CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (feel good novels txt) 📗

He’d almost lost hope of ever finding her. But here she was. And she lived right next door.

Best. Friday. Ever.

Chapter 3 Tori

I have to get away from this guy before I make a fool of myself.

Grabbing her hand away from her new neighbor—my enormous, muscular, gorgeous, isn’t wearing a shirt, and oh my God he smells amazing new neighbor—would be rude.

But he had stopped doing anything like a normal handshake and was rubbing his thumb gently against the skin on the back of her hand, all the while gazing at her face with an awestruck expression. Where his skin touched hers, tiny tingles of awareness sparked through her.

She needed to add amazing ice-blue eyes and hot-as-hell touch to her list of his appealing attributes.

After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze and dropped her hand. Or rather, lowered it gently, as if he were afraid she might break if he didn’t handle her carefully.

A sudden vision of him running his hand over her naked hip flashed through her mind.

Her cheeks heated up and she turned away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled as she pushed her apartment door wider.

“Wait,” he said, his voice rumbling out from deep inside his bare—strong, wide, muscular, amazing—chest.

She glanced back at him and her eyes dropped to the jeans he wore slung low on his hipbones.

Eyes. Look at his eyes, Tori.

Certain her whole face was flaming red by now, she met his gaze.

“Would you go to dinner with me?”

She blinked. Was he really asking her out on a date? She hesitated. What if he was a serial killer or something? She didn’t know the first thing about him.

“I don’t know much about the town,” he continued. “I’d love it if you’d show me around. Maybe somewhere on the downtown square?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.” He glanced over at the van and frowned, then ran one hand through his dark blond hair. “Well, I guess I need to finish unloading the van. But maybe tomorrow night?”

Tori knew she probably should try to find some reason not to go. But another night spent drinking a glass of merlot while scrolling through social media suddenly seemed much less appealing.

“Okay,” she decided. “Tomorrow. But not the square—let me show you my favorite restaurant in town.”

“Six o’clock?” He was certainly determined to set this up now.

“Sure.” She paused. “I’d offer to help you unpack, but…” She gestured down at her ankle. His eyes grew wide and darkened when he saw the streaks of blood around her ankle. For a second she was sure she heard a low growl coming from him.

But that couldn’t be. It was just a scratch.

“What happened?”

Turning one hand out in a half-shrug, she shook her head. “It’s a long story. I’m going to go in and see if I can wash away any strange farm-animal germs. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

A frown wrinkled the space between his eyebrows, and she had to shove down an urge to reach up and smooth it away. But then the expression cleared, and he smiled. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Definitely. See you at six.”

Tori managed a cheery, nonchalant wave and limped into her apartment—where she promptly shut the door and leaned back against it. “Wow,” she breathed out.

I have a date with the hot new neighbor guy!

Any other time, she would have danced around the apartment. But her ankle really did hurt. Not even its dull throb could dampen her spirits, though. Not tonight.

She hugged herself tightly and fought the urge to laugh aloud.

Then she headed to the bathroom to bathe away the remains of her battle with Chickenzilla.

Late that night, Tori rolled over restlessly in her bed. Her ankle throbbed, her head hurt, and she felt… weird.

Oh, no. Can chickens carry rabies?

She knew she should probably check online to be sure. But she couldn’t seem to bring herself to get out of bed.

Instead, she shook out her feathers and settled back down to sleep.

Wait. What just happened?

She opened one eye in the night. Somehow, the world seemed… larger.

And darker, too.

She tried to reach out to turn on her lamp, but instead, felt her wing stretch to one side.

I’m dreaming. I have to be.

But weren’t conscious dreams supposed to be controllable by the dreamer? Tori was certain she’d heard that before. Or read it somewhere. Probably during one of those wine-drinking social-media-scrolling nights.

Wake up. Just sit up and shake this dream off.

Maybe if she said it loudly enough, it would work? She opened her mouth.

“Squawk!”

The sound of the loud bird noise startled her.

That couldn’t have come from me.

I’m not a bird. I’m a person. I’m not a bird. I’m a person. Dammit, Tori, wake the hell up!

A bone-deep tingle started in her shoulders and flashed down her entire body. A sudden glow lit up the room, and for just an instant, more color than she’d ever seen before flooded her eyes, so brightly that it burned. A painful stretching sensation suffused all her limbs for a heartbeat.

With a start, she sat straight up in bed.

Her hands flew to her face, touching it as if to be sure it was still there. “I’m okay,” she said aloud, testing her voice. “I’m okay. It was just a dream.”

Still, she reached over to turn on the lamp, just to be sure. All four limbs were still there. Everything else seemed normal.

“Just a dream,” she muttered.

But as she reached over to turn off the lamp again, a single, tiny white feather fluttered down in front of her face and landed on the sheet beside her.

She picked it up and stared at it accusingly.

That’s from a pillow. It has to be.

Still, it took her a long time to get back to sleep.

Chapter 4 Niall

How did I miss the blood?

Niall unpacked his single box of dishes into the cabinet the next morning. If nothing else, it gave him time to think about his latest obsession—his fated mate, separated from him