Chapter 14: Hunter

What the hell is Ginger doing at my house on a Saturday morning? After dinner last night I'm not particularly thrilled to see my little sister pulling up my driveway, top down, music blaring as usual—something poppy and catchy, from what I can tell through the window.

Opening my front door, I greet Ginger, who is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, since I wasn't expecting visitors today. She hops out of her car and strolls over to me, spinning her keys on her finger and whistling the tune of the music that was just playing from her speakers.

"Hey there, bro."

"What are you doing here, Ginger?"

She frowns at me and pouts, stopping on the bottom step of my porch. Her gaze catches on the broken column, and she raises an eyebrow in question.

"Don't change the subject. Why are you here?" I reiterate, crossing my arms over my chest and not allowing her to distract me with discussion of Vincent and his presence in town, which I'm sure she is well aware of.

"You promised to change the oil in Minnie."

Right. She asked if I would do the oil change on her Mini Cooper, which she so cleverly named Minnie, and I agreed. I sigh and rub a hand over my face. I really don't want to deal with her today, but I did make a promise.

"Why can't you get this done at the auto shop in town?"

"You know exactly why. I will not deal with that man ."

That "man" she's referring to is Luca, the shifter who works at the auto body shop and gas station in town. He didn't do anything wrong to her precious car; however, he may have asked her out on a few occasions, and for some reason, Ginger is extremely adamant about staying far away from him.

"I don't know why you can't just tell him you're not interested like you do all the other guys who hit on you," I grumble, stepping off my porch and rounding to my detached garage.

Pressing the code into the keypad, the rolling door begins to slowly lift, exposing my organized workshop within. I'm a little OCD when it comes to my tools and workspace. I'm not a mechanic by any means but I like to be prepared for any issue that may arise around the house. I also store many of my woodworking tools and wood scraps here.

"I want nothing to do with him. I don't even want to be within sniffing distance of him."

Not a completely unusual thing for a shifter since we have a very strong and sensitive sense of smell. However, in a small town, she can't completely avoid him. She can avoid the auto body shop but can't control where he'll be elsewhere in town while she's present.

Personally, I don't really give two shits about her personal issues with Luca; she can evade him as much as she wants. But is it really necessary to have me do all her oil changes?

"Do I really need to do this? Can't you just go to the auto shop when he's not there?"

Ginger smirks at me, narrowing her eyes, and cocks out one hip, propping her hand on it.

"Do you really not want to change my oil? Or do you just not want me to bring up the whole picture in the woods thing with Lottie?"

I growl a warning, signaling I very much do not want to talk about it. She, of course, ignores my warning as little sisters do, just wanting to annoy me more.

"It really was a flattering picture of you. Did she take any more?"

Keeping my back turned to her, I sift through my shelves, searching for the items I'll need to do her oil change. I don't answer her question because if I lie, she'll just know by my smell, so why bother even trying? But I sure as hell am not going to tell her Lottie took other photos, selfies even.

"Oh my god," comes Ginger's breathless and gleeful surprise. "You totally did take more photos. Tell me, what were they? Did you pose again? Did you roll over and let her scratch your belly?"

"Ginger." My warning comes out low and laced with a growl.

"Oh, fine, you boring old stick in the mud. You're no fun. Lighten up." She leans her back against the shelving unit I'm mindlessly staring at.

I don't even think what I need is on this shelf, but I don't really see what's in front of me. All I can see is Lottie and me in the forest, fearing that Lottie may at some point show Ginger the other photos since they seem to be getting close.

Turning on my heels, I switch to another shelf and find the oil, drip pan, and funnel.

"Pull your car up to the garage. I don't want a mess in my gravel."

"Yes, sir." Ginger mock solutes and scrunches her face up in a comically stern and serious expression.

While I get to work changing her oil, Ginger sits on the rolling stool by my workbench and begins scrolling on her phone. I can only guess the multitude of things she could be doing on it. She may often act like an immature baby orangutan, but the girl is a computer genius. A few of our connections with non-humans in government positions have reached out in the past asking if she wanted to come to work for them, helping control the flow of information at a higher level. Each time, she turns them down. For some strange reason, she wants to stay right here in small-town Snowberry. Which surprises me with her love of high-end fashion and all things glamourous.

