Page 5 of Claiming the Shifter’s Heart (The Macconwood Pack Tales #16)

W hen did the clock start moving so dang slowly?

Della was beginning to think everyone must have it out for her, including Father Time himself.

Her measly four hour shift seemed to take forever tonight. It could have been for any number of reasons she supposed.

For example, her car had stalled this afternoon on the way to pick up Sean from his last day of daycare. Dinner had taken longer than usual because the door to the old pantry had gotten stuck again.

All that resulted in her being later than usual to start getting ready for her job at Manning Farms.

It wasn’t easy being Santa’s First Elf. Especially not when the Santa in question gave her all kinds of tingly feelings inside. She’d worked hard to avoid Kristoff Varg. But it was basically impossible.

For one thing, he was playing Santa to her First Elf. The job required her to placate the crowd with samples of cookies and cocoa while they waited for their pictures to be taken.

Then, she walked the families to and from Santa’s chair. That was fine. Only every single time her eyes met his she started hearing things. Mainly Rick Astley’s hit song Never Gonna Give You Up .

Her first car had been an old junker with a tape deck, and inside the cassette player was that hit single. She swore when the car died, she would never listen to that particular jingle again, even though it had grown on her.

Of course, she never expected to hear the tune every time she came face to face with a hotter than sin Werewolf. But she did.

Every. Single. Time.

Sigh.

As if that wasn’t enough, every time she walked past him, she caught his woodsy fragrance, making her Crow perk up and take notice in ways her animal absolutely should not.

Then there was the fact his crystalline eyes seemed to follow her no matter where she was. But she couldn’t get involved. Della knew better than that!

Truthfully, she’d thought she had enough of men to last a lifetime. But Kristoff was proving her wrong.

He was kind and thoughtful in the way he tended to the children in his role as Santa. The moms often swooned while watching him chat with their young. She couldn’t blame them, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

Della had no right to be proprietary over him. Kris was not hers. And her Crow took issue with that. As did her libido. She took this job to make ends meet, but the man was simply wreaking havoc on her emotions.

He was just so big. And Della didn’t mean his body—though, truthfully, he was taller and wider, harder than any man she’d ever seen. He certainly put those Crows in her old Murder to shame.

She frowned not wanting to think about them. Two had died the night Cade came for her, and he’d barely gotten out alive.

Dib Lowell, one of the Macconwood Pack’s Wolf Guard and a renowned lawyer, had been acting as her go between with the Crow King, Emmet Lidl, to oversee the dissolution of her membership to the Murder.

She was never a big earner for the small Shifter group, anyway, and couldn’t imagine them raising a fuss about her leaving. Her children though, that was another story.

There weren’t many Crow Shifters in the world, and they would want to lay claim to her babies. She’d been so nervous worrying about it, but there was nothing she could do until the Murder made a statement one way or other.

“Hi there, you’re next in line to meet Santa. Right this way,” Della said to an eager-looking boy who looked a bit older than her Sean, and two adults she assumed were his parents.

“Thank you. I’m Rachel and this is Tom, and our son, Tom Junior,” the pretty blonde woman said. “Can we all be in the picture?”

“Sure,” Della replied with a gentle smile. “Santa? We have a group photo request,” Della said, trying to play off the breathless quality her voice had suddenly adopted.

“Sure thing, Peaches,” he said, giving her a wink.

Peaches was the ridiculous name she went by as First Elf. It said so right on her candy cane striped name tag that had glowing lights all around it.

As if she needed that to look any dumber in front of the sexy Wolfman. Her costume included glittery red and white striped tights, a super short emerald-green ruffled skirt that only managed to just cover her fluffy bottom, and a tight green velvet top that strangled her boobs.

And that wasn’t all! Nope.

The entire red and green disaster was completed by a green velvet hat with a jingle bell hanging over one side, and a large black belt with a shiny gold buckle. And of course her green elf shoes, which were worn over her regular shoes, but they curled in the front and had jingle bells that rang every time she took a step.

Good Lord, just make a black hole come and swallow me up now.

Sigh.

Despite all of this insanity, Della had been working for over a week at the farm by now. So, none of this was new. And none of it should bother her.

“Okay Tommy, big smile!” Della said, giving her attention to the merry trio taking their picture with Santa.

This was all on Samantha! Della frowned. Her nosy next door neighbor had jinxed her by giving her the sexy little negligee she wore beneath her costume tonight.

Every time she moved, she felt the soft lace and silk confection rub across her skin, sending sparks of desire zipping through her. Or maybe that was just him. Either way, she felt overheated and very aware of Kris every time she brought a new child over for him to greet.

“Is there something different about your costume tonight, Peaches?” he asked during a temporary lull.

“What?”

“Your costume. You look different ,” he said, pausing slightly before the last word.

“Um, no, of course not,” she replied, clearing her throat.

She stepped away from the big man, nervous that she’d somehow given away the fact she wore something outrageous beneath her clothes.

“You don’t have to run, Peaches. You look perfect to me,” he rumbled, closer now than before.

How did he do that?

Oh yeah. Wolf. Duh, Della.

“Yeah, right,” she replied with a snort, waving at people shopping for their holiday decorations and Christmas trees.

“There’s no line now. How about a picture?” Della called out to passersby.

“What are you doing later?” he asked, clearly not taking the hint that she didn’t want to talk to him.

“None of your business,” she said tartly.

“Damn, I love your accent,” he said roughly.

“My accent? I grew up in Georgia, and this is how most folks talk. You should worry more about your accent. Really, I don’t know how folks up here can understand each other.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

“What do y’all have against the letter r? I mean every other word you seem to just forget it.”

“Like what?”

“Okay, say car, or park, or better yet, say four.”

“You making fun of me, Peaches?” he said, frowning.

“Who me? Nah ,” Della replied, clearly teasing the big man.

“Fine. Cahr. Pahk. And faw,” he replied, grinning and exaggerating that delicious Jersey accent she couldn’t get enough of.

“I rest my case,” she said, turning her head.

Della gasped, not realizing just how close Kristoff really was to her. Her Crow would have gone batshit crazy at any other man who tried to get near her. But the animal trusted him.

Maybe I should too?