And voila, instant angry lion shifter. Just add Pixie. In fact, there were dueling roars coming from inside the lobby of the building. Two angry lion shifters.
“I really think they’re going to cause you physical harm,” Hillary said, her voice rising to a high pitch.
She was a slender, pale blonde with big blue eyes that were owlish behind round glasses. Today she wore a pearl buttoned rose pink cashmere sweater over a pink silk shell, with a gray flannel skirt and sensible low heeled pink and gray plaid pumps.
“They can try.” Pixie climbed off the hood of the Lexus, pulled a set of lock picks from the pocket of her jacket, and within seconds, had swung the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. “Mmm, leather. Pretty. Want a ride?” She caressed the car seat next to her. “Come on, you know you want to.”
“You can’t do that!” Hillary squawked. “How did you do that? Those locks are supposed to be theft proof. Do you even know whose car this is?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Pixie fished in her pocket again, pulled out a tiny device of her own invention, waved it in front of the keyless entry remote, and seconds later, the engine purred to life.
“See, one of the things that I do for Kenneth is test security systems,” Pixie said. “If I can breach them, so can any other extremely talented and brilliant thief.”
“Yes, but did he ask you to test the security on this car?” Hillary put her hands on her narrow hips, a frown of disapproval puckering her face. “If not, I’m afraid I’m going to have to file a report. You are exposing this corporation to liability-stop that!”
Pixie had turned to her, stuck out her tongue, and made a rude raspberry noise.
Before Hillary could get another word in edgewise, the door flung open, and Dominick stormed out, his face like thunder.
In human form, he was a handsome blond man with a perpetual scruff of beard, and a body that would have made Renaissance sculptors swoon.
He was wearing his usual uniform of t-shirt and jeans. The cloth of his white T-shirt molded to his biceps as if it was painted on, and the jeans accentuated muscular thighs. He was extremely pretty to look at, but too much of an irritable jerk for Pixie ever to have considered for a roll in the hay.
The hyena shifter followed behind him. She was pretty in a spray-tanned, overly-bleached, heavily made up fashion. She was skinny, had improbably huge boobs, and waist length bleached blonde hair. She had a huge glittering rock on her ring finger, and clung on to the muscular arm of a lion shifter who looked so much like Dominick that the two were clearly brothers.
“He’s coming straight for us,” Hillary said, her voice rising several octaves higher. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. All right, you can drive a stolen car just this once– no, darn it! I can’t condone that! Just – er – run, and I’ll stall him.”
Pixie laughed. “How, exactly? Are you going to beat him to death with the Etiquette For Bobcat Shifters book that you carry in your purse?”
“That etiquette book comes in very handy on many occasions,” Hillary said in a wounded tone. “Wait, how do you know what’s in my purse?”
“Girl, please.” Why did people always underestimate Pixie?
Dominick shouldered past Hillary, who was trying to block him, and she stumbled backwards with a squeak of fright.
He reached into the car, grabbed Pixie’s arm, and hauled her out.
“Hey! This is not what it looks like!” she snapped.
“You didn’t just break into and hotwire my brother’s pussy-ass Lexus?” Dominick roared, his gold eyes blazing with anger. It was the eyes that always gave shifters away. Shifters could always scent each other, as well, but a human like Pixie could tell someone was a shifter because their eyes were the same color as their animal species.