I always thought she would skip out of town as soon as possible so she could go to the big city and live the flashy life I always thought she wanted. Even with her teasing and loudmouth, I love my sister and am happy to have her in town with us. Even if she makes me change her oil because she has some sort of beef with the mechanic in town.

"Are you coming to karaoke tonight?" Ginger asks without looking up from her phone and spinning on the stool. Rolling from one side to another.

"Not likely. This week's been long, and I think I might just stay at home and relax."

"Go for a run, maybe?" she offers coyly.

I grunt in response.

"That's too bad," she sing-songs.

I know she's bating me, but I also know if I don't ask, she'll find a way to tell me anyway or dance around the subject until I give in and ask just to make her stop.

With an exasperated sigh, I ask what I know she wants to hear. "And why is that, Ginger?"

"Because I convinced Lottie to come with me."

My hand stills while tightening the lid back onto the oil drain.

Thankfully, I'm under Ginger's Mini Cooper right now, and she can't see—and hopefully can't smell—my interest. Trying to play it cool, I finish tightening the cap and slide out on the wheeled creeper from under the jacked-up car.

"And why would that matter to me?" I ask as casually as possible while wiping the oil and grease from my hands.

"Because you like her." She pauses for dramatic effect before continuing. "And she likes you."

My hands almost freeze again mid-motion, but I catch it quickly and keep moving.

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm."

I catch sight of her from the corner of my eye. She still has her phone pulled up in front of her face, but her eyes are watching me over the top of the screen.

"You should really come by. I think it'll be fun. Since Lottie doesn't want to sing, we'll probably have a few drinks, hang with the girls, and maybe play a game of pool." She makes her tone overly nonchalant, but I know every word is very deliberate.

Shifter males have a weakness when females play billiards. All the bending over and reaching around and stick fondling. It's a sweet kind of torture we all love to enjoy.

My cock twitches in my pants, liking the idea of watching Lottie bend over and slide a cue stick through her fingers. It stiffens slightly, and I shake the image from my mind, not needing Ginger to bear witness to the desire I'm sure she's already scented.

"Great! I guess we'll see you there then. We should be there between eight and nine. We're going to grab a late dinner at Dottie's first. Can't drink on an empty stomach." She rubs her stomach dramatically before returning her attention back to her phone.

I don't respond. She knows I'll be there, so I return to her car, lowering it off the jack and filling it with quarts of oil. When the oil is filled, I toss the empty containers in the recycle bin, grabbing a rag from the workbench next to Ginger.

Unintentionally, I look over her shoulder at her phone as she's slowly spinning on the stool and do a double-take at the images I see on the screen. It looks like Lottie but with long hair, a very short and sparkly outfit, a microphone in hand, and a plastic smile on her face.

"Why is there a photo of Lottie on your phone?" I demand a bit too loudly.

"What?" Ginger jumps in surprise and spins to face me, holding the screen to her chest, trying to hide it. "I don't know what you're talking about that wasn't Lottie."

" Yes , it was."

" No , it wasn't."

"I know what I saw, Ginger."

"You must be getting old then because it wasn't Lottie," she argues adamantly, standing and slipping the phone into her back pocket.

"Ginger," I snarl.

"Hunter," she mimics snidely.

"Show me the phone, Ginger." I don't hesitate to infuse my tone with alpha command because I know she will argue and fight with me tooth and nail and never give in.

Ginger scowls at me and releases an aggravated tight breath through her nostrils. Slowly reaching into her back pocket she pulls out her phone and hands it to me. I swipe it open; it's locked.

"Unlock it."

She grumbles and does as I command. When she hands it back to me, the screen is unlocked and is open on an article titled "Pop star Alexandria enters private retreat after World Tour." What the fuck? Who is Alexandria, and why does she look just like Lottie?

I read further into the article, quickly skimming its contents. It talks about how the pop star hasn't been seen out in public since her last concert in Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago and how it's rumored she entered some sort of celebrity retreat where there are no cell phones or internet access.

