11
“s**t,” I say. “s**t. s**t. Shit.”
It’s not Shakespeare, but it’s how I feel and it gets Griff’s attention. Wait, he’s still here?
“Shift!” I yell, but it takes him a second to understand that it’s an order, not just me swearing some more. He changes into a bear and wheels into the woods, but not fast enough.
Mallory’s high-pitched scream tears through the air, a bullet flying right behind it. In cat form, I shoot for the cabin, squeezing low to the ground and sliding under the porch. I hunker, a low, persistent growl deep in my throat. Somebody just shot at Griff. I swear if one hair on his hide—
“You see that big son of a b***h?” A familiar voice reaches my hiding place. Donnie, Mallory’s husband, wasn’t my favorite guy in high school, and he’s not climbing any higher in my estim
