof leaked. My mattress was lumpy. And the AC unit was busted. I’d only gotten about two hours of sleep.

Mrs. O’Hare was not awake yet, so now I was sitting here, angry as fuck, with no coffee or breakfast in sight, interviewing a whole gaggle of furry fuckers.

“Sir?” a shortish guy with a long beard interrupted my inner tirade.

“What?”

“Uh, nothin’. I was just waiting for you to finish with your interview to talk about my fees for maintaining this place while you were gone,” the man said, swallowing.

“What kind of Shifter are you?” I asked, not recognizing his scent. I knew it was rude of me, but whatever.

“Prairie Dog,” he replied straight-faced.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Prairie Dog, sir.”