I scroll down further and stop at the photo of this Alexandria person. This one is a close-up instead of a full-body shot, her hair pulled back behind her shoulders. Even with all the makeup and hair styling, I recognize those eyes, those lips, the curve of her cheek. It's Lottie.

Then realization strikes me, and I turn on Ginger, who's standing and leaning against my workbench, her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

"Who was the friend of yours that referred Lottie to stay here?"

Ginger shrugs and diverts her gaze off to the side, avoiding eye contact. Her scent shifts, and I smell not only her anger but also her anxiety. Before she opens her mouth, I know she's about to lie.

"Just an online friend, no one important."

"Ginger," I groan and sigh, already reaching the end of my patience.

"Luna, okay. It was Luna."

"Are you freaking serious, Ginger? You let Luna convince you to allow a world-famous pop star to stay in my cabin?"

I hand her back her phone and run a hand through my hair, gripping the ends, trying not to rip it out in frustration. This is not what I need right now. Vincent and his men lurking around town, the blood moon lunar eclipse in less than two weeks, and now a world-famous pop star using my cabin as her personal vacay spot? None of this is going to end well.

I begin slowly pacing, trying to expel the anxious energy building under my skin, threading my hands together at the back of my head.

"Don't worry, Hunter. She wants to be found even less than we do. Luna told me all about her before she ever got here. She's hiding out from the world just like us. Her mother is a tyrant and forces her to work non-stop. Her contract just ended with the record label, and she wanted out. This was the only way she could get out without interference.

"Luna said she'll probably stay a few months, get her ducks in a row, and either return to LA or go her separate way. She just needs somewhere out of the limelight, away from all the gossip rags and fans, to figure things out."

Ginger takes a deep breath, and her tone becomes softer, pleading for understanding.

"Lottie doesn't want the celebrity status; she just wants to be normal. You've spent time with her. Do you think she would tell anyone about Snowberry? Or us, for that matter?"

I stop pacing and face my sister, considering her argument. She has a point. I would have never thought Lottie was a famous singer. Rich, yes. That was obvious with her clothes and expensive wine purchase. But a fame-seeking celebrity? It's just not who she is.

Ginger stares at me expectantly, hopefully. Her shoulders turned inward, preparing for my denial and rejection. She's befriended Lottie and wants to continue being her friend. Not because she's a famous singer but because she's a nice person.

"No. I don't think she would tell a soul if we asked her not to. Wouldn't even need fairy dust. She'd keep it secret," I admit, my arms falling loosely at my side as I give up my stressing.

Ginger's shoulders relax and separate from her ears.

"Exactly. So please don't make her leave. Don't say anything about it. Just act like you don't know. Come to Blue Moon tonight and treat her like any other person."

Her posture relaxes even further, her spine straightening. Her scent returns to her normal mix of spicy sass and sweet sisterly teasing.

"Or maybe not any other person. Maybe a special person. Perhaps a girlfriend or even a m—"

"Don't even say it, Ginger." I pause, taking in a steadying breath. "She's human, I don't even know if that's possible."

Her eyes widen, not expecting me to admit such a thing.

Grinning around pinched lips, Ginger holds up her hands in surrender, saunters to the driver's side of the Mini, and climbs in. Hopeful anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

"We'll see you later, big bro. Don't forget to shower beforehand. You smell like motor oil and dirt."

With a wink, she starts her car and backs out, making a U-turn to head down my gravel driveway.

I stand there staring at the fading taillights of the mini and don't move an inch until the dust has settled and all sounds of Ginger have dissipated. Pushing off from the workbench, I stride towards my front door, thoughts of Lottie—A.K.A. Alexandria—spiraling through my mind.

I realize that even knowing who she really is, I don't want her to leave. I want to spend more time with her, no matter her past. Now, my singing nightingale makes more sense. Of course, she sounds amazing. She's a professional—a world-famous pop star.

Our conversation at dinner last night runs through my head again. She said she was in between jobs and was trying to figure out what she wanted to do for the future. Thanks to our conversations in the forest while in wolf form, I already knew about her controlling mother.

Until there's a reason for me to be concerned about Lottie's presence causing problems in town, I'll do as Ginger asks. If anyone can keep a secret, especially about a secret identity, it's a shifter.