Destined Fur More

Battle Of Broken Moose

My first thought was: FUCK YOU, then I realized that's exactly what they wanted me to do. So, instead, I spun around, fully intended to bitch-slap whatever shifter was there, but was instead crushed in some sort of awkward, imprisoning embrace.

"Let… me go!" I shouted into his chest, thought the sound came out muffled as I tried to beat him off. "I'm not going with you!"

His arms grabbed my elbows and pressed them to my sides, his arms wrapped around me like iron. "Jesus, Fisher, stop it!" the man hissed into my ear, causing my gaze to snap up towards his face. I knew those brown curls and black eyes—I knew that pretty, pretty face.

"Teague?" I said, bewildered, still smashed against his plaid jacket in the awkward hug. It's not like I'd been going that long. "What…" I stopped, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "God, I thought you were the shifters. Why the hell are you kidnapping me?"

"Shh!" he spat—literally, in my face, his black eyes focused steadily on someplace behind me. I made a face and tried to turn, but he crushed me even closer to his chest. God, who thought he'd be so clingy?

"But—"

Teague's head snapped down to look at me, his eyes on fire. "Fisher…" he said in a low, barely audible voice that made me want to get my popcorn ready. "There's… a moose… behind… us…" I froze, though my eyes went huge. "Shut… the fuck… up…"

"A moose?" I whispered, mouth agape. "Please," I said sarcastically, though my voice was still low. "You just wanted a hug. Admit it."

Teague's face screwed up in WTF?, effectively shooting my joke and ego in the face. Was I that repulsive? The idea of willingly hugging me was still despicable, no matter how funny he thought I was? He stillcouldn't get over how I looked? Was he that shallow or was I that… ugly? I grimaced, but Teague didn't seem to notice how I'd taken his reaction. Then again, when did attractive people ever need to think about those sorts of things? They had other people waiting in line for them; what would it matter if they hurt the feelings of the one standing next to them?

You need to stop the fantasizing, Fisher. Stop it now.

Teague licked his lips, eyes focused back above my head. His arms kept squeezing me closer, making it harder to breathe for both the proximity of his face and the pressure of his abs smashing into my chest. "All your… yelling…," Teague was mumbling—something I'd just now noticed. "Sounded… like a... mating call…"

I tore myself from his arms, but only got a few inches before he slammed me back into his chest. "What? I do not sound like a horny moose—!"

His hand slammed over my mouth, eyes ablaze with the words, "SHUT THE FUCK UP OR WE'LL DIE."

"Fmm," I hissed, making sure my spit got all over the palm he had covering my mouth. His face didn't change, telling me he either wasn't afraid of my cooties or there really was a moose behind me. And something told me, after that expression, he was afraid of my cooties, so—

"THERE'S A FUCKING MOOSE BEHIND ME?" I screamed, finally tearing myself from Teague's concrete hold. I flung around, and there—twenty feet behind us, was a full-grown male moose, staring directly at us with its black, pissed eyes. It was huge—tons bigger than any other I'd seen. It had to stand at least seven feet tall; its antlers spanning a good six feet.

All my muscles were locked; my arms still frozen in the eagle-spread position I'd been doing to escape Teague's grip. I swallowed and the spit went down like a bolder, dropping into my stomach, giving me a huge, sinking feeling.